


A New Rule for Ferelden

by Replica_Jester



Series: The Path the Maker Sets Before Us [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Abominations, Abuse, Alistair Smut, Alistair porn, Alistair sex, Anal Sex, Anal Stimulation, Anger, Angst, Antivan Crows, Anxiety, Apostates, Archdemons, Assassins, BDSM, Being Trapped, Betrayal, Birth, Blindfolds, Blood Magic, Blow Job, Bondage, Brecilian Forest, Camping, Caravans, Chantry, Claustrophobia, DAO, Dadistair, Dalish Elves, Dark Fantasy, Dark Ritual, Darkspawn, Death, Deep Roads, Delusions, Demons, Denerim (Dragon Age), Denial, Depression, Desperate, Dominance, Dominance & Submission, Dragon Age - Freeform, Dragon Age After Dark, Dragon Age Erotica, Dragon Age Fanfiction, Dragon Age Kiss Battle, Dragon Age Origins (video game), Dragon Age Quest: Broken Circle, Dragon Age Quest: The Deep Roads Expedition, Dragon Age Quest: The Nature of the Beast, Dragon Age Quest: The Tower of Ishal, Dragon Age Quest: The Urn of Sacred Ashes, Dragon Age Realism, Dragon Age sex euphemisms, Dreams and Nightmares, Drunk Alistair, Drunk Teagan, Dwarves, Elves, Empress of Orlais - Freeform, Erotica, Established Relationship, F/M, Fantasy, Fatal Wounds, Fluff, Gen, Golems, Gore, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Injuries, Graphic Novel, Grey Warden - Freeform, Grey Wardens, Halla - Freeform, Hallucinations, Hand Job, Haven (Dragon Age), Helicopter, Hot Lava, Humans, Imaginary Friends, Implied miscarriage, Insomnia, Intimacy, King Alistair, Light Dominance, Livestock, Lothering, Lust, M/F, Madness, Mages, Magic, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Miscarriage, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Murder, NSFW, Nervous, Nightmares, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Nonsense, Old God Baby - Freeform, Old Gods, Oral Sex, Orlais, Orzammar (Dragon Age), Ostagar (Dragon Age), Past Abuse, Personal Growth, Politics, Porn, Porn With Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Dynamics, Power Exchange, Power Play, Pre-Dragon Age II, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Rainesfere (Dragon Age), Realism, Redcliffe (Dragon Age), Self-Harm, Sensory Deprivation, Sensual Alistair, Sensual touch, Sensuality, Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Teasing, Shapeshifting, Sleep Deprivation, Slow Burn, Smut, Spirits, Stress, Stripping, Substance Abuse, Suicide Attempt, Survival, Surviving, Talking Trees, Templars, Templars (Dragon Age), The Fade, Touch Erotica, Trapped, Trauma, True Love, Uncircumcised Penis, Underground, Unexpected Visitors, Unexpected friendships, Vaginal Sex, Victims, Violence, Warden Alistair, Werewolves, You're Not Cousland if You're Not Cursed, accepting fate, adult toys, alistair - Freeform, being King, being used, blah blah blah, brain damage from substance abuse, cabin fever, claustophobia, claustrophobic, constant danger, cousland - Freeform, delusional, disorientation, dragon - Freeform, dragon age origins - Freeform, drunk, friendships, fuck nuzzle, fuzzle - Freeform, going crazy, graphic description of violence, greed - Freeform, helicopter dick, hypersensitive, irritable, kingship, lacking privacy, life - Freeform, losing your mind, nightmares of non-con, nightmares of rape, nomads, non-con (sexual torture), penis dancing, penis helicptors, physical violence, power, remembering child abuse, rogues - Freeform, role play, sex euphemisms, sex with plot, sexual stimulation, sexual stimulation with a beard, sexual torture (not porn), sfw, sick building syndrome (sbs), slightly AU, smut with plot, strip-dancing, talking dirty, trapped undergroung, warriors - Freeform, yes SBS is a real diagnosis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 76
Words: 620,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4997605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Replica_Jester/pseuds/Replica_Jester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New Rule takes us through the events of Dragon Age Origins. Tesslyn Cousland builds up Alistair as the King he needs to be to rule over Ferelden, but in doing so Alistair must break the wills of her shady, selfish, self-harming past to mold her into The Warden and Hero she is destined to be to end the Blight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into the Korcari Wilds

**Author's Note:**

> *constant editing in process*
> 
> UPDATE (4/2018) : If you find New Rule and its relationships/approaches to be frustrating (as many do about 16 chapters in), you may want to start with my DA:A story [The Warden's Reckoning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13214304?view_full_work=true) and work your way backwards. Warden's Reckoning addresses the psychological problems/effects only touched upon in here, because only in WR are the characters at a place in life to address them. If you begin reading and find yourself hating the characters (a common reaction by this story's CH 21), then detour to WR. The frustrating behaviors in New Rule will then make sense.
> 
> Thank you to [Eravalefantasy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eravalefantasy/works), [Felandaris](http://archiveofourown.org/users/felandaris/pseuds/felandaris/works) and [HQuinn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HQuinn/works) for lending your beta skills.
> 
>  
> 
>   **Cousland-Guerrin-Theirin Family Trees:**
> 
> [Cousland-Guerrin-Theirin Family Tree ](http://orig02.deviantart.net/3df2/f/2016/147/d/1/cousland_guerrin_theirin_family_tree_by_dara1hunter-da40slj.png)  
>   
> [Cousland Family Tree](http://orig07.deviantart.net/39b5/f/2016/147/0/3/cousland_family_line_by_dara1hunter-da40rsg.png)  
>   
> [Theirin Family Tree](http://imgur.com/5EIuWBU)  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grey Warden Alistair gets acquainted with the new recruits Warden Commander Duncan has left in his charge, including the mysterious Tesslyn Cousland - a brooding woman of little word, no patience and an aptitude for destruction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW art at end of chapter.

Alistair turned to the woman who’d witnessed his attempt to irritate the mage. His immediate impression was disinterest, blatant refusal to look at him; what was she doing here, then? Apathy wasn't new to Alistair, but her expression was certainly new for a first encounter. She'd strike him as Tranquil if not for her clenching brow, resentful maybe. _Probably another messenger,_  though she wasn't dressed like a Chantry Sister or the King’s men.

“Nothing like a Blight to bring us all together, eh?” he joked.

“Indeed. I’m wondering if ‘Blight’ is merely code for Secret Gentleman’s Club Where Men Can Wear Dresses and Frolic in the Woods Without Lovers Questioning Their Sexuality.” she kept a solemn face.

Alistair couldn’t help a grin. He'd sworn only _he_ made jokes this bad. “No, ‘Blight’ is the extremely secret password to get in the compound. _'Grey Wardens’_ is the code for the Gentleman’s Club."

_Grey Wardens,_ the organization of skilled warriors from all walks of life, destined for responsibility of ending world-threatening Blights, payment for surviving the poison which made Blights so deadly. The Taint connected Grey Wardens to the creatures born of the Blight itself, gruesome ghouls called Darkspawn, soulless feral monsters. Alistair had been a Grey Warden for half a year now. The fact this woman before him made such bad jokes about it all suggested she was a new and nervous recruit.

“You people are too loose with your words, then. Everybody is talking about the Blight.”

“Wow!” he laughed. When she still didn’t crack a smile, he dropped his with an awkward clearing of his throat. “You must be the new recruit?” he guessed.

“I must be?”

“Or… you don’t have to be. But if you are and you don’t want to be, I’m afraid you’re in for trouble.”

“My parents contemplated naming me ‘Trouble.’” An unmistakable clench of her jaw and twitch of her eye before she pretended to admire a nearby column.

“Oh?” he mused with a smirk. “And why didn’t they?”

“Too hard to marry off a daughter like Trouble. Can you imagine the wedding invitations? _And the people responsible for Trouble are._..”

“Right.” he smiled. “I can see how that might be tough with the nobles. So, what _did_ they name you?”

“Tesslyn.”

“… what? Tesslyn what?” he pressed, determined to get more than sarcasm from her.

“Cousland.”

“Cousland? You’re a Cousland?” From what Alistair knew, the Couslands were second in power and rank only to King Cailan.

“Perhaps the last.” her brow narrowed the distance to her eyes.

“The last? What do you mean?” he asked.

“Nothing. Nevermind. Can we move on?” she frowned deeper.

“Yes, we can.” Alistair stepped in line beside her as she hurried down the walk. “So… have you met the other recruits?”

“Yes. I do not approve.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. You know, you don’t see too many Grey Warden women. Why do you suppose that is?”

“Because the women are too smart to let themselves be seen," she said.

“Perhaps.” he smirked at his own tease: “But then what does that make you?”

“Obviously one of the boys.” she answered, bitter and impersonal, despite her aptitude for humor.

“Obviously,” he said, testing how long she would let him flirt. He was disappointed her initial play hadn't carried on.

She shot a disapproving side-glance at him and firmly shut her mouth. The frown was the most constant thing about her so far.

“Do you really not like it here?” he wondered out loud.

“I didn't _ask_ to be here.”

“You are so much fun!” he didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm.

She didn’t speak again. In fact, as Duncan gave the instructions to gather vials of Darskpawn blood from the Korcari Wilds, the Cousland Lady was sullen. No, sullen wasn’t strong enough. _Melancholic_. She refused to speak or make eye contact when the other recruits inquired of the dangers in the Wilds. She didn’t even look at Duncan until Alistair led Ser Jory and Daveth - the other recruits - away.

“Are you all right, Tesslyn? If you’re not ready, we can do yours in the morning,” Duncan told her. Alistair stopped to wait, curious, and nosy.

The Cousland Lady turned her head and raised her eyes to Duncan. “I’m well enough to fight. Smiling is not required to do so.”

“This is true.” Duncan hesitated. “Then may the Maker ease your troubles, my Lady.”

She frowned again; this seemed to be a hobby of hers. “There is no remedy for this, Duncan.” She walked past Alistair without acknowledging he waited for her.

Jory and Daveth bet how many Darkspawn they would each kill before they even left the compound. Jory mostly contemplated the challenges and concerns awaiting them. When neither quieted after the heavy wooden gates shut behind them, Lady Cousland shot the boys a glance of irritation and quickened her pace. It was apparent she wanted nothing to do with them.

“Come on,” Alistair told the lads. “Best not keep the Lady waiting,” he joked. All this seriousness was boring, but he understood the need for quiet when they were supposed to search for the enemy. Better to find than be found.

As if on cue, the sound of metal unsheathing from leather rang to their ears, as did the barking of wolves. The three of them sprinted around the cluster of trees blocking their view. Alistair honestly wasn’t sure if he should join the Lady: her arms flung all about in a whirlwind, daggers mad and unprejudiced. Could he even get in there without being sliced like supper?

He also realized he didn’t have a choice; she was his charge. Duncan had specifically told him to watch over his charges. He readied his sword and shield and charged, only to arrive in time to find her foot steadying a wolf’s head so she could yank out a stuck dagger. And… that was it. There was nothing left for him to do.

She stood splattered with blood, dirty gray and black wolves littered around her, flooding green with shining red beneath them. She caught her breath as she watched the three men. Green eyes crossed to spy the blood on her hands when she reached up to push her hair off of her face; blood was apparently nothing new to her. Lady Cousland ran thumb over her nose and smeared a red line from cheek to cheek, staring at Jory and Daveth as if calling for reaction. _Fresh warpaint._

She pointed to the wolves with her dagger. “This is why you don’t keep the Lady waiting.” She turned and stepped over the lifeless canines. “Bloody nug-humping daffodils can’t keep your bleedin’ traps shut long enough to actually stick something! Sodding pair of bloomin’ little girls!” She sounded off.

Alistair felt his brows jump near to his hairline. He was amused and interested by this side of the brooding noble woman. Extremely interested.  

“Not much of a Lady if she talks like a pirate,” Jory remarked.

“Not much of a Grey Warden if you left your balls in your tent!” she retorted without pause. Alistair tried to contain a laugh; Daveth didn’t bother hiding it.

“It seems best to follow the Pirate Lady,” Alistair said to the men. Daveth agreed with a giggle.

The Cousland Lady suddenly ran and dropped to her knees. Alistair had seen enough of these acts to know something was wrong. He ran after her and slid on his own knees. She sat over a bleeding wounded man in Denerim armor.

“I’ve got bandages,” Alistair offered, opening his medic pouch.

“Don’t touch him!” Lady Cousland ordered darkly.

Alistair looked from her face to her busy hands. She was dumping out most of a vial of blue lyrium potion; it sizzled the grass as it splashed down, leaving an effect of frost crystals.

“What are you doing?” he asked her. “Lyrium won’t help him. He’s not a mage.”

“I could actually perform this miracle if you would shut up and stay out of my light,” she snapped.

“All right, fine. You can tell King Cailan how he died, then!” Alistair shot back, standing as Jory and Daveth joined them.

“Shut. Up.” she reinforced her demand from earlier.

Lady Cousland stuck what looked like a dried-up deep mushroom in her mouth and chewed it for a moment, only to pull out a wet, slimy glob. She shoved the slimy mushroom in the vial of lyrium and immediately capped it; it fizzed ferociously, reminding Alistair of a rabid dog foaming at the mouth. She gave the bottle a few rough shakes before letting it settle between her knees. And apparently it was a good idea to waste half of a bold-red healing poultice.

“Doesn’t he need the red stuff?” Daveth peered over.

“What’s she doing?” Jory asked.

“Trying not to kill you both,” she answered before Alistair could.

“Yes. That.” Alistair said flatly.

Lady Cousland switched the bottles between her knees and collected blood from the wounded man – from the wound itself – in the fizzing lyrium/mushroom concoction. She capped it with her thumb again and gave it another good shake, then transferred it to the bottle with the remaining health poultice.

She held the small bottle out toward Alistair. “Hold this,” she ordered. She whipped her head up at him with a stern frown. “Do NOT break it!”

“All right…” Alistair returned to his knees and held the small bottle by the neck. She dug in her pouch once more and retrieved a small bottle of clear amber liquid. Alistair looked at her curiously. “Is that rum?”

“No, you may not have some.”

“I – no.” he couldn’t help his giggle. “I wasn’t going to ask. I was just curious why you have such a small bottle.”

“So I don’t have to share.” she seemed to have an answer for everything. Pulling the cork out with her teeth she filled the rest of the strange health poultice-bottle up with the dark rum; she swallowed the rest of the alcohol. Her dagger tore through the soldier’s undershirt; the skin had been gouged like the blade had dug in and twisted.

“You are lucky,” she told the soldier gently, so out of character it made Alistair think someone new had spoken. “It didn’t get past your hide.” this was a tone of voice Alistair hadn’t heard from her yet. She took the tiny bottle from Alistair. “Hold his arms down.” Alistair did as he was told and Lady Cousland let only a singly drop fall to the wound. The soldier yelled through his teeth. She looked at the man in sympathy - another new emotion from her - steadying his body at the hip. “You’re one of Cailan’s men, yes? Have you ever met the Queen?” she asked.

“N-not personally. But I saw her around the castle a few times during my training.” the soldier breathed deeply.

“And what did you think of her?”

“She’s – lovely, for sure. The King seems to think she’s a fine lady.”

“Hm.” she smirked. “I think she’s about as pompous as a nug-wrangler’s backside.” Alistair snorted into laughter.

“W-what?” The soldier asked in confusion.

“I grew up around her. She doesn’t even care to dry her own hands. Did you know I once soaked her slippers in fish water and let them out to dry? She had no idea where the stench came from – she actually feared it was her _private_ parts, _if_ you know what I mean. And you should have seen all the cats! They followed her around all day!” she spun her tale quite animatedly.

This had Alistair laughing so hard he couldn’t hold his head up. While the wounded soldier was occupied with his own laughter, Lady Cousland applied the solution from the vial. The soldier clenched between breathless giggles. Humor was winning, it seemed. Alistair felt he was seeing a whole new side to this moody noble pirate-mouthed woman.

“There you go.” she stood and helped the soldier to his feet. He pulled apart the hole in his leather armor and undershirt. The wound looked more like a fresh burn scar now.

“How in the name of Andraste did you do that?” Alistair marveled.

“You were right there. You saw everything.” annoyed once again, but only at Alistair. “You should get back to camp,” she gestured; a gentleness reserved for only the soldier. “If you stay, you’ll only be hacked down again. These clod-heads won’t shut up.”

“We are not like that!” Jory defended.   

“Tell that to the wolves I had to kill back there.” She pointed at the soldier, “You, go get some rest. You two -” she pointed at Jory and Daveth, _"shut up."_ She marched off. The soldier winced out a _thank you_ to Alistair and limped away.

“Look at all these bodies.” Jory looked around at the dead soldiers on the ground.

“She’s sort of right, you know,” Alistair said. “We should try not to draw attention to ourselves, especially with the Darkspawn as our enemy.”

“What’s the point? If entire patrols of the King’s best couldn’t survive out here…” Jory worried.

“That’s why _I’m_ here. Grey Wardens can _sense_ the Darkspawn. There’s no way they can ambush us, I promise. We’re nowhere near their base. Any we meet out here will only be scouts. Still,” he added, “we shouldn’t try to draw attention. It’s not smart against any enemy.”  

So they pressed on, despite Jory growing more skeptical with each step. Lady Cousland was nowhere to be seen nor were any Darkspawn so far, but they came upon a fallen tree made into a bridge between two small hills. From the tree bridge swayed three dead soldiers, hung by rusty-looking ropes. The uncomfortable buzz of darkspawn also lingered here.this was no kill-and-run.

Joey nor Daveth seemed to guess darkspawn were near. They were anxious enough, though. Might as well break silence with the comfort of human noise. "Poor sods," Alistair said, "this is what happens when people go into Darkspawn territory without a Grey Warden,” he hoped his voice sounded steady enough to inspire confidence.

“That could be us,” Jory said.

“The only way that will be you is if you don’t shut your whining pie-hole.” The three of them looked up to see Lady Cousland at the root of the tipped-over tree. She pointed across the tree-bridge. “They’re not far, actually. So close I can smell them. Other side of this clever little bridge.” she gave the roots a small kick. She waved at something Alistair couldn't see. “Oy, there!” she called cheerfully. “Your grunted breathing must have made it a tad hard to hear the sniveling, but the idiots are right down here!” she pointed down to Alistair and the other two recruits. “Good day to you!” she bowed to something across the tree-bridge then leapt away in the opposite direction. An arrow flew right where she had been waving from. As she disappeared once more, Alistair, and the recruits drew their weapons and ran around the edge of the marsh pond. They halted before the clearing where the Darkspawn tarried, for a cloud of black fog exploded with the sound of shattering glass. The Darkspawn were completely shrouded. A harmonious chime of slicing metal could be heard; sharp metal – not Darkspawn blades, rough and corroded. Heavy thuds echoed around the fog like bodies falling. A feminine cry of annoyance rang out.

“What?! Is that her?” Daveth cried angrily, as if Lady Cousland had stolen his glory right out from under him.

As the fog evaporated, Lady Cousland materialized, ducking to flip a stalky genlock archer. She embraced it from behind, gripping its left arm; with the bow arm occupied, she sneaked a dagger around. A reflection of sunlight before she stabbed it in the gut. The blade twisted and carved a trail up to the chin, armor and skin no longer restraining Tainted innards. The genlock slid down her front as stray wisps of black fog settled to the ground.

Lady Cousland simply looked at Alistair, Jory and Daveth. They stood speechless before her; she glanced like she wasn’t sure why they stared. She gave a slight bow of her head and said, “How do?” then she turned and trotted off as if she hadn’t slaughtered a handful of Darkspawn like someone with years of practice in sadistic execution.

“Do you think she’s married?” Daveth asked.

“That is _not_ why we’re here,” Alistair said. “Besides, _I_ saw her _first_.”

_“I_ did, actually.”

“Well, she likes me better,” Alistair retorted immaturely.

“The whole lot of you are idiots.” she was suddenly walking back to them. She approached Alistair directly and shoved two stuffed-to-the-brim belt sacks at his chest. “I’m packed up. Do _not_ lose these.” She turned to leave as swiftly as she had approached.

“You want me to carry your _purses_?” Alistair stood confused.

“Quite accurate!” she called back. “You are wasting daylight!”

“It’s one of my many talents!” he answered, stringing the fist-sized purses onto his belt. “Wait! Wait, wait, wait!” he ran up to her.

“I’m not interested in talking,” she stated.

“So I’ve concluded. Where did you learn to fight like that?” he ignored her decline.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why not? You’re quite impressive!” he told her.

“Thank you for noticing, but I’m still not interested in speaking.”

“Speaking lets enemies know we’re here, right,” he joked about her desire for silence, intentionally trying to be a pest. “But we'll kill them anyway,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but while you’re busy talking, they might sneak up on us, in which case the opportunity to catch an enemy off-guard means there’s no way of preparing for attack, thus no way of defense. Do _you_ want to be the person who instantly dies by a surprise attack? No chance to defend yourself? _Darkspawn_ , of all things?”  

“I… point taken. But they aren’t exactly the silent type. They’re more the _grunting_ types,” he informed her.

“Same could be said of you.” she shot him a glare. “ _Do_ shut up. I am in no mood to be your friend. I am here to kill the deformities lurking here because I am good at killing. If you and those _little tulips_ continue to hinder me, I will _conveniently_ forget whose side I’m supposed to be on!” she stared at him with a passion burning behind emerald eyes. She looked lamenting, though, not evil, not heartless. Too much pain in the crease of her face.

“I’m not your enemy,” he reminded gently. “The others are a little nervous. It’s normal. Considering this is just part of a test, couldn’t we be lenient and let them talk out their fears?” he bargained kindly. “I promise you we won’t be caught off-guard, no matter how much noise we make.” They stood in silence for a moment, neither breaking eye-contact. Something was off but he couldn’t place what; loss was evident, but what was so bad inside to make her this violent? “If you’d rather go back to camp, that’s fine. Duncan offered to postpone your toJoining tomorrow,” he offered.

“And do what? Wallow there? No.” she turned and set off again. “As long as the lot of you keep your distance I won’t try to kill you. Very often,” she added.

“You are too much fun!” he joked after her.

“Lick my bootprints!” she countered.

“Maybe when we’re out of Darkspawn mud,” he bargained.

Alistair walked with Jory and Daveth a few paces behind Lady Cousland as she requested, until she disappeared behind a broken mossy arch of stone columns. Just past the arch they spied a Darskpawn camp; crude fences, rigid torches serving as lampposts, a few human heads on pikes. “Where are all the Darkspawn?” Alistair muttered to himself.

“Should I slither over and take a gander?” Daveth offered.

Alistair tried to peer out further, however to update from where he stood. “Yes…”

Daveth darted from shadow to shadow, moving silently, creeping beneath trees, keeping hidden in reeds. So far no movement from the Darkspawn. Was Daveth really so invisible, or were the Darkspawn all sleeping?

Daveth suddenly made himself seen. “They’re dead! All of them!” he called over. Jory and Alistair exchanged a curious glance and joined Daveth. “Throats slit clean,” Daveth reported. He huffed. “ _So_ , the Noble Lady is an assassin. And she got after me for being a _thief!”_

The Darkspawn indeed all had their throats slit. There was no blood other than immediately around where the bodies lie, all strewn about, each with a delicate trickle of blood from an almost invisible slice across the neck. She must have moved in the skill of stealth as well, to take the darkspawn where they stood with no warning.

“It does appear she has assassin skills,” Alistair agreed. “So where might an assassin go?” He looked around.

“To find a killer, just follow the dead bodies!” Daveth said cheerfully.

“That makes perfect sense.” Alistair glanced around, seeking a trail. “Except it looks like they were slain where they stood…”

“Then we scout. Assassins are often fond of poisons, so we look for fresh-picked deathroot stems.”

“Also useful, _but_ , and I hate to undermine your expertise again - she gave me her purses to hold because they were _full_...”

“We continue our mission without her,” Jory decided.

“Very cute. I’m sure she’d appreciate that, but she is still in our party and we are not leaving without her, one way or the other.” Alistair said firmly, a surprising air of authority emanating from his own voice.

“And why shouldn’t we? She’s already left us. She clearly doesn’t need our help. I say we let her do all the dirty work, if that’s what she wants, and we ship off.” Jory was clearly done with Lady Cousland’s _incompetence_ remarks.

“We still need to get those Grey Warden treaties, though, remember? _She_ has no clue where they are but _I_ do. And unfortunately you’re here with _me_ , not her, so you’ve got to come with me to gather them. I’m telling you what I told her: let’s try to be lenient with each other. You’ve all left a lot behind to be here, and none of us truly know what that means to the individual.” _Dammit, he really was sounding like a leader, wasn’t he?_ He hoped Duncan wouldn’t take it as a good sign and ask him to lead more often. “You might as well fill your vials since you’ve got a nice selection to choose from.” he gestured around.

Jory agreed with this, and he and Daveth each picked a hurlock. Jory accidentally squirted himself in the face with blood when he pressed on the neck, instead of tipping the creature for a blood flow; Alistair and Daveth both laughed loudly.

“It’s smells horrible!” Jory groaned.

“If you think _that’s_ bad,” Alistair poked fun, “you will _love_ what’s next!”

“I’m sure I will.” Jory wiped the dark, sticky, rancid-smelling blood off his face. It left his face in a smeared mess.

Daveth, apparently out of habit, looted the bodies. To Alistair’s surprise, the rogue found silvers and coppers, even a sovereign. Daveth happily declared no one should ever pass up the chance to loot the dead.

“A bit creepy, that,” Alistair commented. “What do you suppose Darkspawn use coin for?” he was honestly curious.

“They’re not very intelligent, right? I reckon they’re like magpies. Attracted to shiny things,” Jory said as if it were fact.

“Or they could have, I don’t know, a whole Darkspawn City. What do you think?” Alistair mused. “I mean, where do they get their armor and weapons from if they’re no smarter than birds? They’re probably got a whole underground market somewhere, with a smith and everything.”

“It’s bound to be an expensive one, if only the Darkspawn can find him and they’ve got to loot our dead just to get coin,” Daveth entertained Alistair’s imagination.

“Both of you seem to have an alarming amount of spare time on your hands, to think that up,” Jory said.

Alistair grinned, Daveth chuckled. These recruits weren’t so bad, Alistair decided. “This sort of thing is natural for Grey Wardens,” Alistair joked. “Nothing else to do once everyone’s drunk around the fire together. You should hear the gryphon stories.”

Once blood was collected and Daveth finished looting, they set off again. A display of impaled heads up the hill betokened another darkspawn outpost; Alistair’s destination lay behind, an ancient weathered tower. They sloshed through the marsh, with Daveth complaining how water in his boots hinders his sneaking ability.

Something felt wrong, though. Alistair felt their approach should at least greet them with dead bodies, though like the camp Daveth looted, this one seemed empty. Lady Cousland still wasn’t in sight or sound. Alistair worried but tried to hide it from the men. He had a feeling he would have to scout for this woman tonight until the trees completely blocked the moonlight. A couple dozen paces and finally sounds of battle; oddly this eased Alistair’s gut. Combat meant _still alive,_ no dead bodies to collect.

Alistair’s gut flipped. The Darkspawn were indeed fighting, but gathered in a circle all bashing down on something amid; a green fog hung waist-down. “Oh, no…” Alistair feared the worst – he’d have to carry the noblewoman’s body back to camp, if there was anything _left_ to carry back.

Suddenly, hands unhooked one of the Lady’s packs from his belt. He looked over, and a hand clamped over his mouth as he opened it to protest.

“Shh.” she hushed. Lady Cousland searched Alistair’s eyes. Her pupils were dilated, her breath hot and rapid against his face even from her distance; she was running on pure adrenaline. She released his face and dug a bundle of twigs and a small ball of twine from one of her bags. She shoved the purse back in his hand and unfolded the twigs. Alistair watched inspired as they straightened into two long curves; she’d made a string-less bow. With a jerk of her bow arm, the twigs snapped firmly in place.

“Where did you get that?” Alistair hissed in envy.

“I made it!” she whispered back. She took her thin twine and strung it taut through the ends. “Ten sovereigns, they don’t know I’ve gone until I kill one?” Her eyes glanced from the Darkspawn to her bow as she tied the ends.

“I don’t have ten sovereigns,” he said quietly.

“Three, then.”

“You’re on.”

She stole an arrow from Daveth’s quiver and readied her aim. The arrow flew straight into the back of a hurlock’s head. The circle of Darskpawn halted, all in mid-swing, and watched the wounded hurlock fall.

Alistair muttered a curse. “I was sort of hoping you’d miss,” he admitted.

The Darkspawn looked over as another arrow shot through the side of a genlock’s head. Raucous outrage prefaced a charging Tainted squad.

“Was that really worth three sovereigns?” Alistair complained. But Lady Cousland was already running to meet the monstrosities. Alistair groaned loudly; he did _not_ want to fight the whole pack at once. He readied his shield and sword anyway and ran up the rest of the hill after her. He heard the footsteps of Jory and Daveth behind him.

Lady Cousland didn’t seem to need help though. With her bow in her left hand, she used it to whip across the darkspawn faces, and while they were stunned from the sting of the bow, she would either cut their throats or stab their necks. All of her attacks were quick, none could escape her dagger. After a few slap-and-stabs, she dropped her clever bow and gripped her other dagger. Alistair glanced back in time to see a genlock hit her in the face with the end of its staff; she staggered, stunned, but quickly recovered. She glared and took stance, flipping her daggers with the blades toward the sky. She lunged in a whirlwind of fury, daggers whipping astir in a wide berth in front of her, not giving the genlock time to react or defend. Cuts were undefined from where Alistair was, but gooey blackened blood seeped out in wide ribbons. Lady Cousland put the creature out of its misery by shoving a dagger sideways in its mouth, then with great precision kicked the blunt of the hilt, sending the blade through the skull to pin it to the ground. Without hesitation she retrieved her dagger and wheeled on the hurlock attacking Jory. She stuck both daggers in the back, one at the shoulder, the other at the top of the spine. The noblewoman carved down and across, slicing through armor like cloth. The hurlock screamed, reaching for its back as if trying to pat out flames. She spun it by the shoulders about face, stabbed it center visage, and with pure ease moved on to Alistair’s hurlock. Alistair had to halt his own attack because she obstructed him. Beneath the hurlock’s arms she stopped, pivoted her own arm diagonally back sending her short blade straight into its neck. Again without pause she turned to level her twisted arm, shoving the other dagger through the hurlock’s head; the blade sparked when she jerked it back out of the helmet.

Upon the two hurlocks and genlock attacking Jory and Daveth, Lady Cousland for once hesitated. Her eyes swarmed all over the three creatures. She stopped Alistair from joining the fight by shoving her daggers flat against his chest – _a silent command to hold her weapons._ She sprinted kicked in the knee of a hurlock wielding a double-edged axe. It toppled her way as its leg lost hold of the ground. Lady Cousland caught the weapon, stomped on the fallen hurlock’s face, and without warning again swung the battleaxe sideways with even greater control than she’d already exercised. It sliced clean though the remaining genlock’s middle; Daveth barely dodged her swing in time.

Alistair well knew he and the male recruits all just stood watching. This noble Lady – just a normal-looking woman, not remotely close to comparing in muscle on Alistair or Jory – was slaughtering barbarous enemies like she might slice bread. They watched her hold the battleaxe as a wallop mallet; she even made the swing look effortless though Alistair had plenty experience with such weapons to know that wasn’t the case. The axe met the last Darkspawn in the crotch but stuck at the hip; the look about the recruits said no one blamed the hurlock for shrieking the way it did.

The axe could not be freed; Lady Cousland dropped the handle, unbalancing the hurlock. It tipped awkwardly, at the mercy of the angled blade it was cragfast on. The distressed hurlock in an unfortunate bow, already glutted with injuries to bleed out from, wasn’t dying fast enough for Lady Cousland. She grabbed a crude sword and brought it down across the neck execution-style. The head bounced and rolled by Jory’s feet; Jory rolled it away the tip of his sword.

Again, as if she had done nothing out of the ordinary, Lady Cousland dropped the weapon and walked casually up toward the entrance of the ruined Colosseum.

 

 

 

*** _NSFW***_

_Alistair and Tesslyn Cousland when they meet at Ostagar **:**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by me. I needed to reconnect to my characters, so I drew their physical changes over the course of the events. Adding in their changes has been a heartbreaking, yet rewarding process.


	2. Witch of the Wilds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Tesslyn meet Morrigan and Flemeth and retrieve the Grey Warden Treaties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *editing in process*

“Is this what’s left of your tower?” Lady Cousland asked with an insouciant gesture, as if she hadn't just destroyed an entire pack of Darkspawn almost single-handledly.

“Whoa, whoa – hey! Wait a bit! Can we talk about this?” Alistair caught up to her.

“Are you married? Will you marry me?” Daveth jogged up to meet her, too.

“Do you, also, want your wanker in two-halves?” she asked.

“Er,” Daveth hesitated. “No. I suppose rejection is in my favor, in this case,” and he hung back.

“You do realize you just slaughtered six very large Darkspawn all by yourself?” Alistair asked her.

“That’s not true. Three of them were short. Is that your cache?” she pointed, but he ignored her.

“One of those short ones was a powerful mage,” he tried to prompt her. “And…is that your signature, or something? Stabbing and dragging the blade?”

He wished she hadn’t looked at him. She still bore the expression of someone heightened from battle, pupils wholly dilated, the veins at her temples bulging.  “Would you like to find out?” Her voice was harsh and unwelcoming.

“Er…no. Thanks, though,” he said, trying to mask his uneasiness with sarcasm.

“Then all of you stop talking to me!” she commanded. “I am not here to be anyone’s friend!” She took a few firm steps ahead of him, then froze. She stared at something beyond her position.

A wild-looking woman in an immodest top walked down the ramp ahead of them. “Well, well,” the woman’s voice screamed of curiosity. “What do we have here? Scavengers? Come to pick off what’s left of old bones?”

Alistair was very aware of Lady Cousland’s reaction to this mysterious woman. The noble’s green eyes practically sparkled, moving all over the woman’s physique. She was still, her breathing even, her very aura rhyming with the rise and fall of her chest. Calmer than Alistair had yet seen of her. She seemed to be soaking in the woman’s appearance. Lady Cousland was utterly enthralled by this new presence.

Sweet Maker! Did she prefer women?  _That explains a lot,_ _actually_ , his thoughts concluded. Her whole attitude toward himself, Jory and Daveth had been impatient and unwilling. He resisted the urge to openly pinch his own face when he began picturing the two women together.  _His_  pulse was starting to race, now. Andraste’s Light, he needed to get away from these females! He silently prayed that he would not embarrass himself with his ridiculous fixation.

“I have been watching since your arrival. A woman needing no man's support, yet you remain with fools,” the mysterious woman spoke to Lady Cousland. “Come now - who are you and what is your intent here? I shall offer my name if you give yours.”

As if obeying a master’s command, Lady Cousland acquiesced to the strange woman devoid of pause. “Tesslyn Cousland at your service, fair lady. I am half-certain our quest brings us to your chest.”

“To her – her chest?” Daveth stammered, completely inadequate at hiding his own fascination with the mysterious woman. Perhaps he, too, picked up on Lady Cousland’s eager gaze.

The mysterious woman smirked. “Well, now. Tis a proper greeting indeed, so _civil_ for the  _Wilds_. You may call me Morrigan.”

“And what of these idiots? What shall they call you?” Lady Cousland asked, her eyes not leaving Morrigan even to blink.

Morrigan hummed in amusement. “Something polite,” she played along.

Lady Cousland turned her head with a glare that suspected immaturity. “I hope you heard that, _Chest-Seeker,”_ she told Daveth flatly.

“We shouldn’t trust her,” Alistair told the Cousland girl. He was trying to cover up that slight twinge of jealousy inside of him, the one that said a woman like her should be so stricken by the sight of  _him_ , not some woman. But a part of him also wondered if magic was at work, or demon-dabbling; were all of them so suddenly in lust?

“I agree,” Jory chimed in. “I've heard tales of witches in these parts."

“She looks Chasind, or worse. She won't be alone," Alistair predicted

“Oh! You fear barbarians will  _swoop_ down upon you, do you?” Morrigan taunted with a flap of her arms.

“Yes.” Alistair glared at her. _“Swooping_  is  _bad_.”

Lady Cousland went stiff for a moment, then her head turned in choppy notches toward Alistair. She looked at him in great wonder; the kindest expression she’d given him since they’d met. Her head returned facing forward. “Swooping… _swooping_ … _swoo-ping_.” she was trying to mimic him. She looked back at him quizzically.

He couldn’t believe this. _This_ is what interested her about him? “Swooping,” he offered, stepping forward until he was at her side.

“…swooping…swoo- _ping_ …. _swoo_ -ping…” Lady Cousland practiced next to him; he resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Listen,  _Morrigan,_ ” he said. “We need those Grey Warden documents in that chest. I’m assuming that's the correct chest, anyway, since there are no others around.”

“I don’t know about that,” Daveth said, his voice drawling, “there seems to be more than one chest around here.”

“Oh, Maker!” Alistair muttered. This was absolutely ridiculous. “Just give us the documents,” he told Morrigan.

“I will not,” Morrigan told him.

“What? Those documents are Grey Warden property! I demand that you hand them over, you….sneaky…witch-thief!” even he was aware of how ludicrous that sounded.

“How very eloquent,” Morrigan mocked. “Twas not I who removed them, so tis not I who can hand them over.”

“May I ask who did remove them?”

“Oh, welcome back,” Alistair told Lady Cousland, his voice thick with satire. She gave the side of his leg a sharp kick without flinching a muscle in her face; Alistair hissed at the pressure in his calf.

“My mother is in possession of the documents you seek,” Morrigan informed them.

“Will you take us to her?” Lady Cousland asked.

“You seem far more sensible than these men. I like you.” Morrigan gave a sly smile. Daveth scoffed behind Alistair.

“Yeah, right,” Alistair muttered. “I wouldn't believe her if I were you. First, it’s  _I like you -_ ” he said in falsetto, “and then,  _ZAP!_ Frog time.”

“I  _like_  frogs,” Lady Cousland replied to Alistair.

“Great.” he said flatly.

“If you are willing, Lady Morrigan, please take us to your mother?” Lady Cousland requested gently.

“As you wish. Follow me.” Morrigan walked by them and wound around the side of the crumbled remains of the old Grey Warden fort.

“Are you sure it’s safe to follow her?” Alistair asked Lady Cousland, walking beside her anyway.

“Oh, yes. If all else fails, we shall just  _swoop_  down upon her!” She raised her arms like Morrigan had, mimicking Alistair's  _swoop_  well.

“I’m almost positive you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” he teased, sounding more judgmental than he actually felt.

“You are testing many waters, boy.”

“Well, that’s hardly fair, now, is it? You never even gave me fair warning.” He actually surprised himself; the flirt just flew out of his mouth. He hadn’t even planned that one.

Following this Morrigan character led them deeper into the swamp. Gloomy, muddy, mossy, slosh with little dry land to step on. Jory and Daveth were behind Alistair quietly twittering the possibilities of Morrigan really being a witch, and what she might do to them, even going as far as Lady Cousland knew which was why she was being nice, to gain them favor.

Alistair looked at Lady Cousland to check her reaction, but she appeared to be paying no attention to the other recruits. He glanced up at Morrigan, then back at the noble at his side. “So,” he said.

“Yes?” She sighed when he hesitated.

“ _Do_ you want to…. _swoop_  down on her?” He dreaded the pain he predicted would immediately follow his tease.

Lady Cousland reached over and shoved him, and he almost fell into the swamp water. He couldn’t help laughing, though, waving his arms to regain balance. She, however, had stronger resolve.

“Not even a smile for that one?” He chuckled. “And here I thought that was pretty good.”

“Quite a personal question to ask a Lady, don’t you agree?”

“I don’t believe for a second that you’re offended.” He huffed out one last laugh. “You curse up storms like pirates caught…pirating.”

Her eyes shifted his way.

“The witch did say I have eloquence,” he joked.

“Please stop talking,” she requested distantly. “I have already insisted I do not wish to be your friend.”

“You really should re-think that. In a few hours, you may be stuck with me for the rest of your life.”

“It’s really not polite to throw around threats when your opponent subsides.”

He laughed at the irony. “I clearly recall you threatening me earlier. You said you would conveniently forget whose side you were supposed to be on.” He was enjoying the banter, though.

“That was before I saved your hides a few times over.”

“Right. I really pressured you to do that. How old are you?” He changed the subject.

She sighed. “I am serious. I do not wish to talk at all. Least of all to a boy who’s toying with chance because he feels threatened by the presence of a woman, of all things.”

“Are – are you accusing me of being jealous? Of her?” He gave a nod toward Morrigan.

“I am. Now please desist your tongue.”

“All right, fine. Just know that I can quite charming when I really want to be. I’ll get you to talk, eventually.”

“I will kill you first.”

“I’m pretty sure you would have already. You were fairly upset with me, earlier.”

She turned her head to glare at him, and he held his hands up. “I’m shutting up!” He agreed. He walked in silence with her for the next few moments.

He didn’t like the looks of the area Morrigan led them to. A wooden shack leaning upon a wooden high-rise construct that seemed to be simultaneously supporting an old, broken stone windmill. The land past the shack seemed to be more elevated than the rest of the swamp, looked dry enough. But ultimately they were still surrounded by the swamp water. Completely cut off from anyone else.

“If ever there was a witch-y place, this is it,” Alistair said.

Lady Cousland shook her head. “It’s missing a bonfire, a large cauldron and thirteen naked gypsies adorned in a hundred beaded necklaces dancing to drums played by sculpted men in chains,” she said without a blink of hesitation, as if she knew exactly what a witch-y place ought to look like.

He smirked, musing stronger in his head than he allowed his face to show. She could be cold at times, but also quite funny. He was slowly leaning toward favoring her, instead of his initial impatience with her attitude. “When we get back to camp, you have got to tell me how you know this.”

“Not a chance. It’s something you’d have to see to understand, and I doubt the Revered Mothers will let me gather the women on site to get naked and dance with.” She was nearly too witty for him to handle.

“I think you should try anyway.” He smirked harder when she side-glanced him again.

An old woman exited the crooked cottage door.

“We have visitors, mother,” Morrigan announced.

“I can see that, girl!” The old woman snapped.

Lady Cousland tensed up beside Alistair, he felt her aura instantly grow cold. Her eyebrows reached towards the sky.

“So, this stranger comes to my home and disapproves of how I talk to my own daughter?” The old lady cackled.

Lady Cousland frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, I do.”

Alistair was curious to see if she would actually do anything to this old woman; curious, and a little afraid, given how mysterious Morrigan already was.

“They are Grey Wardens, mother,” Morrigan interceded.

“Ah. Then you’re looking for your documents. I was wondering how long it would take you to show up.”

“Wait,” Alistair cut off Lady Cousland as soon as she opened her mouth, expecting her to resist. He took a step forward. “You were expecting us to come for them? Why?”

“You need these Treaties.” The old lady let out a laugh. “Grey Wardens are the only ones who can stop a Blight, yes?”

“So why take them if you knew we needed them?” Alistair asked.

She laughed again. “Would you rather I left them there? That place was overrun by Darkspawn! I daresay they wouldn’t have survived in a Darkspawn camp for very long. If the Blight remains unchecked because these Treaties got destroyed, that doesn’t help me any.”

“You –  Oh. You protected them?”

“Of course I did! I have no interest in dying, either! Morrigan, fetch the papers for these Grey Wardens.”

“ _Please_.”

Everyone stared at Lady Cousland. Alistair had never imagined such a kind word could ever sound so cruel and empty.

“Don’t make her mad! She might be a witch, too!” Daveth hissed.

“Witches do not bother me.” Tesslyn stared hard without blinking. “My blades are sharper and my reflexes quicker than any spell. What irritates me is that, on top of everything else I’ve had to deal with this past month, including the idiots I’m forced to be here with -”

She was clearly talking directly to the old woman…about Alistair, not just about the recruits. He felt a pang. He’d thought they were making progress as a team. She really only thought he was an idiot?

“- now I’ve got this old hag who stole important documents and treats the single helpful person I’ve come across, ostensibly her daughter, like a three-sovereign elvhen slave boy sold merely for his pretty face and taut rump.” She glared hard at the old woman, her jaw and lips tight.

Alistair genuinely didn’t know how he should intervene. Duncan wouldn’t approve of Lady Cousland acting like this at all.

The moody noble lady shifted her gaze to Morrigan, who was frozen at the door with her hand on the knob; apparently nobody had ever dared to talk to her mother like Lady Cousland just had. “If it’s no trouble, Lady Morrigan, I ask you to please retrieve the documents we seek.” The gentleness in her voice shocked Alistair. This Lady could change her demeanor from menacing to tender in the blink of an eye. She had quite a bit of control inside of her, and was used to getting her way, it appeared.

The old woman scoffed when Morrigan uncertainly agreed to Lady Cousland’s favor and disappeared inside the shack. Neither the old woman or Lady Cousland seemed to be intimidated by the other.

“Er,” Alistair sought something quick to say, to try to divert the tension. “Who are you, exactly? Besides Morrigan’s mother?”

“I go by many names,” the old woman answered him. Despite Lady Cousland’s best attempt to unravel her, the old woman’s voice and posture remained steady. “I have been called Child-Stealer, Witch of the Wilds, Flemeth -”

“Asha-bellanar,” Lady Cousland continued for her, still glaring. “The Demon Goddess, the Dragon Witch, the Shape-shifter. Even more of a reason not to trust you.”

“Someone has been keeping up with her studies,” Flemeth mused.

“Don’t toy with me, demon.” She was practically on fire.

Flemeth only laughed, though. “And how would you know if you were being toyed with at all?”

“Wait.  _The_  Flemeth? From the stories?” Alistair tried to ignore his moody recruit.

Flemeth laughed. “That depends on which story you want to believe.”

He, too, laughed. “This?” He gestured to Flemeth and glanced at Lady Cousland. “This is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?” He mused.

“Well! I’m glad  _one_ of us is in a good mood!” Flemeth was just as sarcastic as Lady Cousland, though. “You keep sour company, boy.”

“I -” Alistair didn’t know how to respond to that without disrespecting Lady Cousland, which didn’t seem wise considering her skill with any sort of blade. He looked at his female recruit hesitantly.

Lady Cousland rolled her eyes at him and unfolded her arms. “I am  _so_  sick of  _everyone_!” she muttered. “Collect your documents yourself.” She ripped her pouches from Alistair’s belt.

“Ow! Hey!” he softly protested under the sharp tug she’d given. He watched her step away. “Are you really leaving?”

“Does it look like I’m still there?” she snapped.

Morrigan looked at Lady Cousland in disbelief. She scoffed and threw up her arms. “Truly! After such fuss, she walks away?" She scoffed. "Is it worth it to speak to her, I wondered. Apparently Grey Wardens are no better than villagers!"

Alistair groaned as Flemeth retoted. His charge wander from sight once again.


	3. The Joining and the Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tesslyn Cousland survives her Joining. Alistair finds himself having to talk her out of suicide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: self-harming/suicidal intentions.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> The Joining and Tess on the edge: [ Shatter Me, by Lindsey Stirling ft Lizzy Hale](https://youtu.be/49tpIMDy9BE)

The old woman had Morrigan lead the men out of the swamp. By the time Alistair, Jory, and Daveth returned to camp, the sun had rested. The grounds sparkled here and there with light from torches and campfires, and the rising moons allowed for prominent shadows from the old trees that greeted them just inside the gates.

Lady Cousland stood with Duncan at the bonfire near their tents. Alistair wanted to make a crude comment about her repeated departures and antagonizing behavior in the Wilds, but the expression on her face shut his mouth. She had returned to that melancholic, tortured-from-inside state again, the face she wore when they'd met.

Duncan ceased the conversation before Alistair caught any of it. “Glad to see you didn’t get lost this time, Alistair,” he teased.

“Hey!” Alistair laughed. “I've grown quite familiar with the Wilds, you know.”

Duncan smiled. "After losing your way how many times?" Alistair couldn't deny this; Duncan made him lead his first few times out in the Wilds, and Alistair had never been more turned around in his life. His mentor continued: “I hear you ran into trouble with the documents?” 

Alistair felt like he was being set up, again, just like Flemeth had done. He knew Duncan wasn’t intentional or sinister like the old woman, but again - how could he answer without disrespecting his charge? The only “trouble” had been caused by Lady Cousland. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. I happen to have a silver tongue, Duncan.” He quickly said.

“That’s not exactly the word I’d use,” Duncan chuckled, and Alistair laughed on purpose, however, amused. “But at any rate, I’m glad you returned successfully. Tesslyn?”

Lady Cousland lifted her head but not her eyes. Alistair didn’t know if he should feel sorry for her, or suspect she fished for attention.

“Are you sure you’re up for this tonight?” Duncan asked her.

“It should be tonight. Before I have time to change my mind. That won’t bode well for anyone here.”

“I agree,” said Jory. “Let’s get this over with.”

“He was talking to me!” she snapped at Jory, still glaring. “There are worse things in life than voluntarily leaving your pregnant wife at home where she is safe.”

“We all face some difficulty when we become Grey Wardens,” Duncan intervened kindly. “I assure you we all end up family before long.”

“We will see.” She lowered her eyes again. From the corner of his eyes, Alistair could see Duncan observe him watching Lady Cousland.

“Very well. Yes, if all of you are ready, follow Alistair. I’ll have the mages prepare the ritual,” Duncan informed them.

“Ah – Duncan! What do I do with the Treaties?” Alistair asked.

“Hold on to them for now. We don’t need them yet; hopefully at all. I know you’ll keep them safe.” Duncan collected the vials of Darkspawn blood from Jory and Daveth, then took his leave.

“All right, then.” Alistair looked at his three recruits. The overly-cautious warrior, the moody assassin, the eager rogue. Almost wishing he could trade in Lady Cousland for maybe a man, or anyone, really, who wasn’t constantly brooding with violent tendencies, he told Jory and Daveth to head up past the smith. He silently stopped Lady Cousland as she began to follow the men. She looked at Alistair as he watched the men walk out of earshot. Then he met her eyes. “Are you all right?” he asked. Alistair wanted this experience to turn out good.

The blood smear across her face had dried and was cracking, looking like she'd scratched half away. “I don’t see how my well-being is any concern of yours.”

“Of course it’s my concern, you’re  _my_  recruit,” he reminded her. “I’m in charge of you until Duncan assigns you to someone else. Do you need to talk?”

“I have repeatedly told you today -”

“Eventually, you will have to talk to someone,” he interrupted gently. “Might as well be now and get it off your chest.”

“That seems to be a reoccurring interest within our little party, tonight,” she said sourly.

“Hm. Yes, we are a highly devoted band of Chest-Seekers, aren’t we?” he joked. “But I’m serious.”

“As am I.”

“About what, exactly? You haven’t said a word aside from death threats and telling us to shut up.” Alistair watched as she dropped her gaze. “I’m old enough to know when something bothers someone. And contrary to popular belief, I’m actually quite knowledgeable. The only thing you’re hiding from me is the details. I am well aware you’re upset for a reason.  _I’d_  like to know  _what_. I’d _like_ to be your friend. And more importantly, I do  _not_ wish to be your  _enemy_. I’ve seen what you do to your enemies.” He sighed when his attempt at humor failed. “Very well. Let’s go.”

Her eyes remained glued to the ground as she kept pace with him. The silent walk was awkward, but thankfully not long. He glanced at her as they neared Jory and Daveth.

“Oh, look,” he made another attempt to coax a smile from her. “It’s where we first met!” he let his voice drip with affection.

She shot a glare that insisted she was not amused; Alistair couldn’t help a laugh. “I’m really not in the mood,” she said.

“You haven’t been in the mood since I met you,” he reminded her. “Is it  _me_  you don’t like?” he asked, suddenly very curious if he was her source of moodiness.

“It has nothing to do with you.”

“Really? That’s a first. Usually, when people threaten me, it’s because they genuinely don’t like me.”

“I am not so shallow,” she growled. Alistair raised an eyebrow at her. “But I know I have not shown any of that today. What I am going through is mine to deal with. I do not wish friends or advice.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll keep pestering you anyway.”

She winced at his words and veered off away from him, even standing near Daveth to do so.

Duncan walked up the ramp with the large Joining chalice. “Alistair, would you lead us, please?”

“Certainly,” Alistair agreed. He bowed his head and clasped his hands together. “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn.” He hesitated; from the corner of his eyes, he could see Lady Cousland staring at him. He _felt_ her gaze as if it were a spell placed on him. “And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day, we shall join you.”

He immediately sought her eyes when he lifted his head. He knew the look on her face. It was the look of one who quested the Chantry for comfort in prayer. As if understanding he could read her, she lowered her eyes and turned her head.

“Welcome to your Joining,” Duncan told the three recruits. “Since the creation of the very first Grey Warden, the Joining Ritual has been placed upon every individual entering the order. As Grey Wardens, we can hear and feel the Darkspawn because we take their very essence into our being. We take a part of their life force into us as our own, and in turn, we feel their presence and can glimpse of their plans -”

“Pregnancy.”

The four of them looked at Lady Cousland. She glanced around awkwardly.

“You’re describing pregnancy,” she said. Alistair and Daveth snickered. “I mean, I know it’s impossible to get pregnant by a cup, and men certainly can’t become so, but…that’s what it sounds like you’re…describing.” She looked uncomfortable. “Am I allowed to get drunk after this?” It was almost a plead.

Alistair exchanged a smirk with Duncan, only Alistair couldn’t hold in his laugh. “I will personally hunt down the strongest bottle in camp for you,” he promised with a chuckle.

“Wait, is that Darkspawn blood? Is that why you had us collect it?” Jory’s voice spiked on the verge of panic.

“I did all the work out there. You have no room to complain.” Lady Cousland’s suddenly face darkened. If she didn't like Alistair, she  _hated_ Jory.

“I am ready,” Daveth announced fearlessly. He took the chalice and drank of it before Duncan had time to finish the rest of the Joining speech. Duncan plucked the chalice, and with good caution: in a blink Daveth spasmed. Foam spilled from his mouth like water bubbling up through thick mud before his body dropped like a straw doll. His eyes clouded a sickly gray as spasms rolled him over, tiny veins black and extending toward grayed out pupils like demonic claws.

“I am sorry, Daveth,” Duncan spoke sympathetically. Alistair had to remind himself he had known the risks, but it was still unfortunate. Daveth would have made a fine Grey Warden and fun companion. “Jory.” Duncan turned toward the warrior.

Jory was stricken, now. He backed up against the pillar. “You can’t make me do this! There is no glory in this death!” He aimed his weapon at Duncan.

“Jory -” Alistair said warningly.

“There is no turning back,” Lady Cousland said as if reciting a grim prophecy. The look on her face suggested she was gladly accepting death, and the way she stared showed she didn’t understand how Jory wouldn’t want this. “There is no glory in retreat.”

“This is a sacrifice! A blood sacrifice! This isn’t a Joining, it’s murder!”

“There is a good chance you’ll survive it,” Alistair tried to encourage.

“In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance,” Lady Cousland spake just as implacably. “In Death, Sacrifice. Cowardice will do your wife and child no honor.”

Alistair shot her a glare to silence without speaking, but she wasn’t aware of him.

“I didn’t come here to die!” Jory insisted.

“Maybe that’s your problem! I _did_ come to die, but so far I have been more successful than two of you combined!” She took the goblet from Duncan and brought it to her face.

What was it with this batch of recruits so eager to Join before their turn?

She swallowed two gulps, wincing the whole time. Alistair snatched the chalice when she trembled. She paused to breathe, then her whole body cringed. She grabbed her head like the Archdemon itself screeched at her. Weakened knees failed her, almost not allowing time to brace herself before her face hit stone.

A moment later, she collapsed, and Alistair’s gut jumped again. Would this Joining claim all the recruits?

“She’s dead! You killed her!” Jory cried out.

Alistair knelt and turned her over. He felt hot breath on his arm before he could touch her neck to find a pulse. Relief in his sigh was more obvious than he wanted the others to hear, especially Duncan. “She’s alive,” he said. It shouldn’t surprise him _this_  woman survived, yet he was alleviated she wasn’t dead. He reached to move her hair from her face but stopped himself. _Wait, that was intimate, isn’t it?_  Yes, intimate, _and_ inappropriate, he told himself. Alistair withdrew his hand completely. “She’s breathing. She’ll awake, maybe in an hour or in the morning, but she lives, Jory,” he added, having to remind himself he was trying to reassure his recruit, not himself, of Lady Cousland’s survival.

Duncan retrieved the chalice from Alistair and held it out to the remaining recruit. “Jory, there is no turning back.”

“That’s exactly what she just said! So this is a ploy! Why do you do this?”

“Jory…” Duncan set the chalice on the stone podium. Alistair looked from the goblet to Duncan. Duncan was preparing to prevent Jory from leaving with the knowledge of the Joining.

“No! You ask too much!” Jory straightened his arms and gave a wide swing without much control, clearly just hoping he’d either manage a cut or scare Duncan off.

Before Alistair could even stand to intervene, Duncan stuck Jory with his dagger. “I am sorry, Jory,” Duncan muttered, twisting the blade to ensure an instant death.

Alistair stood as Duncan pulled his dagger out. Jory crumpled to the ground. “Are you all right, Duncan?” Alistair asked. He hadn’t seen his mentor need to stop a recruit before. It was obvious the act pained him. Regret was all over Duncan’s face.

“I am.” Duncan sighed. “It's a shame. We need numbers." He glanced at the dead recruits with a look reminiscent of the revered mother when Alistair had made messes. "I'll be back shortly. I’ll send some men to come for the bodies. Watch over your charge, Alistair.”

“Yes, Duncan, of course,” he promised with a nod. He watched Duncan walk away.

Alistair hated Joinings for this reason. Too much death. _Unnecessary_ death. He wondered how men could be so eager to become Wardens yet so terrified for the initiation; it seemed no different than the odds of being a soldier. These were his first recruits, too; granted he hadn’t actually recruited them, that was all Duncan’s doing. Alistair was to be in charge of them, though. They were to follow his lead, and he would train them, teach them about the different types of Darkspawn, what kind of weaponry Darkspawn favored, he was also supposed to help them practice with their blades.

He looked down at the sole survivor. She frowned and twitched in her sopor. Alistair was stuck with the moody, incommunicable one…and yet he was glad it was her who survived. She would be an effective Grey Warden. He had a feeling a better personality was hidden behind that wall of a mask she wore, at least he hoped she did. 

Jory was forming a puddle. Alistair crouched and picked up Lady Cousland, and moved her away from the dead bodies. Duncan returned just as Alistair sat against the wall. His senior instructed four others to take the bodies away, then he sat a distance from Alistair against the stone wall.

“She’s quite moody, you know,” Alistair said of Lady Cousland. He watched her continue to twitch in her sleep.

“Tesslyn has recently been through a great deal, Alistair. I will let her give you the details. Be patient with her. She seemed pleasant enough prior to our emergency leave,” Duncan told him.

“That’s her name? Tez-something?”

Duncan smiled in amusement. “Tesslyn. What have you been calling her?”

“I have been calling her _‘Hey!'”_

The smile widened. “You didn’t think to ask?”

“I’ve been afraid to. You obviously haven’t seen her with a blade when she’s angry.”

Duncan laughed.

“Speaking of which,” Alistair said, “I think you should join me at dawn to see the damage she caused. It's a mess of Darkspawn corpses out there.”

“Impressive, is she?”

“More like _scary_. Did you know she’s an assassin? That’s what Daveth called her anyway, and since he's in... _was_ in similar business, all the sneaking and such, I assume he knew what he was talking about.”

“I know what she is.” Duncan nodded. “I have not had the pleasure of seeing her skills firsthand, but I know _of_ her. I have been trying to recruit her for seven years; she is slippery. Her skill and…accomplishments are known amongst certain nobles across many parts of Thedas.”

“Accomplishments? Duncan, she  _slaughtered_  the Darkspawn,” he tried to convince the man.

“Good. As should all Grey Wardens.”

 _“By herself._  Which is another problem - she refused to stay with us and threatened me when I asked her to be patient with Jory and Daveth. She snuck off, used us as bait so she could ambush a group, then snuck off again. We found a camp which all the necks had been sliced open – don’t get me wrong, they were Darkspawn, they had it coming – and still no sign of her, mind you,” he realized he was babbling fast, “then we reach the old fortress and  _Maker’s Breath_! Duncan thought I was going to have to carry her body back! The Darkspawn had surrounded something and were beating on it, and I thought it was her! Then, all of a sudden, she’s _right next_ to me unfolding this bundle of sticks – it turned out to be a ridiculously clever bow, by the way, you should have her show it to you – and she bets me ten sovereigns she can kill one before they realize they’re not actually beating on her –  _don’t_ worry; I  _only_ accepted  _three_ sovereigns.”

Duncan chuckled.

“So she does, she shoots two, in fact,” Alistair continued, “right through the head. Then she runs up ahead of us and _massacres_ the lot. I’m not joking. She cut one completely in half, carved up the others like a roast – she’s  _very fond of stabbing_.”

Duncan laughed again. “Are you terrified, Alistair, or in love?” He teased.

“Both!” he joked, unable to hold back a grin. “Even though I know it's unhealthy.”

He grinned at Alistair. “Did you pay her yet? The three sovereigns.”

“No, not yet. Seriously, you must see what she did. The damage should be evident even at daybreak.” He paused. “Did Darkspawn get her family?”

“I will let her be the one to tell you. She has asked me not to say anything after King Cailan gushed promises of vengeance.”

“Was she  _nice_  to Cailan? Is that why he gushed? Does he remember he’s married?”  _Maker's breath,_ _he hadn't meant to sound so jealous!_

Duncan laughed again. “Lovely women certainly make men behave funny, don’t they?”

“She is lovely,” Alistair agreed. “And deadly. Major points off for attitude, plus the ability to expose a man’s spine while he’s still alive.”

Duncan mused a moment. “Perhaps I will go see all this damage she’s done.”

“They may look worse in the morning. I suggest we eat  _after_.” Alistair thought about the Joining he had just witnessed, and the behaviors of each recruit. “Do you really think she came here to die?” She lay within arms-reach of him, joints still fidgeting.

“It is possible. Alas, she survives. She may awake disappointed.”

“Did she not want to come?”

“She didn’t seem against it, but circumstances may have changed her motivation.”

“I don’t think she  _can_ die,” Alistair pondered out loud. Duncan looked at him in wait. “I mean, one of the Darkspawn hit her in the face, and then she tore it to shreds. It’s like her body doesn’t know what it’s supposed to do when it gets hurt.”

“You think she’s immortal?”

Alistair huffed with a smile, realizing how silly he must sound. “No, I don’t suppose she is. She did pass out, after all.”

They sat in silence for a while. Alistair could hear the distant sounds of drunken soldiers. The breeze hummed around the stage and in between the trees and stone columns. The torches at the end of the walk were crackled and sparked, tiny wings glittering drunkenly in the glow. Magnificent shadows loomed on the rock pillars around as if the insects were really giants.

Alistair realized he hadn’t sat down all day. Just as he admitted to himself the moment’s stillness was peaceful and welcomed compared to the day's events, his body reminded him he was growing bored, and when he was bored, he fell asleep.

“If she doesn’t wake up soon,  _she’ll_  have to wake  _me_  up.”

“So do something to keep occupied. Clean your blade or your shield.”

Alistair shook his head. “No need. I honestly didn’t use them much,” he said all too casually.

Duncan smirked.

“Is this why there aren’t many women in the order? Because if we had, say, five of  _her_ , there would be no  _need_  for anyone else?” he guessed.

Duncan laughed. “A good enough reason to recruit as many men as possible, no?”

Lady Cousland – Tesslyn – cringed and gave a feeble cry. Alistair perked up and moved to her side. “It’s all right,” he said tenderly, more relieved by her waking than he thought he should be. She may be moody, but she was already a good Grey Warden. And one surviving recruit was better than none. Lady Cousland groaned and tried to push herself up on wobbling elbows.

“It is done.” Duncan stood to join them.

“What happened?” she mumbled. She pressed on her forehead with her palm, wincing beneath her hand.

“You survived your Joining,” Alistair told her.

“Welcome to the Grey Wardens,” Duncan said.

“I’m – what?” she looked at Alistair like she had trouble focusing.

“Yes, the idiots are dead, but you survived. Rum, wine, or ale?” he offered. Duncan immediately scolded him. “What? She asked to get drunk after.” Alistair helped Tesslyn to her feet.

Duncan sighed out a reluctant approval, and asked, “How do you feel?”

“Like I poisoned myself.” She gave a strong silent wince.

"You sort of did," Alistair told her. 

Dizzy eyes tried to focus as she looked around. "Where’s my dog?”

“He is in the kennels with the other mabari. I didn’t think it wise for him to see you partake in the ritual, just in case,” Duncan said. His face still held a twinge of regret from the two failed Joinings.

Tesslyn tried to walk, but Alistair had to catch her again. “Po,” she called out weakly. She seemed unaware Alistair held her up.

“Alistair, take her back to the tents,” Duncan instructed. “I will see you both in the morning. Things will get better, Tesslyn, in time. We are here for you.”

The wobbly new Warden ignored her senior. “Po!” she forced her voice to carry out.

A yelp sounded a distance off, followed by a man’s cry of surprise. A moment later, a mabari ran up the stone ramp. It halted in front of Tesslyn and cocked its head at her. It let out a whine of inquiry.

“Oh, Po!” she sank down and embraced the hound. She buried her face in its coat as a sob shook her shoulders.

“I will make sure your fires are stoked,” Duncan said, looking upon Tesslyn and the dog in sympathy.

“Thank you, Duncan,” Alistair said as Duncan took his leave. Alistair knelt, and the dog growled a warning. “Calm down, pooch. I’m here to help,” he assured the war dog.

The dog whined and cocked its head again as if asking  _what’s wrong with her?_

“There’s nothing wrong with her,” he answered. “Well, aside from the Taint. But I have it too. That’s what makes us Grey Wardens. It gives us an edge to defeat the Darkspawn. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

The dog barked in agreement.

“Good. Now, er, Tesslyn, right? Let me walk you over to camp, all right? You can hide out in your tent with your mabari, and I’ll go procure a bottle of wine for you.”

After a moment, Tesslyn finally sat back. She seemed ashamed, perhaps, to look at him in such sadness. She indeed looked sad. Tears in two streams glistened down her cheeks like quartz and fluorspar, stealing their hue from the moonlight to the left and the blazing torches ahead. As beautiful as her tears reflected, it was their very echo of light that accented her sorrow.

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out like you were hoping,” he condoled.

She raised her eyes to make contact, although timidly. He could tell the effort was forced. “It’s not so bad. I can promise you that.” He held out his hand. “Come on. Let’s at least get you to your tent.” She wiped one palm across her cheeks, and the other hand grasped his. He kept his arm firm while he pulled her up. “Are you hungry? I was famished after my Joining. For weeks, actually.”

“No.”

“Really? Maybe it’s different for women. Did you have any dreams?” With her arm in his, he led her down the stone ramp.

“…the dragon…” Her eyes darted.

“Yes, that’s the Archdemon. Well, that’s the form it's taking. Whether it’s really a dragon, who knows? Personally, the dreams frighten me. I wake up sweating,” he admitted. He noticed she kept her head pointed toward the ground, so he quit talking and simply guided her in silence to their camp area.

“So…” he said as he released her arm in front of the tent he’d had to set up for her prior to her arrival. “Wine? Ale? We had some rum floating around here somewhere.”

“Brandy,” she murmured.

“I…Okay. I’ll see what I can do.” Only one person he knew of on-site had brandy – King Cailan. Alistair really didn’t want to speak to him, but he would attempt to for this strange and saddened Lady.

Lucky for him, Cailan was returning to his tent when Alistair approached. Two heavily armed royal guards were with him as well.

“King Cailan,” Alistair greeted with sarcastic joy.

“Oh. It’s you,” Cailan replied dully.

“Stand back,” one guard said.

“I’m sorry, but this is important Grey Warden business,” Alistair told them.

“Then where is Duncan?” It was no secret Cailan wasn’t his friend, despite the rumors Cailan thought he was a fine Grey Warden.

“It’s not about Duncan, this is about Lady Cousland.”

This got Cailan’s attention. “Oh?” the King asked in sincere interest.

“Very nice.” Alistair frowned, not amused. “She’s had a rough day and wants brandy. You’re the only one I know of who has any here, so I thought…I don’t know…I might be able to buy a bottle from you?” he requested.

“You can tell her she’s more than welcome to share a drink in my tent,” Cailan answered.

Alistair laughed emptily, and Cailan did a double-take. “She just mutilated a whole pack of Darkspawn because  _one_ of them knocked her in the head. And you want that woman in your tent?” he was too amused to stop laughing. “What if you accidentally…” he shrugged, “I don’t know, don’t fill her glass as full as she’d like? Or talk too much? She doesn’t seem to like talking!” The notion irked him, but he couldn’t help enjoying the idea of her maiming Cailan all the same. “I can’t imagine Fereldan would like to wake up to find her king  _headless_  tomorrow.” He caught a glimpse of a woman walking sluggishly alongside a mabari. He knew exactly who it was. “Hey! I told you to stay still! You need to –  _oh!_ Why do I even bother?” he huffed.

Cailan peered over, reeking of curiosity. “Is that her?”

 _“Yes,_ but you _can’t have_ her, Cailan. She’s a Grey Warden now, not just some nobody-servant-girl.  _And_  she just woke up from her Joining; she’s a little disoriented. She’s supposed to be resting.” Alistair really didn’t like the idea of Cailan so interested in his charge.

“She’s disoriented and you want to get her _drunk?_ How is that any better than me sharing a drink with her in my tent?” Cailan countered.

“Er…one, you’re married, I’m not. Two, I don’t plan on bedding her. According to Duncan, she’s just experienced some tragedy at home -”

“Ah, yes. Arl Howe’s men killed her family, all but her brother, I hear. Teyrn Cousland was supposed to meet me this morning but never showed.” Cailan watched Tesslyn walk away with her mabari.

“Arl Howe killed her family?” Alistair echoed, watching beside Cailan.

“Hm? Yes. Duncan was there. He said it was an ambush. Howe’s men were delayed until after her brother Fergus left with the whole of the Highever army. The attack was in the middle of the night.”

“Maker…” Alistair muttered.

“Yes, she may have a bottle. Only her.” Cailan vanished into his gigantic royal tent and reappeared with a bottle of clear dark liquid. “Maple brandy,” he said.

“How much?” Alistair accepted the bottle.

“It’s for her. She’s of noble blood, practically royalty. For her, it’s free.”

“Thanks for rubbing that in,” Alistair said wryly.

Cailan actually laughed. “Share the bottle with her, Alistair! Where are your spirits?”

“Always so funny, Your Majesty.” He gave a lazy bow to Cailan then spun on his heels to fetch Tesslyn and her dog.

Tesslyn had disappeared, though; this was obviously her forte. Much of the old fortress was blackened with night shadows, too. This was going to be a fun hunt. He turned left near a bonfire the king’s men had set up, and he scanned the dark.

It was a short walk before he found her. He actually thought he was looking at a painting at first. Silhouettes of a slender person sitting next to a dog, the bluish sky blackened beyond the figures, the full moon shining upon them, and nothing else but blackness around them. The only clue that what he was seeing wasn’t still art was that twice as he watched, the human figure scooted closer to the edge, and the twice the dog imitated the motion the same as she. Loyal mabari, even to death.

“I wonder,” Alistair said, walking up to her and her dog, “does he understand if he follows you off, he’ll be dead, too?” He sat down on the other side of her, forcing himself to ignore the sense of dread that instantly loomed over him. He was terrified of heights, yet here he was, his feet dangling over a broken ledge with nothing but air between him and the ground so very far away.

“Please leave me.”

“That’s not happening. I shouldn’t have left you a moment ago.” He held up the bottle so she could see it, and he placed it on her lap. She caught it before it had the chance to slide down her legs. “A gift from the King. Maple brandy, he says it is.”

“He’s a pompous numbskull.”

Alistair laughed. “I do agree.” He paused. “ _Why_ do you want to jump?”

“It’s not your life. It’s no concern of yours.”

“You’re my charge,” he reminded her.

“You’re not responsible for my death, only my life.”

“That is…morbid.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “King Cailan said Arl Howe killed your family?” he sought validation.

She stared ahead at nothing, and he could feel the somber aire she was radiating grow stronger. “Po woke us up. He wouldn’t stop growling at the door. We were still naked.”

He studied her as she spoke. She looked like those incoherent from trauma, like soldiers who come back wounded after seeing Darkspawn for the first time, or having to put a friend out of his misery. Like someone lost and doubting reality.

“Dairren opened the door to see what was wrong, and…they shot him. Right in his heart…” She swayed a bit. “Po gave me just enough time to grab a dagger. I barely had enough time to put on my small-clothes before two more men came in. Mother said father was missing. Before we left the manor to find him, we checked on my brother’s wife and son. Oriana was first-term expecting and …Oren was only six.” Her bottom lip quavered and her eyes sparkled with tears in the moonlight. “I’d promised to teach him to fight while my brother was gone…” She took a shaky breath and her hands fumbled at the head of the bottle.

Alistair silently took the bottle from her and yanked the cork out, and then placed it back in her trembling hands.

“Thank you.” The bottle shook with her hands as she brought it to her lip. Then she let out a sob that sent a pin through Alistair’s heart. “Duncan made me leave!” She didn’t bother hiding her sadness anymore. “I wanted to stay! He wouldn’t help me take Father with us! I  _don’t_  want to  _be_  here!” she choked out her cry.

“Would it really have been better to stay behind and die?” he asked, his heart disquieted for her pain.

“Better to die than live with the memories of seeing everyone I loved slaughtered!” she wept and sniffed and took another drink, then wiped a stray dribble from the corner of her mouth. “Do you believe in the Maker?”

“I do.”

“Do you think He allows these things to happen as punishment? Is this what killers deserve?”

“Do you mean, do I think the Maker would let innocent people die to punish  _one_  person?” He had a feeling where she was going with her question, considering she was an assassin. “No, I don’t. But I think He can use your clever evasion of death to your advantage.”

“Evasion?” She looked at him.

He shrugged. “Perhaps He made it so you were  _able_  to evade. I believe so, anyway. I mean, look what you did to the Darkspawn. I personally believe you are impossible to kill. I believe killing is man’s choice, not the Maker’s. But if you’ve grown above man’s choices, why wouldn’t the Maker use your cleverness?”

“For what?”

“Well…” he stalled, not a clue how to answer though he wanted to be supportive. “You’re a Grey Warden now. Maybe you survived so you could….save the world? Maybe you’re supposed to survive long enough to do something spectacular?” he threw out ideas.

“Then wouldn’t He take my pain away if He wanted me to do something great?”

Alistair cocked his head while he thought about this. “If you weren’t able to mourn, though, would it really make you strong enough to  _do_  something great?” He looked at her.

She hesitated, and her eyes drifted away pensively. “But is it really worth allowing an innocent child to be butchered for? My unarmed father? My mother? My nan and all the servants?…Ser Gilmore?” she whispered. “The only people I care for…”

“I honestly don’t know the Maker’s intentions,” he told her, shaking his head. He was quiet for a moment. “Do you prefer I call you Tesslyn, or My Lady?” he asked.

She frowned deeply, though in pain, not anger. “Why do you want to be my friend so?” Alistair had never spoken with a person so broken inside.

“Why shouldn’t we be? We’re both Grey Wardens, we’re in the same unit, and Grey Wardens aren’t very social outside of each other. The Taint is…it makes it difficult to have a normal life. I mean, we eat and drink and gossip, you know, and all that, but to each other.”

“Wonderful.” She took another drink.

“So.” He watched her. “Tesslyn, then?”

“I suppose.” She took another drink.

“Do you still want to jump?”

“Yes.”

He peeked over the edge. “How long do you think it will take us till we hit those rocks down there?”

“We?” she echoed in disbelief.

“You, me and it seems your mabari will go, too.” He dared to peer over again.

“Why would you jump to your death with a stranger?”

“I can’t exactly go back to Duncan and say I let my only surviving charge plummet to her death, can I?” He frowned. “It’s a _long_ way down. Probably long enough to ponder  _why_  we jumped in the first place, and  _how much longer till it’s over?”_

“Are you trying to scare me?”

“No, I’m just thinking out loud,” he spoke genuinely. “I honestly think you would have jumped by now if you were serious.”

He looked at her when she didn’t respond. She had stopped crying though her cheeks still reflected wet silver. She stared at him.

“I have been praying so hard lately.”

“What have you been praying for?” he asked her.

“For my life to mean more than what it is. For my home life to mean more than waking up every day just to curtsy and follow practice. To do something  _good_. To right my wrongs. To be able to have a life I can look back on when I’m old and gray and be  _proud_  of.”

Alistair only searched her eyes for a moment. “So let’s make it, Grey Warden Tesslyn.”

He could physically feel an aura of hopefulness settle in around them. “ _How?”_ she whispered.

“For starters, let's sit back a bit. I’m a little afraid of heights.  _Don’t tell_ anyone, that’s a huge secret,” he tried to make her smile; ineffective. “Secondly, let's finish that bottle. Is it any good? I half expect Cailan’s drink to be made of petunias, or…sunshine, or something. Rainbows, maybe.”

This brought a smile from her; rather, the corners of her mouth turned up so slightly.

“I’m glad someone agrees with me,” he laughed softly. He sat back until he was about his own height away from the edge. “Come on. I know a good, empty spot where you can still see the moons but  _not_  the ground _._ ” He held his hands down to her.

She tarried only a moment. Then she scooted backwards until she could securely rest her feet, and when she held out her hands Alistair pulled her up. Her eyes flickered to his, then she looked at the bottle as she put in his hands. “It tastes like maple sugar gone bad.”

He laughed a little. “So we’re getting drunk on riddled cake syrup? Do you feel anything yet?”

She paused. “I feel like he’s going to receive an empty bottle in the morning.”

He laughed again. “We’d best get started, then.” He looked into green orbs for a moment. He had known there was a lighter presence inside her. He did like this girl, and she seemed to need a quality he possessed; a significant first, in his life. “So, before we take another step, could we maybe start over?” he suggested.

“Start over?” she repeated.

“Yes. Er,  _hello_ , nice to meet you, I’m Alistair,” he told her.

She searched his eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alistair,” she said softly. Her eyes darted as she hesitated, then met his again. “My family calls me Tess.”

He smiled just for her. “I am thrilled to meet you, Tess. Now, let’s get as drunk as we can off this girlish rainbow juice!”

He'd let her drink most of it. Right now, she was asleep, her mabari curled up around her head as a sort of pillow. Alistair himself propped up against storage bags of dried elfroot; he could smell it through the burlap. Now, he simply watched her sleep.

She still hadn’t smiled much, but she’d indulged him in a couple tales. She was indeed an assassin, for noble families with the Empress of Orlais as one of her more trusted clients, though she added she'd tried to retire before Duncan recruited her. She liked to travel, alone, but she hated not being able to take hot baths. She loved to read and she loved water, and the minstrels of Orlais played her favorite music. Alistair had shared a few of his own stories, like how he had been so bored in the Chantry as a boy he’d scream just to stir things up and see the Brothers or fully-armored Templars come running. He’d told her he fancied runes - the more mysterious the better, and of his fascination over the tiny stones as conduits of magic, how he’d lost his collection when he’d been conscripted into the Grey Wardens. He’d told her how much he loved fine cheese and one day he would go to Orlais to sample their best selection. 

But now, she slept. She was at peace for the moment. It was quite a different perspective to see her in. The woman he’d met in daylight had been far from at peace with anything in her life apart from killing and death. He had never met someone who’d wanted to end their life, before. He was surprised at his ability to talk her out of such desire. He was even more surprised to find a friend in the one the place he did not expect it.


	4. The Best Last Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan chats with Alistair about where babies come from. Alistair and new Warden Tesslyn Cousland waste the day bonding before preparing to battle the Darkspawn. King Cailan says his goodbyes to them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music:  
> [It's Time, by Imagine Dragons ](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=sENM2wA_FTg)  
> [I Miss the Misery, by Halestorm](https://youtu.be/YpJAmlnBxoA)  
> [Innocence, by Halestorm](https://youtu.be/_CRNN5fiEwI)

“Alistair,” a familiar voice said as something jolted his foot. Alistair cracked open one eye. It was Duncan, and the sky past the overlook was grayish-blue. A hint of gold blared off in the distance. “Come up, boy.” Duncan grabbed his arms and hoisted Alistair to his feet.

Alistair yawned and braced the column for support. He groaned as he forced his eyes to adjust to the early morning light. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. You wanted me to see the damage she did? We should get to it before the day requires duties.”

Alistair rubbed his eyes, then looked down at Tesslyn. She was curled up around her dog like a half-circle. The mabari looked up at Alistair and cocked his head. “Stay, boy,” he muttered sleepily to the dog. “Don’t wake her. I’ll be back soon.” This seemed to satisfy the hound, for he returned his head to his paws.

Alistair followed Duncan, still half in a daze, back to their proper camp area. They armed themselves, and Alistair swallowed half a skin of mead to hurry along his waking.

“So after spending all night with her what do you think of Tesslyn now?” Duncan asked as the gates closed behind them.

The land around them was still, save for a few birds twittering from tree to tree. It felt too quiet, and far too early for someone to ask if he had had a girl. “I didn't… _have_  her,” Alistair said defensively.

“I know, Alistair. I saw you, for a time. I just wonder what your opinion is now after you’ve convinced her you’re hers?”

“What? I didn’t – I didn’t say I was hers. Did I? Was I drunker than I thought?” He honestly wondered.

Duncan softly laughed. “You did tell you would help her make her life meaningful.”

“I was talking about as a Grey Warden. I – you were that close? You were  _spying_  on us?” he laughed.

“I was concerned, that’s all. I wanted to be nearby just in case she tried to jump,” he said. “On that note, well done, Alistair.”

He glanced at the old man again.

“You did a mighty thing with her. You faced your brother, even, to help her.”

“And then I helped drink his rainbow-flavored brandy,” Alistair said. “He actually told me to bring her to his tent. Can you believe that? He’s a slob. A slob who likes flower drinks.”

Duncan laughed. “She doesn’t think too much of him, either. She called him a fool when he met us at the gates. As I recall, she said  _she doesn't trust a fool who's proud his armor reflects the sun._ ”

Alistair grinned. “She can be quite amusing. Actually, even when she was cold, she was funny. You were right. I just needed patience.” They came upon the wolves Alistair and the recruits encountered the eve prior. Alistair pointed east toward the time-worn tower. “She did these wolves, but the scary, impressive Darkspawn kills are over there.” He and Duncan walked down the hill and turned toward the rising sun. “I think I’m good for her. And likewise. I think I can trust her. She doesn’t seem to give two figs about me other than my sitting with her last night…which may prove helpful if she ever finds out about me. She seems to need a friend.”

“A friend who trusts you in her darkest hour can mean a potent bond, Alistair. I considered sending her off to Stroud in the Free Marches after the battle, but seeing how you handled her last night, she will remain your charge.”

“I appreciate that. She is sort of growing on me, I guess. There’s something…something…about her. I don’t know what. I think she’s hiding a lot more stuff. I’m pretty sure there’s more to her than the assassin thing. But there is something she has that most people here don’t. Aside from really strong emotions. I’m not sure anyone can top her on that, actually. She is intense. I literally felt her hope when she changed her mind. It was nice to know I can do some good in this world. Good to know I don’t annoy the living daylights out of everyone I meet.”

“As long as you hold the wedding before my Calling, I’ll remain supportive.”

Alistair laughed while Duncan smirked. “Right! Every man wants to marry a ruthless assassin. Wait,  _Daveth_  did, actually. Daveth proposed to her.” This made Duncan laugh. “I wonder what Cailan would think if I married her?”Alistair grinned in spite.

“No matter how much pleasure it will give you to hold something out of your brother’s reach, marrying an assassin out of  _spite_  isn’t something I advise,” chuckled his senior. Despite such talk, Alistair was joking. He hoped Duncan was joking, too.

A strong whiff of early decay caught them as the breeze changed. “Ugh. We are definitely close.” Alistair didn't need to see bodies to be confident. Darkspawn rot smelled different than untainted rot. It had none of the rancid-sweet scents that healthy flesh had, as unappetizing as it sounded in his head. It didn’t take as long to climb up the hill as Alistair remembered. “Oh, and look. Still untouched. Not even maggots like them. You don’t suppose that’s an insult to Darkspawn, do you?”

Duncan looked around without speaking.

“See?” Alistair said after he turned on halfway over with his boot. “She stuck it twice -” he demonstrated in the air what Tesslyn had done, “like she’d carved a hundred that way already.”

“Did she do this?” Duncan stood over the one cut in two.

“Of course. She nearly got Daveth, too. He had to jump clear back. And look! This one hit her in the face. She was like a hurricane on it, then she shoved her dagger in its mouth and kicked it through. This one started her massacre, actually.” He looked around and spotted something far too clever to belong to Darkspawn. “Her bow!” He picked up the clever puzzle-bow, wondering if she even knew she had forgotten it. So much had happened so quickly yesterday. “I don’t know anyone who can kill like she does.”

“It is curious, isn’t it?” Duncan said. “And effective. Let’s hope the Darkspawn get the message.”

“Yes! I’ve got an irritated depressed assassin at my call! Beware, Messere Archdemon!” Alistair gave a pretense evil laugh, and Duncan's mouth stretched.

“Whatever your brother gave you obviously wasn’t strong enough.”

Alistair grinned. “It wasn’t bad, really,” he admitted. “I let her have most of it. She needed the break from her thoughts.” He was unsure about the look Duncan gave him, though.

“I’m not by any means trying to discourage you, Alistair,” he told the lad. “But don’t rush yourself with her. Take your time with this.”

“I…what are you talking about? Are you still on about marriage, Duncan?”

“I truly hope marriage isn’t the first thing to come to your mind already when you think of her.” He started to leave, and Alistair followed.

“It’s not. I’m…I admit I’m a  _bit_  infatuated,  _sure_ , but mostly with her skills. I have never even  _heard_  of a woman like her before. But I honestly hadn’t considered… _romance_  yet.” Was he really having this talk? With the closest thing he’d ever had to a father?

“She is a woman, Alistair. Women are pure emotion -”

“I do agree with that,” he interrupted with a nod.

Duncan continued, “- and if you keep coming to the rescue when she’s compromised, talking to her as you have been, she will fall in love with you. I’d rather take my final leave knowing you won’t do anything rash as soon as I’m gone.” He paused and turned to Alistair. “The Chantry  _did_  teach you where babies come from, I hope?”

“Duncan!” he laughed, embarrassed.

 _“Alistair_.”

“Yes. Yes, they did. Actually, I learned that shortly after I started my Templar studies. They tried to scare us all into never touching the mages. But considering how many babies are not-so-secretly born in the Circle, you can tell how well  _that_  worked.”

“And just where do babies come from, Alistair?” he tested.

Alistair sighed and rolled his eyes. “When a Mommy Grey Warden and a Daddy Grey Warden decide they’ll love each other until the next Blight, a giant griffon shimmering with the blessings of the Maker descends from the heavens, carrying a new baby Grey Warden swaddled in robes stitched of victory, vigilance, and sacrifice,” he entertained Duncan.

Duncan paused. “I sincerely hope you don’t believe that but I admit it's very clever and I will consider adding it to the Order’s archives.”

Alistair laughed. “Duncan, are we really having this conversation?”

“Just a precaution, Alistair. You’re both fresh enough into the order, you may soon sprout little ones if you move too fast.” They walked down the hill where Tesslyn had used Alistair and the men as bait. “Do not take off your clothes for her, Alistair. Not for a year.”

“Sweet Andraste!” he muttered with a mortified laugh. He could feel his cheeks burning.

“Somebody has to warn you, Alistair, since your father never got to.”

“Apparently he never told Cailan, either. Unlike Cailan,  _I_ grew up in the Chantry. They keep everyone’s small-clothes on with a lock and key, and tell you if you so much as reach down there to scratch, the Maker will strike you down with lightning. I  _know_  how babies are made. I’m not trying to make any.”

“Good. I’m glad we had this talk.”

Alistair choked on a laugh. “Right. Yes. Thank you.” The rest of the walk back was performed in awkward silence.

Tesslyn and her hound were standing at the bonfire near the tents neither of them made it to last night. The moment she caught his gaze, Alistair felt his cheeks and ears flush in embarrassment. She looked at him, then Duncan, then Alistair again and thrust a green-tinted bottle at his chest. “Er…good morning,” he told her.

“You raided the stocks already, have you?” Duncan smiled.

“No, I snuck into Cailan’s tent. That’s cherry rum, this is blackberry wine. You were right about him being fruity,” she said, her eyes on Alistair.

Alistair huffed, bewildered and amused. “You snuck into the king’s tent to steal his drink?”

“Of course not! I woke him up and asked him!…if a bit…aggressively.”

“Was that smart?” Duncan looked guilty for finding humor in it all.

“My family has always been involved with Cailan’s. We always had dinner in Denerim for Maric’s birthday, until he died, anyway. Cailan’s just a push-over. Family never gets away without sharing.” She paused.

“Family?” Alistair reiterated.

“Rowan was my mother’s cousin,” she quickly explained, “so Cailan is my second cousin. My point is, we’re family, it’s alright for me to boss him around…and I  _did_  say  _please_.”

“Is he going to come after  _me_  for this?” Alistair asked.

“He can’t even protect his own tent from invasion. How is he going to figure out how to go after someone?”

“Please try to keep all royal agitations to a minimum, Tesslyn?” Duncan requested.

“I promise nothing. The boy irks me.” She gasped and snatched her bow from Alistair.

“Oh, yes. It was still out there. I thought you might miss it after…I don’t know, the King annoys you again,” Alistair joked.

“Thank you.” She ran her fingers along the locked-in puzzle of wood. “I can’t believe I forgot it…”

“Yesterday was a busy day,” he recalled.

“Is there somewhere I can hunt?” She asked.

“There is no need. We have cooks. Some of the Wardens enjoy cooking for us all,” Duncan told her.

“I do my own cooking.” She paused. “I’m not trying to be rude, but I’ve grown used to assuming someone will try to poison me in return one day.”

“I doubt any Warden here is that good with poison,” Alistair guessed.

“There is  _now_.”

“I’ll try not to annoy you anymore, then,” he laughed a little.

“Try  _not_ to poison anyone.” Duncan smirked.

“All right, yes! Let’s go hunting. I know where to find some birds.” Alistair agreed enthusiastically.

“Alistair -” Duncan began.

“Could  _you_  say no to a woman who chops Darkspawn in half?” He couldn’t hide his amusement.

“Very well,” Duncan sighed. “Don’t let Alistair get lost, and don’t take too long. We go to battle tonight.”

Both of them watched Duncan walk out of earshot before looking at each other again. “How are you feeling?” Alistair asked her.

“How are  _you_  feeling? You look like a cooked crab.”

He laughed, a little shy again. “It’s nothing. He was teasing me, is all.” He ducked his head in another laugh. “Maker! Am I that red? Ah,” he sighed. He rubbed his face, then dared to meet her eyes.

“It makes your freckles and your hair stand out more. Sort of makes your eyes look like hot coals, too.”

“So it’s  _obvious_  I’m a flaming mess? Lovely.” He chuckled though. Alistair opened the bottle and took a drink, excessive strength and sweetness pinching his face. “What about you?”

“I’m…different.”

“Different?” he echoed.

Clear green eyes darted. “Not…not any less hurt, but…I’m not on the edge, anymore.” She finally met his gaze as if she, too, had to dare herself.

He knew right then talking her off the ledge last night would keep them joined for quite a while. Inside, he sighed.  _Duncan pretty much said the same thing out in the Wilds a bit ago, hadn’t he?_   _Something about last night bonding them._  Alistair supposed this was his team, then; just him and her.

“Last night you weren’t hungry. How hungry are you now?” He changed the subject.

“I am  _famished_! I’m so hungry I can’t see straight! Are all of you hungry?” she didn’t miss a beat.

He laughed. “Absolutely! We're all starving! I’m afraid I’m not too good with a bow, I prefer to smash things with my shield. But I can show you where to hunt. I’ll even help you clean it.”

“That sounds perfect.” She winced a little.

She told her mabari to stay, then she allowed Alistair to lead her to the bridge. But they almost walked right into Teyrn Loghain and King Cailan. Tesslyn immediately frowned at Loghain.

 _“Why_  is  _he_  here?” she demanded of Cailan, pointing at the Teyrn.

“He’s my general,” Cailan informed her, looking quizzed.

“Mind how you speak to your King, girl,” Loghain ordered her.

Alistair did not like Loghain’s reaction to Tesslyn. Pupils around silvery blue eyes widened at Tesslyn. She riled something within the Teyrn.

“He was my cousin before he ever became king,  _Ser Career Underling. Why_ are you _here?_ Worried the clumsy king will slip up, step on his shadow?” She snarled at Loghain. “Or are you here for _me?_ It’s been almost eight years, Loghain. Does your bed miss me? Or have you gotten a new bed?”

Alistair and Cailan shared a glance of wide-eyed intrigue.

“You two, er, have some catching up to do, I take it?” Cailan asked.

“She is an  _assassin_ , Your Majesty. It’s her  _job_  to employ deceit,” Loghain spoke cool and calm, eyes narrowed in the disguise of suspicion. Alistair spent his life reading body language and eyes; trying to survive childhood.  _He_ recognized the signs of Loghain's adrenaline spiking, pupils widening and a twitch of his eyes. But by all other appearances, Loghain was a general trying to protect his king. The man was clever. Alistair did not care for for the Teyrn so much anymore.

“You know all about my employ, don't you?” Tesslyn never blinked as she stared back.

“How do  _you_  know she’s an assassin unless you've hired her? Isn't that sort of job  _need-to-know?”_  Alistair challenged.

“Must we all argue on the eve of battle?” Cailan asked the three of them.

“It’s  _not 'eve’_ , Cailan, it’s the bloody morning!” Tesslyn snapped, clearly thinking herself better than him. “If you don’t want conflict, maybe you shouldn’t entrust your troops to a self-ambitious pig! Did he ever tell you why Anora was suddenly the only available noble when your father died? Especially when  _I_  was a better physical match for a king!” She gave a quick gesture to her own face and body. “Do  _not_  trust him, Cailan! He will  _betray_  you just as he betrayed Maric! _And_ me!”

“What are you -”

She cut Cailan off with by slapping his face.

“Hey!” the King cried out.

“That is for willful ignorance! Your father would be ashamed!” In a blink, she turned to Loghain and punched him square in the face. “And if I even glimpse of you again, I will cut off your head and you can  _suck_ your  _own_  wanker for once!” She pushed past the king and his general before either had time to react. Alistair hurried after her to evade punishment.

“Jory was right. You  _do_  have the mouth of a pirate. Did that really happen?” he asked.

“Loghain is a tart.”

“No, I mean – a tiny woman just slapped the King and punched his general, and she was allowed to just...walk away!” He laughed, partly in humor, partly in amazement, and in part fear of what might happen to _him_ for allowing it. She looked at him sheepishly, but the corner of her mouth stretched. “I wish I had a painting of that!” He glanced back; Cailan and Loghain were walking away. It was a miracle no guards came after the two Wardens. “I’m not going to ask about the  _bed_  thing, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. He’s always rubbed me the wrong way, even though he commands his army well. But what did you mean about Anora was the only one available?”

She closed her eyes as she craned her neck a bit, her jaw just as tense.

“If it’s that bad to recall -”

“No, it’s…” she sighed. “Loghain had me get rid of all the other girls. One of them, I shared a birthday with. We had matching dresses every holiday,” she said with a grimace.

“Why?  _Why_  would you do it?”

“I was fourteen. I wasn’t exactly  _smart_. He  _promised_  me I wouldn’t have to marry Cailan. Cailan is just...I can’t get over his... _everything._ His lack of appreciation for literature, his inability to think when a pair of breasts enters his line of sight. I'm _sure_ he stared at my _ass_ just now; he _does_ that.”

He laughed. “The one noble pirate in all Fereldan. You’re how old?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Twenty-three and not married, with a gem of a mouth like that?” He teased. Then he remembered their talk last night. “Oh, wait. Was that Darren – no, Dairren. Was he your husband?” He sighed, disappointed with himself. “I’m sorry. I ruined the moment.”

She hesitated, a cock of her head tense and choppy. “N-no. Dairren wasn’t my husband…”

“I’m so sorry,” he gushed. “What are you hungry for?” he changed the subject.

“Griffon. But apparently our ancient Grey Warden ancestors  _ate_  all those.”

He giggled. “What do you suppose those taste like?”

“Like a really muscular turkey who can run really, really fast and also roar. Like a turkey-lion. A turkey-cat…?”

He grinned. “A tat? Or a cakey.” She let slip a giggle, but clamped a hand over her mouth. Alistair laughed.

“Stop it!” she scolded. “Ladies aren’t supposed to giggle at ridiculousness!”

“Maybe,” he teased, “but Grey Wardens can.  _I_  giggle.  _Y_ _our_  ridiculousness makes me giggle, in fact.” She shot him a sideways glare, and his grin stretched with another giggle.

“They’re  _giant_  turkey-cats, yes?” she verified after a pause. “So it’d be a 'girkat.'” she pronounced it  _jerk it._

He laughed again. “Giturts?”

She failed to hide her smile. “Turts,” she echoed. Both of them a mess of giggles, Alistair glanced back to make sure no one spied his girlish sounds.

“What do you suppose you and I could end this Blight with our manly giggles?” He joked.

“This Archdemon doesn’t stand a change against you.” She stopped walking and lost her smile.

“What’s wrong?” He searched her face, stopping his feet to wait for her.

She met his eyes. “I just… _thank_  you.”

Alistair knew what she meant. Laughter, being carefree,  _companionship_  despite the odds. He watched her for a moment. “You’re welcome. I’m glad to have you.”

She nodded unevenly. “I’m getting delirious.” She walked again. “I just used the T-word.”

He laughed. “How dreadful! Shame on me for taking advantage of a Lady in dire hunger!” he played.

“If you don’t watch it, I’ll stab you.” She tried not to smile.

“In the back, right? Isn’t that how assassins do it?”

“You mean, do we do it from behind? No, not touching that with you yet.”

 _“Oh-ho-ho!”_  He was a little embarrassed she’d turned his flirt around on him.

“I won’t even bother sneaking up on you. I’ll do it while you’re drinking or something.”

“Ah! Good old poison?” His grin stretced.

 _“No!_  That’s a  _pathetic_  death for the man who slays Archdemons with giggles!”

“I quite agree!” he giggled again.

She looked up at him as he led her farther out of the compound. “I don’t know if this means much to you, but I like you better than Cailan.”

_Could she know?_

_No, she couldn’t. No one knew, and she was way too young to remember if she ever did. Right?_

“Considering you have no fear of slapping him  _while_  he’s the king, I think I appreciate that.” Alistair stopped to scope the landscape and the sun. He pointed to a patch of fog still hovering by the yellow apple trees at the edge of the forest. “Turkeys should still be out. No, wait.” He looked down at her. “Turts.” 

She pursed her lips in an attempt not to smile and walked swiftly past him. He chuckled and caught up to her. When she halted again, Alistair turned to see her watching the horizon. 

Tess stood in the sunrise, reflecting the orange glow like a living statue of gold.  


“Do you ever have moments like this?” she asked.

“Like what?”

“Death and fire and broken hearts, little bodies. Chaos. What seems like proof that the Maker indeed left. And then there are places like this – green, flowers, songs in the wind…laughter. The sun giving life to everything…making it seem like maybe  _this_  is where the Maker lives? He never left, he’s just… _here,"_ she contemplated. 

“I’ve never quite thought of it that way,” he admitted.

“I wish I wasn’t born a noble,” she said. “I’d much rather spend my life as a bird, or even a tree. No drama, no lies, no worries.”

“You might not appreciate that view if you’d always been a bird, though, or a tree.” He stood next to her. “It is beautiful though, isn’t it?”

“It’s hard to believe the Taint has killed most of this mere paces away.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a lovely tree.” He tried to cheer her up again. She looked up at him in doubt. “Can you  _sing_  well enough to be a bird? I rather see you  _bashing_  people with your  _huge tree claws_.” She rolled her eyes and walked on, and he followed her with a laugh. “Stomping them, too. That would be a sight. Don’t you agree?”

“And what? You’ll be the fluffy little bunny that burrows under my roots?” she suggested.

“ _With_  an extra fluffy tail, mind you,” he joked. She settled for a smirk. Alistair nudged her with his elbow. “I  _like_  it when you smile. You really should do it more often,” he requested.

“I think I used to.”

“You think?”

“My brother can make me laugh.”

“Fergus, right? I met him, before he headed out. He seems like a good man. Oh! Look!” He stopped her and pointed. “Turkeys!” he whispered. A pack silhouetted between fog and sunlight a few trees in.

She sighed. “The Maker must hear my stomach!”

“That’s a lot of turkeys to answer with. Maybe he  _does_  live here? Maybe we should be whispering, then. And I don’t think it’s safe to ask for any more griffons when He gives you a  _dozen_  turkeys instead of only one. If we’re not careful, we’ll be responsible for a sudden griffon infestation. I don’t think we have a remedy for that these days,” he whispered enthusiastically. She laughed with no noise and shaking shoulders, and he giggled with her.

He followed her to a shaded, crooked niche in a cluster of trees. She dug in one of her belt sacks and pulled out two sticks. “How hungry are the three of you?”

He crouched at her side with a grin. “The three of us are famished!” he whispered back. She flipped the ends of the two sticks together so they made a single long one, and it snapped into place. She pulled on the sharp end and a slim stick came out, revealing feathers on the opposite end. It was arrow. “Do you make  _everything?”_  he asked, taking it without asking like an over-curious child. He turned it in his hands. More like a dart, very sharp at the tip. The feathers were narrow and black, and they shimmered with deep purple and green in even faint light.

“Yes, I do make everything. You have successfully discovered my true identity. I am the Maker,” she breathed.

He grinned at the first thing that came to his mind. “So you have a  _Bride?_  I  _thought_  you were a little too interested in that sneaky Morrigan witch. Does she look like Andraste?” he teased. He absolutely loved her banter. He’d wished she’d been like this yesterday.

She snatched her arrow back with a glare that didn’t conceal her amusement. “If ever I had any doubt you were really a man, this moment completely diminished it.”

“You were awfully interested in her. And also nice to her.”

“Are you asking to watch me kiss a woman sometime?” She readied the arrow but didn’t challenge the string.

“Oh, boy!” he laughed softly. “Let’s not – all right. I grew up in the Chantry, okay?”

She grinned. “I know. Chantry boys are pretty obvious.”

“Are  _all_  women this evil?” He grinned, though.

“Only the ones who didn’t grow up in the Chantry.”

Her head twitched when she tried to aim, causing her to pass a slight wince with closed eyes. Alistair lost his smile. Something else was wrong with her. She had been twitching more often. She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, clear to him she was wary of his reaction, but Alistair didn’t question her yet. Maybe hunger? He wanted to think it was something simple.

She took a deep breath and aimed again. She didn’t shoot though. Her eyes almost did not shift. Alistair looked over to see why she stalled. The turkeys still there, oblivious to the Wardens as far as Alistair could tell.

WIld game goose-stepping around each other reminded Alistair of Cailan and Loghain, which reminded him of Tesslyn’s reaction to them both. The giggle escaped before he could muffle himself. “ _It’s not eve,_ she tells him,  _i_ _t’s the bloody morning!”_  he hissed. He hung his head between his knees and pressed his arm to his mouth to try to quell his giggling. Suppressing it only made his shoulders shake though.

 _“Oh, balls!_ ” Tesslyn muttered. Alistair bit down on his lips and peeked at her. She was laughing too. She clamped her hand over her mouth and completely turned away from him, as if the sight of him in such a childish fit distracted her, but this only made him laugh deeper.

There they sat, two mighty Grey Wardens, both very dangerous in their own ways, both consumed by a paralyzing tuft of girlish laughter.

It took a good while for both of them to calm down. He tried breathing with his head between his knees, like he’d learned from the Templars to ease panic attacks. Tess leaned back against the tree, filling breaths occasionally interrupted by another giggle.

“And to think, I’m not even drunk,” he giggled again.

“If you don’t stop it, I’m going to eat you for breakfast.”

He winced with a harder laugh. “Ohhh! My mind went somewhere horrible!” he groaned out another giggle, hiding his face in his arm when his collar proved too small.

“Duncan!” she gasped. “I need a new mentor! These three are starving me!”

“Just shoot the damn bird!” he laughed. He sat up with a heavy exhale, but only laughed at the sight of her flushed and spent from titters.

“Ow!” she winced, grabbing her side, still giggling. She tried to breathe again. “Damn you, Chantry boy!” she whispered.

“No matter what you say, we’re not giving you up. You are  _our_  charge,” he teased, surprised he could speak so clear.

“The three of you are rotten.” She met his eyes. Through their grinning and waning giggles, Alistair felt his chest swell a little. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed this hard with someone, not like this anyway. This pretty thing with emeralds for eyes had a tongue as sharp as daggers, a wit to match his own and a smile that made everything around him perfect.

 _Maker…_ Duncan had been right to suspect his attachment.

Tess stared back at him as her chest fell back into a rhythmic rise and fall. Her head twitched again, along with her elbows. She closed her eyes with a crease of her brow and looked ashamed. Her head turned toward the fowl, who patiently waited for her to strike.

Just like that, the fun was over. “What is that?” he asked quietly, searching her face. She shook her head. She sat up and opened her eyes.

Tess sat up and opened her eyes. “It’s n-nothing.” She took another deep breath and readied her clever bow and matching arrow again. Alistair watched her stare down her arrow; it flew from her with a muffled twang as her first two fingers opened behind her ear. He didn’t need to follow the arrow to know it struck a turkey.

She glanced at him as she stood. “I don’t want to talk about it,” shame rang through her voice.

“I know you don’t.” He stood, and towered her by about a head. Alistair was very aware of their proximity. He could feel the limits of her breath at his collar. It tingled his skin.  _Dammit, Duncan was right._  “But I am here anyway, for whenever you decide you do want to talk about it.”

“Ser, you starting to become an evil.”

“But a  _cute_  evil,” he flirted, nodding. 

“Maker, help me!” she breathed, stepping over exposed roots to get away from him. He chuckled, hopping over the wooden knots tangled around him.

“I thought you said you  _are_  the Maker?” he teased.

“Sometimes I talk to myself. It’s a therapeutic habit.”

He laughed. “Have I told you, yet, how you’re the only one keeps up with my jokes?”

“I’m the Maker, remember? I know how to respond to you.”

“Right!” he giggled. “Because you made me, of course!” He grinned. “Hey! Nice shot!” he said as the stepped up to her kill. He crouched at the dead bird. Right through the neck. He glanced at her as she bent over. She gave a jerk on the arrow and a gush of blood bubbled out behind it.

“Have you ever cleaned a bird?”

“Says the Noble Lady to the Grey Warden,” he played, picking up the dead fowl by a foot as he stood.

“Oh-ho-ho!” she laughed on purpose, though the smile reached her eyes. He grinned again.

“I  _have_ , actually. I don’t like to let it on very often, but I happen to be quite adept at surviving outside.” Part of him wanted to tell her how he’d learned to make do with what he had around him as a kid in the Redcliffe stables.

She started to speak, but apparently thought better of it and closed her mouth.

He cocked his head at her, curious. “And what were you about to say?” he prompted.

She shook her head. “Something derogatory toward Orleasians. Toward  _one_  Orleasian.” This was even more peculiar. Isolde was from Orlais; she was the one who had insisted he sleep in the stables, and as the Arl's wife, she was obeyed.

“Either you know something I haven’t told you yet, or you really are the Maker and you can read my mind.”

“You turned my comment about starving into something a wee bit sexual, back there. I’m not sure I want to be able to read your mind.”

He laughed softly, a little embarrassed again. “All right, you win this round.”

She giggled. “Oh, good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he giggled back. “But don’t expect this victory to last long. I’ll regain my honor soon enough, you’ll see.” She turned her head away in a laugh.

They cleaned the bird together, with the morning sun warming them from the side. Plucking the feathers was most time-consuming with the both of them doing this, but also fun. Every time either one of them gave a decent tug on a handful of feathers, the whole turkey slid away from the other. It turned into a game that didn’t allow them to accomplish a thing except smear blood all over the grass. Their meaningless game abruptly stopped when he brushed the tip of a feather under her nose. She pushed him, toppling him backwards in a roll, and then she sneezed six times.

“I’m sorry!” he laughed, regaining his balance.

She gave a funny snort that reminded him of a cat about to sneeze, and her head shook with a clench of her eyes. “Sure you are.” She did the funny cat-sneeze again, and he giggled harder.

“All right! All right! I’ll stop!” he said. “I suppose it’s best. This turt won’t skin itself.”

“You never know. There’s plenty of magic near-by.” She wiggled her nose again, and he couldn’t help but laugh at how adorable she was when she did that.

She used her other dagger to slice down what was left of the neck, and she gave a tug to loosen the bones.

“How old were you when you discovered you like to stab things?” he asked.

She stuck her arm inside heck hole, a crooked smile on her face. “Eleven, I think. Maybe ten? I just remember begging my father to let me train with the army. I don’t recall ever stabbing anything until I was twelve.”

“So, your father didn’t want you to become a soldier, but he thought  _assassin_ was a better career for his  _daughter_?” he teased.

Her grin full stretched. Her arm twisted inside the bird. “He said if I _absolutely_ had to train, then it would be close-range, for defense. Actually, my brother convinced him of that. And what is the best sort of close-range training?”

“Rogues. Assassins.”

“Here, I have something for you.” She pulled her hand out and closed her fist. She kept a straight face, and took his hand. “This is very delicate. I don’t trust anyone else with it. Keep it safe. Please don’t break it.” A slimy thing dropped into his hand, and she released him.

It was the bird’s heart. _A heart._ Alistair laughed. “Don’t break your heart. Got it.” He met her eyes, and held the heart up by the torn tubes. “It’s a little small, isn’t it?”

“I never said it was friendly, or a compassionate heart.” She smirked. “It’s been a little neglected.”

“ _Oh_ , this is  _true_  symbolism we’re talking about then,” he smiled wider.

She fought a grin, a smirk pursing her mouth to the side. “If you don’t want my heart, then give it back.”

“No way!” he giggled.

“That’s hardly fair, is it?”

“I have a better one for you.” He took her arm and balanced the heart on her forearm. She giggled with squinched eyes.

“Heart on my sleeve. Hilarious.”

“Yes, you should be more careful who you bear this to. At this rate, everyone will see it just sitting there.”

“Learn all this in the Chantry, did you?” Her eyes sparkled above flushed cheeks.

“As a matter of fact, I’m improvising.” Alistair looked at the tiny heart in his hand. “I rather enjoy teasing you.” He dug his nail into the tough flesh and pressed.

“Did you just – did you just _stab my heart?_ With your _thumb?”_ She played shocked and offended. He grinned with a glance and her.

“Not only a job for assassins anymore,” he flirted.  _Openly_ flirting now, _Maker help him._  

“You are just as dark and frightening as I am.” 

Still grinning, he said, “I have to be, to stay in step with you. I’m afraid to get ahead of you, because my back will be exposed and I like my spine where it is, thank you -”

Her smile was almost shy.

“- and every time I let  _you_  get ahead, you disappear and I can’t find you for an hour.” He tore the heart apart with his thumbs, curious what it looked like inside. He ripped it completely apart and let it lay in his palm. For such a small heart, the four sections were thick. The granular chambers always reminded him of tiny fish eggs. Thick blood binding flesh about to crumble; all he'd need to do is press.

Tess shifting tore his attention. Alistair realized how strange he must look playing with this fresh heart in his hand. As soon as he looked up, she scoffed, pretending he'd offended again. “You’re _crushing_ my heart. In your _hand.”_ She met his eyes. “Didn’t I specifically ask you _not_ to do that?” If not for the smile threatening the corner of her lips, she'd be a great actress.

“You asked me not to _break_ it, actually.” He smirked back. “So what does it feel like? Does it hurt?”

“The Chantry. I blame the _Chantry_ for this sadistic side of you.”

He laughed. “Does it?”

“Does _what_ hurt? You stabbing my poor delicate heart in your hand and then _smashing_ it like you’re trying to make jelly?”

His grin stretched as far as his lips would go. “Does it hurt to know the man who crushed your heart is still holding it?”

“ _Ooooh_!” she breathed, narrowed eyes dancing with laughter that voiced itself a moment later.

He laughed again. “My Lady, you have the _best_ reactions I have ever had the pleasure of antagonizing.”

“Er, thank you, I think,” she said, her brows and eyes reflecting amusement and concern.

“Let me ask you something. You’re a mighty warrior who’s not afraid of blood, right?”

She looked up in confusion, glanced down at her bloody hands, then met his eyes.

“Good!” He exclaimed without waiting for her to answer. “Hold still.” He leaned over and held her chin between the thumb and forefinger sharing his hand with the heart.

“What are you doing?” She frowned, darting her eyes like it would let her see.

“Just hold still.” He smudged the thick blood of the heart on his other forefinger, and put his fingertip to her left cheek. He dabbed the blood to make a single circle, then re-coated his fingertip.

“Are you putting  _dots_ on my face?” she asked. Her breath was hot against his wrist.

He giggled. “Only a couple.” He drew what resembled two headless stick-people, re-wetting his finger as needed. “I’m replacing your warpaint from yesterday. It will be cute.”

“Listen here,  _Ser_  -”

Alistair laughed hard.

“Warpaint is not meant to be  _cute_. Cute doesn’t win wars.”

“But giggling does,” he teased. He swirled his finger in the bloody heart again, then finished with a tiny triangle for each “head”. “There.” He released her chin and sat back.

Her eyes strained to try to see it. “What is it?”

“A unicorn dancing under a rainbow,” Alistair said. She glared, and he laughed loudly. “It’s the Tevinter rune symbol for Spirit. Well, Lightning, actually. But when not used as a weapon source or enhancement, it can translate to Spirit. It’s sort of a two-way meaning. Lighting does considerable damage, especially to mana, which is why it’s considered a dual-power. It’s said the  _spirit_  of a mage gives him his mana. Lighting is also debilitating and burns and leaves nasty scars. When it’s used for Spirit, it represents the Lighting from the other side, from its starting path. It’s determined and strong and reaches its targets with such passion that it brings out the light from  _within_  the target. Sometimes it's considered a bringer of light in dark times, though brief. It doesn’t take more than a moment of light to let a person know they’re about to walk off a cliff, does it?” Alistair paused, realizing he accidentally personalized the tale to Tess.

“Why did you choose this one for me?”

“I think you have a lot of Spirit. You are an unstoppable force in battle. You stand up for things that matter to you, like with that witch-lady. And you have endured so much in the short time I’ve known you. Yesterday, you couldn’t see a friend in any of us, and now this morning, you’ve laughed quite a bit. You’re very brave. I admire you for all these things." Alistair gently turn her face to double-check the rune.

“I couldn’t stop myself from trying to jump. That wasn’t me.” She shoo her head.

“Of course it was. You agreed not to jump when you left the edge with me. You _didn’t have_ to agree, but you did anyway.” A moment of silence passed, Tess searching for an answer to an unspoken question. Alistair wet his finger in blood again and dragged his finger down the center of her lips and chin. “ _Now_ you look ferocious.”

“Hm. You wouldn’t happen to have a mirror, would you?” Her hand closed over his and squished the bloody mess between their palms.

“I _do,_ actually. I use it to make sure my hair is in order every day. You know, I am still dying inside that a noble Lady said  _wanker_  in front of the king.”

Her eyes squeezed tight with a silent laugh that shook her shoulders, and he giggled with her. All of a sudden, her hand was in front of his face. Alistair closed his eyes just in time to feel the grainy, gooey heart squish to his face. It was on his eyelashes, even. He pinched his lashes between clean fingers and wiped the blood off, giggling when he met her eyes. “I’m even more handsome now, right?” he joked.

 _“Bloody_ sexy.”

His laugh came from his belly. “And here I thought the only bad jokes came from me!”

“I learned from a master. My brother has a ridiculous pun for everything.”

“One day, I hope to properly meet him. If he’s the master and he trained you, then he must be even more ridiculous.” He scooped out the rest of the innards and scooped up the gizzard, liver, and lungs. “Will your dog eat these?” he asked as he stood, holding the turkey by a leg in his other hand.

“Yes. He may try to suffocate you with his tongue in appreciation after, but yes, he will eat them.”

“Thank you for the warning.” He gestured with the dead turkey after she collected her daggers. “After you, my Lady.” But before he followed her, he bent to pick up a feather not bloodied. As soon as he fell in step beside her, and after she sheathed her daggers, Alistair shuffled the feather tip under chin.

 _“Maker!”_ she yelped, swatting his hand away. Alistair laughed so hard he stumbled, holding his gut.

“Blood on your face, but a _feather_ riles you! Oh, but I will remember this!” He grinned in satisfaction.

“You will not!” she managed through a laugh.

“No, of course not. Not on my life,” he giggled. He looked down at her, at the bloody mess they both were. “I have to admit, I never expected blood could be so much fun.”

She smiled back. A different smile than she’d given him all morning. Maybe it was on account of his surprise, but she looked carefree now. “It  _was_  fun… _is_ fun, I guess is right.”

Alistair was honestly glad to have her.

Duncan was waiting for them at the gates, looking a bit cross, even. Alistair’s smile immediately disappeared. Even Tesslyn’s face fell; the Mighty-She-Who-Slapped-the-King.

Duncan opened his mouth, but hesitated to observe the blood on their faces. Then, “Teyrn Loghain -” he began.

“Is lucky I didn’t I didn’t cut off his prick and feed it to him!” In that instant Tess roused, frowning, her pulse already quickening at her temple.

“Grey Wardens do not slap kings or generals, Tesslyn,” Duncan was firm, but kind.

“Cailan has  _never_  been king to me!” she said. This wasn’t a rant coming from her. This was recollection of the familiar. Alistair could tell by her eyes and the way she held herself, stiff, ready for attack. “The boy used to pull my hair and throw my dolls in the lake! He threw my favorite book in the fire! He would call me names and break things and tell Maric  _I_ did it! And it got worse when Loghain wanted that pinprick Anora on the throne!” She glared at Duncan. “And that  _son of a bitch_  Loghain! He used to pay me to kill people! I spent my teenage years honing my killing skills for his benefit! And  _then_ the shitbag would  _always -always! -_  add one more condition to my contracts – I bed him, or he exposes me in court, knowing it would destroy my entire family! He _flushed_ me so I wouldn’t get  _pregnant_!” she hissed violently. “I  _promise_ you, I will  _kill_  that man if I ever see him again! He will get us all killed! Convince that _dame_ of a king to get rid of him before all of Ostagar burns! _Loghain cannot be trusted!”_ She yanked the turkey from Alistair and called for her dog, then marched right back the way they came.

Duncan sighed. Alistair pointed after Tesslyn. “My charge. Got it!” He ran after her before Duncan could try to talk about what Tess just said.

“Hold on!” Alistair called. He took the turkey from her as he stepped in place at her side. Her faithful mabari kept pace on the other side of her. “There’s a spot down by the river,” Alistair said gently. But Tess fumed, silent and rigid. Her jaw and fists clenched, nostrils flaring. Without warning, she veered left, straight for the forest. Her dog adjusted to her sudden change in navigation as if he had predicted it, or maybe used to it. “Hey – Tess!” Alistair protested.

“I need a moment!” She snapped.

Alistair stood there and watched her disappear into the trees. “All right,” he told no one, _“I_ will go cook the bird.” He took five steps when a bird-rousing shriek curdled his blood and made the hair on the back of his neck stand. Alistair stood in a daze. Tess was a banshee, screeching with anger and desperation. He could hear the pain in her pitch, her frustration.

Alistair had felt like that before. Not as pained, but the desperation and frustration. Pushed around his whole life in every direction. Forced where he didn’t want to be, forced to train how others wanted. Not allowed any say, ordered to endure it. He supposed being a Grey Warden was like that for Tess. Finding out Loghain was here with her after her family died, no place left to escape him.

Alistair felt stuck again, just like when he caught her on edge last night. Should he let her mourn and start the fire while he waited? Or should he go to her? And what good did going to her last night do if he ignored her now and she took to the knife?

Her screams didn’t stop. He heard heavy crashing; she was throwing things. Was it safe to go to her if she was throwing things?

Then the noises stopped. He looked toward the forest where she had entered. His gut pressured him to go to her, even knotting up high in his belly the longer he stood there. Alistair took a pair of steps toward the forest, and sighed in relief of the knot untangling. He called her name when he stepped into the mess of trees, but received no response. He trekked further in, still no Tess. Had she run? She must have.

Finally, he heard noise. Sobbing. He picked up his pace, weaving around trees until he found her. Kneeling, folded up, her face in the ground. Broken branches and a small broken trees lay scattered around her as if she had turned into a whirlwind. The despair in her cry brought his attention back to her, plucking at his heart. Alistair dropped the turkey and knelt next to her. Before he could convince himself it may not be the best idea, he took her by the shoulders and brought her up in to his arms. He cradled her head at his chest and just let her cry.

Her hound sniffed at the fresh turkey. “I wouldn’t eat that, pup,” Alistair whispered, “it’ll make you sick.”

Tesslyn pulled out of his hold. “He’s hungry,” she choked out. Alistair looked down at her. She took deep breaths and wiped her hands under her eyes. She tried to stand up, but he stopped her. He cupped her chin and turned her head, craning his neck to look at the rune he’d painted. It wasn’t that she wiped half of it away that got his attention. What caught his eye was now it looked like the symbol for Barrier. Protection. He supposed it wasn’t exact, but it was damn close. No other rune came so close, he knew this.

He released her face and shoulder. She gave a sniff. Her eyes were red and swollen from her tears. She needed him. He knew that already. And the rune he’d drawn somehow changed to _Protection?_ Was the Maker telling him he had a job to do?

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” she said, broken and ashamed. She wiped a fist across her right eye. “Sometimes I cry when I’m angry.”

“Do you want me to kill him?” the words were out of his mouth before he knew he’d been considering them. He meant Loghain, of course.

 _Maker!_ What if she said  _yes?_  Would he really execute Teyrn Loghain, general of the king’s army, for her?

The quiver in her bottom lip made up his mind: _Yes._ Yes, he would kill the man who’d hurt her.

She shook her head. _“I_ want to.” She blinked a few times. He let her stand up this time, and he nodded.

“Right.” Alistair stood. “I suppose we should cook this bird before your dog gets sick.” The mabari shied away from the fresh kill with a whine, and Alistair smiled. “Here. These you can have.” He scooped up the innards and held his hand out. Po gave a bark of thanks and wolfed down the flesh, licking Alistair’s hand clean. “Well done, pup.” He picked up the turkey with the hand Po licked.

“My father called me pup…” Tess trailed off. Alistair looked at her and held out his free hand. With stricken eyes that said she felt undeserving, she let him close his fingers around hers. “Why are you doing this?” She dripped sorrow.

“Because I want to. I enjoy your company.” He watched her as he led her out of the trees. “Why do you trust a man you just met?”

“That’s  _different_. You’ve been wonderful. I've…been cruel and miserable.”

“You have  _so_ been wonderful. I don’t giggle like that for just anyone,” he teased.

“If I had said yes, would you really killed him?” she meant Loghain.

“Yes. I don’t like that he what he did to you makes you feel so horrible even when he’s not around.” He was confident he would killed Loghain if she had asked. “Regardless who he did it to, you just don't do that to a woman." He was rising to the occasion. "What he did is beyond forgiveness." Alistair took a deep breath to calm his pulse. "When was the last time you saw him?”

“When Cailan married Anora.” She paused while her head gave another twitch. “No. I mean, it was at the wedding, but I didn’t stay long enough to see them become husband and wife. As soon as the Grand Cleric started speaking, Loghain nodded to me, and I left. I was in the front row next to Teagan in a gigantic dress, and I stood up and stormed out. I’m sure a rumor spread through the nobles after that. Everyone expected me to marry Cailan. Storming out must have looked like I was bitter because he chose someone else.”

“If he had insisted on you, would you be Queen right now?”

“Bloody void!” she scoffed in offense. He laughed. “Absolutely not! I would have slapped him in the Great Hall before all Fereldan!”

“He seemed a great deal interested in you last night.”

She paused again and gave a small sigh. “I was his first kiss. It was a month after Loghain…flushed me. Cailan ambushed me in the hall on in the shadows, and he kissed me. He asked me to run away with him.”

“So…he genuinely likes you? And you don’t like him at all? You realize you could still become Queen.”

“Do you _really_  want to address me as  _Your Majesty?_ ” She glared up at him.

“No, I suppose not,” he chuckled. “If he likes _you_ so much, why marry Anora? I mean, he had a choice. He was already King when he married her.”

“Have you seen them together?”

“No.”

“It’s kind of like…you and me, I guess.” Her hand twitched in his, and she started to withdraw. He kept her with him by locking their fingers, trying to show her the little things didn’t bother him.

“She’s maniacally violent and likes to giggle, and he’s willing to jump off cliffs and murder for her?” He flirted.

She smiled like she wasn’t sure she should be, and he grinned at her. “She’s nowhere  _near_  as fun as I am! The only knife she can hold is a table knife.”

“Some wife indeed,” he joked.

She mused. “She's knowledgeable in politics, and she knows books and the right people. Cailan makes her laugh. They are friends, I guess. That's what Cailan calls her. He’s been suspicious, the last few times I saw him…He knew when I was in Orlais. I got a letter from him.”

“And to get a letter from family while you’re away is strange because…?” he prompted.

“Because I was posing as a servant to the Empress at the time. Her personal handmaiden, at that.”

“ _Oh_ ,” he said, interested in this. “Do I get to hear this tale?”

“No.”

“I have a feeling you’re keeping all the good stories to yourself.”

“And for your own benefit. You won’t thank me if I told you.”

“And you’re so sure of that?” He untangled his fingers from hers near the edge of the river.

“Yes, because I’d also have to tell you  _why_  so you would understand why I’ve endured what I did.”

“Well, I am not going anywhere.” He hesitated. “Actually, yes I am, but I’ll be right back. We need kindling." He dropped the bird and left Tess there to retrace his steps back up the hill into the woods. He gathered an armful of dead branches and twigs, then hurried back.

“I have a question,” she said as soon he returned.

“Perfect! I’m not sure if I have any answers!” he joked.

“You said lightning is a symbol for Spirit because it affects a mage’s mana, and magic comes from a mage's spirit?”

“Yes, I did say that. That’s pretty much the gist of it.”

“So, hypothetically speaking -”

Alistair glanced up, already smiling.

“- if I swallowed enough lightning, would I become a mage?”she asked.

He froze, staring. The idea was incredibly absurd and absolutely brilliant. They both looked up at the sky.

Not a cloud in sight, though. “Do you happen to know any Lightning Dances? You know, like a rain dance, but for lightning,” she asked, still searching the sky.

“No. But I wish I did.” Alistair gathered rocks from the side of the river’s edge. “I’m not sure how it will work, but it sounds worth a try.” He placed the rocks into a circle on a more level part of the ground. “I wonder if you’d have to have to drink some lyrium for that to work?”

He wasn’t even looking at her and yet still aware her head give a noticeable jerk. From the corner of his eye, he saw her elbows and fingers clench at her sides. Before he could even turn his head, she immediately ticked again. She turned and began unbuckling her armor straps. Every movement was choppy and sharp, fingers fumbling like she couldn't keep a grip. She shrugged out of her vest, revealing her undershirt, followed by her sleeves. Alistair felt dirty for watching, but he was so surprised – and curious – that he couldn’t stop. It wasn’t until she started stripping away at her undergarments that he spoke up.

“I, er…what…are you doing?” he asked. He'd seen half-nude women before, but _wounded_ ones, bleeding injuries. Tess was a different case. The sight of her bare back was…enticing wasn’t a strong enough word. She pushed her underclothes down to her ankles, immediately followed by dropping her breechcloth. Alistair dared not move; simply the sight of her caused his groin to swell.

 _Sweet blood of Andraste!_ Just how powerful was this temptation if mere _sight_ aroused him?

“Going for a swim.” She dropped her breast band.

“You…do realize I’m right here?…Don’t you?” he asked as she unclasped her necklace. Oh, _Maker,_ she was stunning. Hips round and wide, drawing in as they closed near her waist. Plenty substance to cause dramatic shadows under her bottom. She looked plush, like she waited for caress, waited for his fingers to sink in.

“As much as I would n-” her neck twitched again “-normally love to tease a Chantry boy, I’ve got bigger prob-problems right now.” As she stepped down to the water’s edge, a twitch cringing her shoulders. He felt guilty for groping her with his eyes.

She fell into the river. Alistair jumped to his feet, but Tess surfaced with a loud gasp. He sighed and returned to the kindling, watching her swim upstream until she was out of sight. He wondered if the river’s chill helped with whatever made her twitch. Even gorgeous noble women had problems, it seemed.

It was easier to concentrate on _everything_ without her stripping in front of him, standing in naked glory. Alistair used his flint knife to start a fire, and took the turkey and her daggers down to the water. Almost as soon as he set the turkey on a spit over the fire, Duncan’s voice interrupted the quiet air:

“Where is she?”

Alistair looked up to see Duncan staring at the pile of clothes and armor on the ground, frowning and wary. Alistair gestured to the river. “She’s swimming.”

“She’s nude?” it was more of a statement, “In front of you?”

Alistair laughed in embarrassment. “And quite lovely, too.” Duncan sighed. “My clothes are still on, don’t worry. I think she’s trying to cool off, actually. I assume you heard her fuming a bit ago?”

“I figured that was her." He sighed. "The King has orders for you both when you’re ready,” Duncan relayed.

“What joy,” Alistair said without excitement. “I’m sure  _she’ll_  be thrilled. I am also sure she’ll kill Loghain if she sees him.”

“She will have to show restraint, Alistair. The Wardens cannot risk being exiled during a Blight,” Duncan enforced.

“I…I’ll talk to her. I guarantee though, she won’t be happy, Duncan. And clearly she doesn’t care about status. To say she told Cailan to piss off is an understatement.  _And_  I just had to  _console_  the woman. Do we really have to see them?”

“I understand your concern, Alistair. But we all need to cooperate if we have any chance to defeat the Darkspawn.”

“I  _will kill_  Loghain.”

They both looked over to find Tesslyn standing there. Gloriously naked, water dripping from her breasts. She was just as full in front as she was in back, and her breasts bounced when she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her wet skin sparkled in the eager sun. She was glorious indeed.

Duncan immediately spun around and hid his eyes, and Alistair giggled. “For the love of Andraste, Tesslyn!” Duncan muttered. Alistair laughed harder, staying crouched to turn the bird in case his bulge was bigger than he thought.

“I’m serious, Duncan. He is an evil far worse than any poison I can concoct. His own daughter becoming Queen immediately after Maric declared dead wasn’t suspicion enough?” she challenged.

Alistair caught the escalation in her voice. “Duncan, would you leave us? Please?” he requested. Tesslyn folded herself in front of the fire opposite Alistair, still gloriously nude.

“Gladly. Tesslyn, please find me when you’re dressed.” Duncan spun and rushed up the hill.

Alistair settled back down on his side of the fire. “Did you hear what he said?”

“No. Only when you said I told Cailan to piss off.”

“Cailan has orders for us,” he relayed.

“Joy,” she said dully.

“That is exactly what I said." Alistair watched her, trying to look casual. " So, tell me. Do you enjoy being naked in front of Chantry boys? Or just naked in general?” he asked. He hoped the flames between them masked the heat he felt in his cheeks.

“My body has never been mine. You’re the first man to be so kind for so long without trying to bed me,” she said.

“That’s _horrible.”_ He was genuinely appalled.

“That is the life of an assassin.”

“And you just  _let_  men treat you that way? She-Who-Slaps-Kings? She-Who-Slices-Darkspawn-Like-Bread?” he asked.

“You don’t exactly have options when your employer threaten blackmail on your family if you don’t perform.”

“Did you ever tell your family? Couldn’t your father have done something?”

She scoffed out a laugh. “Aside from  _normal_  women considered a disgrace for premarital copulation -” Alistair felt his ears burn “- _no._ What  _could_  I say? _Father, you know how you always wanted to marry me off to the King’s son though I never liked him? Well, I let Maric’s best friend steal my purity in exchange for the promise I would never have to be Queen. And Mother? You know how you were always secretly trying to marry me off to Teagan behind Father’s back but he always declined? He’s the sole person on this blasted world who knows what I’ve done since Father hired that Antivan Crow, but Teagan despises the monster I’ve become. Oh, and I can’t give you grandchildren because sleeping with the King’s best friend made him flush my lady parts till they shriveled!”_

“Tess, I’m sorry. I’m  _really sorry._ I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he insisted. His _soul_ winced. Her story was horrible. That stuff really happened to people? Alistair felt like an incompetent excuse for a genlock’s backside for bringing it up.

“It’s not -” Her eyes closed with another crane of his neck. “It’s not anything you could have stopped.” She sighed into her knees. “I'm sorry. This is the first time I’ve had anyone take an interest in what happens to me. It’s not…odd for me to go without clothes.” Her jaw clenched with another wince and twitch. “It do-doesn’t feel like I’m lacking.”

“So, your plan is to walk naked around camp every day?” He tried to brighten the conversation.

“Maker, that’s a  _horrible_ plan. Is that a challenge?” she sounded amused, though she didn’t look it.

He smiled for her. “I think it is,” it came out in a giggle he hadn’t planned for.

The corner of her mouth stretched a little, and for a moment, she just stared. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make it  _feel_  better? Do you _always_ do this?”

“Maybe it’s not me,” he suggested. “Most people can’t stand me. So maybe it’s  _you_  instead of me?”

“How can it be me?” she asked. “You talked me off a ledge! I could  _already_  feel the stone scraping against my bum as I let go! You just -” she gestured to where Duncan had stood moments ago. “You knew I needed him to leave…. _how_?” she rather sounded like she was begging.

“Hm…to answer your last question, I listened. I could hear your voice escalate, and your jaw got tight.”

She just stared at him. “Do you have any idea how I can  _stop_  from escalating?”

This was a good question. “Give me a moment to think about this, will you?” He stood and turned the turkey, searching his memories from his Templar training. “When I started my Templar studies, one of the first thing they taught us was about discipline. But a lot of that had to do with shield and sword control, and some lyrium -”

Again, she cringed at the neck.

“You said you pray?” he recalled. “Do you ever meditate? Just sit in silence, concentrate on the Canticles? Or just sit in prayer?”

“I sit in prayer a lot. Usually I’m bawling like a baby. But never meditating, I can't do that.”

“What else do you pray for? Besides for your life to mean something important?”

She stared at the fire. Her jaw clenched again, as did her arms and hands around her knees. “For for-forgiveness…and to one day have my own ba-baby.”

He watched her as he turned the turkey. “At the risk of getting slapped, I’m afraid being a Grey Warden doesn’t help with the baby part. Every Warden I know of who has children had them before they became Tainted. I’m sorry.”

“Loghain made that possible, not the Taint. I suppose it’s for better. I think I'd make a terrible m-mother. I like to kill people too much.”

“I sincerely want to giggle,” he admitted. “But soldiers are parents, too. Sometimes killing is necessary. It doesn’t make one a bad parent.” Her hands and arms twitched without end, now, up to her shoulders and neck. It gave the impression she was shivering. “Are you cold?” he asked.

“N-no.” A noise of pain slipped out with a sharp jerk, and another; she looked shamed. Her mabari cocked its head at her, then got up and ran uphill toward camp.

Just then it registered where he’d seen that ticking before. “Lyrium,” he stated. Templars who had taken it for about five years would get withdrawals. Lyrium was highly addictive. While the Chantry controlled its trade to control the mages, they also used it as a leash for their Templars. It was a method of control to make sure no Templar got funny ideas about running away for some girl. Morning and evening distributions kept all the Templars crawling back for more.

Tess nodded with severe chops interrupting her fluidity. “Loghain.” She tried to fight each twitch, but that only made the rest of her jerk harder. “It’s w-worse when I’m angry. Runs through fas-s-ster.”

“How long have you been on it?”

She closed her eyes every time her head jerked his direction. “N-nine years.” Her dog came running back, clutching a bottle of blue liquid in its mouth. She crumbled over in relief at the sight of her dog. “Oh, pu-pup.” Her fingers fumbled over the stopper, but when she opened it, she drank like she was desperate for water.

“He knows what you need?” he asked.

She just sat breathing in for a moment. Deep breaths, trying to fill the void every other second. Slowly but surely, her body stopped quaking. She rocked now, though he supposed that was a concentration thing. She did it last night, too, on the ledge. “Po has seen me fall hard. I’ve tried to wean before. It hurts. It feels like my insides are burning. makes me itch something horrible.” She shook her head. “That asshole turned me into a weapon. When I’m not fighting...” she shook her heard again, staring hard into the fire. “It’s like I’m iron. The more I sit still, the more I rust, and without oil I'll rust quicker. Lyrium is my oil.”

Alistair had never known anyone with such a grooved life before. For being so beautiful on the outside, as beautiful as she was in their friendship, she was scarred where people shouldn't be. It amazed him she had survived such a life.

“I am particularly effective against mages.” She finally looked at him. “You probably already guessed that, though. Templar stuff.”

“I think you’re just as effect against non-magic things, too. You didn’t let the other Darkspawn live just as much as you didn’t let the Darkspawn mage live.”

She smiled was crooked, empty. She wasn't convinced of “He tested my resistance when he realized I couldn’t go without it.”

“Loghain?” He was losing more and more respect for that man.

She shook her head. "No, in Tevinter. But he was the reason I was there. With enough lyrium, you can…sort of absorb the spell and reverse it. It’s…it feels like I’ve swallowed lightning.” Their eyes met over the flames, and she tapped her cheek. “When you put that rune on my face, it made me think of that.”

“Despite how I joked about it, it sounds really painful, Tess. I don’t like to tell people, but they don’t wait till you’ve taken your vows to start giving you lyrium. It’s part of the training. Granted, they're small doses. But still, swallowing the weak stuff is horrible enough.” He said.

“It is extremely painful and the worst thing I have ever tasted by a long shot…yet…it’s also incomparable. Nothing else feels like it. They say the same thing about sex, but this tops that with an aggravation that cannot be reached except through lyrium.” She paused. “Maybe someday you’ll see it.”

“How much lyrium do you use for that?”

“I don't ever mix it how I'm supposed to, but it should be a large handful of dust, a crushed spirit shard, and concentrator agent.”

“Maker, Tess! That should kill you! Normal people bleed from their eyes at more than a pinch!” he cried out softly.

“The Taint couldn’t kill me either.”

“Just because we both agree you’re indestructible does not mean you should keep testing that.”

“That’s sort of hard to avoid. Death sort of follows me around like a shadow.”

“It doesn’t count if  _you_  cause the death,” he teased. The corners of her mouth turned.

“Yes,” Tess agreed with a nod. _“Some_ of those shadows happen to be in front of me.”

“I thought so.” He smiled for her.

When the turkey was ready, she dressed; Alistair turned his back to her so he wouldn’t stare the whole time. He cut off the legs for himself and Tess, and gave a huge slab of breast-meat to the dog. They sat together as they ate, and for a while, they made no sound except with food. It wasn’t until they were on their second helpings that either of them spoke.

“You look nothing like your brother,” he said.

“My brother will be honored someone is thinking of him.”

He laughed. “No! I mean, who do you take after, your mother or you father?”

She grinned between bites. “Both. Why?”

“You look nothing like Fergus. I don't remember everything about him, but I can’t picture you two as family.”

“Really? He looks like my father, and I look like the Maker couldn’t make up his mind so He just  _smashed_ my parents’ faces together,” she said. Alistair laughed again, choking on his food. “You’re welcome.”

“Underneath all that moan and groan yesterday, I knew you had a sense of humor.” He ripped off another chunk of meat with his teeth. “And your eyes?”

“My mother.” She watched him while they ate. “You? You have adorable freckles.”

“Adorable freckles, she says.” He glanced at her. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that. I suppose my mother, but I didn’t know her. She died in childbirth. I'm told she was a ginger, too.”

“Do you not like your color?”

“I assume that means _you_ like it,” he tried to flirt though his mouth was half-full.

“I do. It’s a nice change from all the black and brown and gray.”

“One day, I will be one of those.”

“Oh? You’re going to paint your hair black? With what?” she joked.

He laughed. “What do you think we do with all that leftover Joining Juice?”

“Joining Juice?” She wrinkled her nose in disgust with a shudder that shirked down her back. Alistair laughed again.

“Says the woman who stood in front of me and stuck a Darkspawn just to show me his insides.”

“You weren’t eating,” she grumbled. Yet she took another bite.

“That hasn’t stopped you. You’re keeping up with me, even,” he teased. She shot him a sideways glare. _“Hey,”_ he said softly. He nudged her with his shoulder. “You’re fun to tease.”

“I suppose you’re welcome again.”

“I'm serious. I enjoy your company.” He took another bite, chewing on one side of his mouth so he could talk. “Most people think I’m annoying.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I know. I appreciate it. I'm glad you're the one who survived.” Alistair meant every word.

 

When they finally made it back to camp, Duncan was busy with Cailan. Alistair acquired six bottles of mead, and until the sun was high above them, under shade trees they drank. Younger Grey Wardens teased him as they passed by, shouting things like  _Chantry boy finally found a_ _girl to play with_  and _Little Templar’s all grown up_. Tess told him to ignore them, especially the ones directed at her; Y _ou_   _can do better than Alistair, sweetheart!_ Only one seemed to bother her;  _Aren't those giant feet awkward in bed? Oy Alistair! Not your wanker-toes, mate, you're supposed to use your cobbler wart!_ Alistair recognized him as one of the Free Marches Wardens. He grimaced, not wanting Tess to hear this stuff, especially about _him_. 

Green eyes narrowed beside Alistair. She muttered something harsh, then yelled with a hard smirk. “You know what they say; if a man has giant feet...well, _It’s true!"_ The fallen face of the Warden glued satisfaction on Tess' face.

Now more embarrassed by Tess, Alistair hid his face in his knees, unable to stop laughing. Maker, he was glad for her. One insinuating remark from a beautiful woman shut the Brothers up. 

Tess patted Alistair’s back. “I wouldn’t worry about that for awhile. I’m well aware of my beauty. They’ll learn soon enough who hasn’t left your side.” Alistair peeked at her, and leaned back against the tree with a deep breath. She shrieked with laughter. “You look like a lobster!”

He laughed all over again. “This your fault! I never told you to tell him my -” but he was so embarrassed he couldn’t even say it. Her mouth almost stretched off her face, her eyes scrunched in her giggles. Alitair couldn’t take a proper breath without giggling.

He did a double-take as he saw familiar gold armor in the distance. Even from this far, King Cailan looked like he felt excluded. Alistair felt the King's stare as he and Tess laughed all over again. Cailan watched, nothing more, as Alistair and Tess laughed each time their eyes met. When Alistair glanced over again, Cailan was gone. 

 

When their bottles emptied and their spontaneous giggles waned, they searched for Duncan. Duncan was busy with the King’s war council, though. Alistair took Tess to the smithy to get fitted for official Grey Warden armor, instead. Alistair found the fitting bothered him. She not only had to strip to under clothes, but also get her hips, thighs, length of leg, waist, and breasts measured. Not only  _at_ her breasts, but under them and across and their length. This  _really_ bothered Alistair. _He'd_ gone through the similar measuring, but this was different. This was _Tess_.

Alistair stood with his arms over his chest, frowning. “Is that necessary? Do you _really_ have to touch her there?” he disapproved. The male smith wrapped the strip of measuring cloth around her back and under her breasts.

“Do you want her safe or not?” the smith asked, not amused.

“Yes, but is it necessary to… _fondle_ her like that?”

“If I don’t get a proper measurement, it will be loose, and then what’s the point?” the smith said. Alistair met Tesslyn’s eyes. He supposed he should just let the smith do his job, though it was hard not to tell him to take his hands off her. “Well, good news,” the smith announced after he put his measuring tape away. “There a set of light armor already stitched that should fit you.”

“Should?” Alistair echoed in doubt.

“There was a female recruit a few months back, didn’t make it a week. I couldn’t throw away that sort of craftsmanship. Just about the same measurements; she was a bit longer up top, but it should be fine. It’s on the top in the chest back there,” the smith pointed behind the dummy-stand.

“There was another woman who had my same measurements? _Perish_ the thought! _What_ was that Maker thinking?” Tess joked. Alistair’s mouth stretched, and he walked around her to retrieve the armor.

“I'll have to shape a breastplate, but that will take a moment,” the smith told them.

“I don’t do heavy armor,” Tess said with large eyes. “I use daggers and a bow. Heavy armor isn’t suitable for that.”

“It’s not big, just something to cover the heart.”

“Oh, right. Something that already has its own natural armor.” She nodded. The smith glared at her. “I’m just saying – my squishy innards are more vulnerable!” she squeaked.

“Would you rather make the armor, then?”

“I made the one I was already wearing,” she offered.

“Go try on your leathers on. I’ll have the breastplate and joint pads up soon enough.” The smith shooed them away. Tess redressed in the blackened leather she’d arrived in, and Alistair led her away.

“There’s really not privacy to dress here,” Alistair told her. “We just don’t have any women in Ferelden’s order. Privacy has never been an issue. But I can stand watch while you change in a dark corner.”

“Is it possible to assure you I’ll be fine dressing myself for a short moment?”

He tried not to smile. “No.” He gave her a look. “Have you honestly seen yourself? And all these deprived Wardens?” She bit her lips and blushed.

He stood watch indeed, her mabari with him. Alistair paced, his head turned away as she switched armor behind the large trees they'd drank under.

“How do I look?” she asked.

“Tess, if you’re naked again -” She cut him off with a hard giggle. Alistair turned around anyway, smiling shy himself. He gave her a look-over, trying to stay professional despite how cute she looked. Everything on the armor complimented her skin. She seemed to belong in Grey Warden armor. “How does it feel? Did it tighten? How are the straps? The colors look good on you.”

“It fits better than I expected. I’m honestly not sure what to think of the Maker creating another woman with my body,” she joked.

“You’re absolutely right to be concerned. How dare He!” he teased. He reached for her collar, to make sure it covered her neck properly, but withdrew his hands when his eyes met her.

She stared at him with a gentleness she didn’t look at anybody else with. “Thank you, Alistair.”

It was little moments like this that made him want to forget everything else and just kiss her. Too many of these moments had already happened today. He needed to redirect his attention. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, actually,” she admitted with a small grimace.

He bent to retrieve her other armor from the ground. “I’ll go track down the cook.  _And_ I need to find Duncan. If he’s still with King Cailan, it’s best I go alone…”

“I agree.”

He thought for a moment. “Have you met Wynne yet?”

“Wynne?” she echoed.

“She’s a mage, an elderly lady, but spiritied. I’ll introduce you, and then let you keep an eye on her while I hunt down the King who confiscated my mentor.”

“Oh! You’ll let  _me_  watch  _her._ ” Her smile was also getting shyer as their time together progressed.

“That is correct. Can’t have these funny mages running amok, can we?”

“No mucky mages. Got it.”

He grinned, forcing himself to step back to actually start on his duties. “Is there anything you won’t eat?”

“Poison.”

“No one’s poisoning you on my watch,” he promised her.

She sighed. “Is there any blasted cheese here? And bread?”

“There had better be.”

“You know, you’re going to be in trouble if you don’t stop talking to me with those eyes.”

“Am I now?” He grinned wider. “I do believe this is what Duncan tried to warn me about earlier. Something about baby Grey Wardens.”

She snorted into laughter, stumbling as she tried to leave the shadows. “What? When did he say this?”

“This morning when I found your bow.” He walked next to her again. “He told me to keep my clothes on for a year.”

She giggled hard. “For a year?”

He was embarrassed just thinking about his answer. “I told him I _wasn’t trying_ to make babies, but that was before you took off your clothes down at the river.”

“Hours before a battle is a horrible time to be thinking about making babies.”

“Hm. You’re right. Not nearly enough time, is it?” he teased. She ducked her head in embarrassment, and from behind her hand she glowed pink in the face. “What?” he laughed. “I just sort of, you know, picture it being _ridiculously_ romantic and lasting all night long. With, I don’t know, rose petals and candles.”

“And wine, please.”

“Yes, with wine. Wait, is that more romantic than mead?”

“No! I mean right now!” she giggled through her hand.

“Oh! Right!” he giggled with her, his cheeks burning hotter. “Wine, bread and cheese. Yes, of course.  _Food._  You started this, you know.” He tossed her armor on the bedmat inside her tent. “Something about my eyes talking you out of your clothes, or something.”

“Maker!” she breathed. Her face almost flamed as she dropped her hand. He laughed softly and pulled her into his chest.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” he said into her hair with a giggle. “You are absolutely adorable like this. I thought _I_ was the only one who turned bright red!”

She laughed harder into his shoulder. Then suddenly her hands gripped his bottom, fingers sunk in. His hips arched into her in surprise. Alistair fell into violent titters at her shoulder.

“You’re going to be the end of me!” he rasped. He knew exactly how bright his burning face was.

“This is payback, little Templar,” she teased, still giggling.

“Is that all I am to you now? A little Templar?”

“The littlest Templars are easy to tease.”

“So are scary assassins.” He sighed. Alistair stayed at her shoulder with his arms wound tight even after he stopped laughing. She let go of his bottom and her arms crossed behind him, snuggling into him. He hadn’t realized he’d needed her hug till now, till he was in it. This was his friend, his deepest friend, his best friend already. Alistair knew that much. He tightened his arms around her and silently thanked the Maker for her.

“Am I interrupting something?” a familiar voice said. That was definitely _not_ the Maker responding.

“Can I help you, Cailan?” Alistair straightened and took his arms from Tesslyn; hear arms were slower to retract. Alistair turned to face his brother.

“Isn’t this cheerful? A little family reunion!” Cailan smiled at the both of them. Alistair couldn’t tell if Cailan was being smug, or if this was normal Cailan-cheer. Tess didn’t seem phased by his words.

“Seeking family affection, are you?” Tesslyn glared.

“Something like that. Duncan has a job for you, Alistair.”

“Ooh!” Tesslyn said in clear mockery. “The King of Ferelden is an  _errand_ boy now.”

“I only agreed because I wish to speak to you, cousin. I understand you have the rest of your armor to collect. I shall accompany you while Alistair helps the mages with some heavy lifting.”

Alistair groaned. “I don’t like either of these ideas. You realize she’s more likely to slap you again, right?” he asked.

Cailan actually laughed. “Of that, I have no doubt. This is a struggle I’ve been dealing with since we were children. Isn’t that right, Tesslyn?”

“I _really_ don’t like the way he says your name,” Alistair told Tess. “Your Royal Whatever-ness, I’m afraid you’ll have to go find your own Grey Warden. This one is mine.”

Cailan grinned. “After that public groping half the camp saw a minute ago, I have no doubt of that either.”

“You sound jealous, Cailan. Of him, or me?” Tess asked.

Both the men stood incredulous. Alistair suspected she knew he was Cailan’s brother. “That’s –  _no._   _Really,_ Tess?” he asked. She giggled only for Alistair.

“I agree with Alistair. Please, go attend to the mages, Alistair. I _do_ need to talk to my cousin,” Cailan told him.

Alistair sighed and looked at Tess. “I guess we’ll eat after the mages use me for my body,” he told her. Her eyebrows shot up in interest. Alistair couldn't help his grin; that _one_ look made him feel attractive, _desired_.

“I’m thinking I’d rather go with  _you_ …and just… _watch_ …”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this from  _you_  two, of all people,” Cailan said.

“Right, I can only imagine it’s a little strange coming from a woman you almost married and… _me,”_ Alistair shot his brother a flat stare.

“Yes, that,” Cailan said, not amused.

 _“Don’t touch her._ I’m _serious._ ” Alistair then looked at Tess. “ _Try_ not to kill him. He _is_ still the King,” he whispered.

“He’s not _my_ king.”

“Yes, I know.” Cailan said without enthusiasm. Tess shot a demanding brow up. “It’s obvious who you’re loyal to, is all I’m saying. You two have been attached at the hip all day.”

“You're jealous,” Alistair joked. “Fine! I’m leaving!” He looked at Tess once more, and then left her to find a mage who knew what he should to do.

 

 

Cailan waited until his brother was out of earshot. “Honestly, what does he have that I don’t?”

“A heart, a brain, he doesn't take my belongings and _burn_ them – I have a whole list. Shall I go on?” Tesslyn always liked reminding him they were family long before he became King.

“You know what? Never-mind.”

“What is it you want?” she sounded irritated.

Cailan took a deep breath. “Actually, may we talk in my tent, please? I’m afraid I may not be able to save face for this.”

“Alistair won’t like this.”

“I know.” He searched her eyes.

She glanced towards where Alistair had disappeared to, then she agreed. “You know, despite the fact I can’t stand you, you’re actually starting to worry me,” she said as he closed them inside his tent.

“Sit, please.” Cailan dug out a bottle of brandy and opened it. He made a face as he took a drink, and passed the bottle to her.

“Cailan…”

“I know you think I’m an idiot, especially for keeping Loghain around.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement.”

“Please, just hear me out,” he said firmly, keeping his voice gentle. “I’m just trying to say goodbye, Tesslyn. That is all.”

She stared at him, otherwise frozen. Her eyes were wild with curiosity, and for the first time in their lives, concern. “Cailan?”

“Loghain insists we do this without the Orleasians. He harbors grudges long grown cold. I have…been suspicious since father...died. But he is my friend’s father -”

“ _Friend’s_?” she echoed. “Is that all she is to you now?”

“Yes, Anora does happen to be my friend, in addition to my… _wife,”_ he said softly. A word that should refer to Tesslyn, not Anora. “As I was saying, he _did_ help father win back Ferelden. I keep him around to honor my father, that is all.”

“Cailan -”

“I’m fighting at Duncan’s side tonight because I’d rather die with someone I trust.”

“ _Cailan_  -”

“If I should die, and I fear I am, the chest you’re sitting on is enchanted with blood magic. It was my father’s, and it opens to his blood.  _My_ blood, and Alistair’s. If I die, have Alistair open it, and get word to Celene.”

“ _Cailan Theirin!_ ” she hissed.

Cailan met her eyes. She frowned, worry potent and presiding over irritation. “Take care of Alistair for me. _Marry_ him, do what you have to, just take care of him.”

“What happened to the man who so confidently welcomed me to Ostagar yesterday?” she asked.

“I have to let the troops believe we can do this. But I have no doubt we will fail. We need Grey Wardens to end this, yet Loghain has turned them away.” Cailan took the drink she hadn’t touched and swallowed another bitter mouthful. He took another swig before giving it back to her. _“Why_ did you bed him?”

Now she put the bottle to her lips. “It wasn’t voluntary, believe me.” She paused. “No, I _did_ agree.”

 _“Why?_ You had just grown of _age_ nine years ago. You wouldn’t even have  _me_  nine years ago.” More bitter than harsh drink to learn the woman he'd always loved had been taken by his wife's father.

“He would have blackmailed my parents, Cailan.”

“You could have married me and been done with him forever. You _never_ would have had to flee to Orlais.”

“How did you even know I was there?”

“Celene is a good friend. I trust her. I’ve been planning to divorce Anora, and marry Celene. It was supposed to happen after we ended the Blight together. Well, her troops and mine.” He grabbed the bottle and took a drink. “She has promised me to support you and Alistair.”

“You have been spying on me, Cailan.”

“Celene is a smart woman. Why else would a beautiful woman of royal Ferelden blood work so earnestly to earn her trust?”

“She never mentioned she told you.”

“Of course not. I asked her not to. I couldn’t risk sending information in writing.” He took yet another drink. “ _Marry_  him, Tesslyn. He is _fond_ of you, I see it all over his face, even how he stands and walks.”

“The Landsmeet will never allow me to be Queen.”

“The Landsmeet will have no choice but to let you. If Alistair wasn’t alive, you would be next in line for the throne anyway, either you or Fergus. As the wife to the heir, you’d have an even greater claim.”

“ _Damn_  you, Cailan.” She hung her head down between her knees. “Damn you to the ends of the Fade.”

“ _Why_ didn’t you marry me? I honestly want to know.”

She met his eyes and sighed. “Honestly?”

 _“Yes,_ honestly.”

“Every time I look at you, I see the boy who threw my dolls and books. I remember you telling Maric it was _my_ fault when you broke the chandelier, _and_ ripped a hole through your mother’s portrait. Maker, you were  _so_   _obnoxious_ , Cailan! I was  _so_  desperate to  _not_  have to spend the rest of my life with you that I killed Sophia and Roslyn and Dinea -”

“You  _loved_  Dinea,” he recalled. “You had matching wardrobes, even.”

 _“How_ did you -? _No!_ I was _horrified_ with the thought of become _wife_ to the little boy who hated me so much he _destroyed_ my things!”

Cailan broke down in a cascade of quiet laughter. “I never hated you, Tesslyn! For the love of Andraste, I was just trying to get you to _like_ me! I was _trying_ to get you put down your books and pay attention to  _me_  for once. I only saw you three times a year.”

“You couldn’t have asked? Like a _normal_ superior being?”

He looked at her. “Do you like him? Alistair?”

She stared in silence for a moment. “He has been _wonderful.”_

“Do you  _like_  him? I saw you grab his bum,” he said.

“That was payback. He made me flush like a bonfire.” She was even a little pink in reminiscence.

“I admit I’m envious of you both. You look at each other magnificently. I don’t feel that with Anora at all. I’ve tried looking for it other places. I just can’t find it. It's always been you, but...” he shook his head and drank again.

“You’re over-thinking this, Cailan. Our family is  _cursed_  with tragedy in love.”

“That does seem to be the case, doesn’t it?” He paused. “If you hadn’t met him, I would be trying to seduce you right now.” He took another drink. “The one thing I’ve always wanted, and now she belongs to my brother. Does he know you know?”

“I don’t know if he knows that I know.” Cailan smiled at her. She even cracked a small one in return. “I haven’t told him, but I think he suspects. He doesn’t seem to want to talk about it. And _I_ don’t belong to _anyone.”_

He laughed again. “You _definitely_ belong to Alistair, Tesslyn. Everyone here can see it. But...all things considering, I approve. I still wish that was _me,_ but he looks happy. You both do.”

“I spend a total of  _one day_ with the man, and that makes us star-crossed lovers?” she was befuddled.

“It’s your behavior when you’re with him, Tesslyn, and his. He has a reputation for being the annoying, rambunctious, naive virgin, and suddenly he’s found a woman who won’t tear her eyes from him.”

“He has remarkable freckles.”

“Of course,” he laughed. He watched her take a drink, then drank for himself. He looked down at the bottle. “Please take care of him?” he pressed. “He deserves you.”

“Your little brother deserves an assassin? Classic sibling rivalry if I ever saw it.”

"How many times have  _I_ tried to marry you? This isn't rivalry, I approve of you more than any woman in this country. He deserves to be taken care of, and he deserves it from the woman he adores,” he told her.

She looked conflicted. “I never intended to take the throne with him, Cailan.”

“But you _have_ to, to keep history from repeating itself. You know what to watch for. You will make a fine queen _as long as you’re_   _his_  queen.” He stood. “Promise me, cousin.”

She looked like she didn’t want to promise what he was asking. She stood with a small sigh.

“Tesslyn?” he prompted.

“I promise to take care of Alistair,” she whispered.

“And  _not_ in the assassin-way,” he joked.

“I promise to nurture him,  _not_ kill him,” she elaborated.

Cailan tilted her head to see in her eyes. A moment of searching; a lifetime of memories trying to win her heart. He leaned down and brushed her lips with his. She tasted of the bitter brandy they had shared, but her lips were soft. _If only he could freeze time._ “Goodbye,” he whispered. He pressed his lips harder, wanting nothing more than waste the afternoon charming her into his bare arms. But she was no longer acquirable.

His heart in Tesslyn would be all that remained of him come daybreak. The most important heirloom Cailan would leave his brother. He left her swiftly, the bottle in her hands and regret on her face.

 

 

Alistair sat with a sour knot in his gut next to Tess’ mabari some paces outside the king’s tent. Tess had joined Cailan after all. The two had been in there for some time. Alistair even had time to change into his armor, and get bread, smoked ham and a sack of cheese wedges from the cook. But with his stomach in such a knot, his imagination running wild, he could only bring a bottle of wine to his lips.

The flat to the royal tent opened and Cailan stepped out in his golden armor. Alistair stood, prepared to confront his brother, but Cailan headed straight for him. Tess emerged, still dressed, a bottle in her hands and a furrowed brow. Before Alistair could say anything, Cailan wrapped him in a tight hug.

“I am sorry for everything, brother,”Cailan whispered.

“I – what? What’s going on?” Alistair asked, watching Tess ahead of him because he couldn't otherwise move.

“Surely you can give your only brother a hug, now?” Cailan said. Uncertain and awkward, Alistair hugged his brother the best he could with full hands.

“What’s going on?” he repeated.

“I’m _proud_ of you, brother.” This was most Cailan had ever acknowledged him as family. They'd never talked for more than a moment before.“You are the finest Grey Warden I know, and a worthy man.”

“All right, Cailan, now you’re worrying me,” Alistair said.

Cailan pulled back and held him by the shoulders; Alistair was slightly taller. That signature radiant smile beamed before him. But there was something wrong. Cailan’s brow grooved just enough to expose concern. “Make an honest woman out of her, Alistair.”

 _“What?”_ His eyes flashed to Tess. She, too, was disturbed.

“Live gloriously.  _Lead_  gloriously. Follow your heart. Never let her out of your sight.” Cailan clasped him in another hug and kissed his cheek. Then he let go and stepped aside to make room for Tesslyn.

“Cailan,” she said. “I’m  _sorry_ , for what it’s worth.”

Cailan reapplied a mask of confidence. “For what?” he laughed. _“Smile,_ cousin! These drooling men need a strong woman to show them how it’s done!” The King of Ferelden bowed elaborately to them, Tess at Alistair’s side. “You have my blessing, my friends. I wish I could be there to give you away, cousin.” With that, Cailan turned his back to them and departed.

“What in Andraste’s name was that about?” Alistair wondered aloud.

“He was saying goodbye.”

“Goodbye? He  _means_ to die?” He hissed.

“He doesn’t believe he will survive.”

“But he’s been so confident! He’s made everyone believe we’ll win.”

“Deception apparently runs quite well in my family.”

“So...he took you in there to…say goodbye? He didn’t -”

Tess met his eyes. “No, he didn’t. He kissed me, but that was it.” She took a drink from the bottle in her hand. “He gave me instruction for after he dies.” She took another drink, and another. “ _Damn_  that man!” she muttered, conflict contorting her face.

Alistair was suddenly very aware that, despite he enjoyed the day with her, Tess had a life of her own before him. Including becoming close to being his only brother’s wife. His infatuation with her was silly, meek. A childish attraction.

“Did you… _do_ you regret not marrying him?”

She looked up at him.

“Did you kiss him back?” _Yes, Alistair was jealous_. She was  _his._  Duncan himself gave her to _him._

“No and no.”

“He told me not to let you out of my sight.”

“I thought you and I had already established that?” she challenged. Flirted? His gut began unraveling. Maybe he hadn’t imagined the euphoria from the day at all.

Her eyes traveled down, and she scoped out his Grey Warden armor. “Oh, I have the rest of your armor,” he told her, gesturing off to their tents.

“Are we  _allowed_  to wear the same costume to the same party?” she joked.

He smiled for her. “I guarantee you look better in it than I do.”

“I seriously doubt that.” She peeked in the sack or cheese, and gasped. “You didn’t!” she snatched it from him, and he chuckled.

“I did, but you have to share. I happen to like cheese.”

“Pucker off!” She immediately turned and tried to walk off with the sack.

He laughed. “You spend _half an hour_ with the King, and suddenly think you can do anything you want!” he teased.

“I  _can_  do anything I want!” She put a chunk of cheese in her mouth, making sure he watched.

“That’s very cute,” he grinned.

“Good.” She came back to him to put a piece to his lips, and all of a sudden the warm feelings came rushing back. Swelling affection exploded in his chest and spread like the Flame of Andraste to his every digit. _This_ is what he wanted, to _share_ with her. He wanted to share _everything_ with her. Alistair closed his lips and took the cheese with his tongue, licking her fingers. Eyes locked, he sucked her fingers clean. _Intimate;_ he understood the word now. “Are you trying to turn me on just _moments_ before battle?” she whispered.

He laughed a little. “Yes.” She turned away with a shy grin. He didn’t even care if he was imagining it all. What she did to him felt real enough.

They sat in front of their tents to eat. It turned out she burned through the lyrium faster when she drank, as well as when she was angry. She went through two vials of lyrium while they emptied a bottle of wine together. Duncan still hadn’t showed by the time the sun fell. They gave Po the rest of the bread, drank a bit more wine, and Alistair pulled Tess to her feet to finish dressing her.

“You realize it looks like you’re worshiping me when you’re like this?” she said.

Alistair looked up, crouched in front of her as he secured her shin guards on. “I  _am_ worshiping you,” he said.

“I don’t suppose this is why everyone keeps telling us to get married already?” she smirked.

He grinned. “I don’t care what anyone says. As long as you’re not marrying the King, I think my windows of opportunity are still wide open.” He tightened the straps behind her calf.

“And…what if  _a_ king asked me for my hand?”

He looked up again. “ _A_ king?” he echoed.

 _“A_ king,” she confirmed.

“Does this king have a name?”

She hesitated. “Give me a moment. I hadn’t thought this far ahead.” He laughed, standing up. Alistair lowered the mantle over her head, and he did a double-take. She had a distant glaze in her eyes even as she looked at him. “Are you afraid of death, Alistair?” she whispered.

He glanced to her eyes as he fastened straps around her upper arm, securing the shoulder piece. “We are not talking about death, Tesslyn,” he said gently. “I expect you back here as soon as this thing is over.”

“But are you?” she insisted.

He sighed. “Death, no. Dying…yeah, a little.” He stepped to the side to fasten the other shoulder piece. “I guess I’m more afraid of what dying  _means_ ,” he told her.

“What does it mean to you?” She looked up him.

“As of yesterday, it meant nothing. But right now…death either means leaving you, or losing you. I don’t want either of those to happen.” He slid behind her before he could distract himself in the emeralds that searched his face. He tightened the straps over her arms and around her ribs, weaving them through buckles. Alistair crossed them for reinforcement; as protected as possible. 

“Alistair? If tonight fares poorly…” she began as he stood before her her again.

“I can’t promise we won’t die, Tess,” he couldn’t make the words out louder than a whisper.

“I know. I was just…I just want to thank you. For being the only friend I’ve ever had.” Her eyes glossed over as she searched him.

“My Lady, the honor is all mine,” he insisted. He brought the back of her hand up to his lips. She truly looked stricken by the notion this was goodbye.

“Please don’t die,” she whispered. “I don’t have anyone else.”

“You have my word that I will try my hardest to stay alive. I will do whatever it takes to come back to you,” he promised her. Her bottom lip quivered, and before he could blink, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him with an iron grip, and Alistair could not move. So he held her.

It was in the act of hugging this frightened woman that Alistair caught a glimpse of a life he might have had in some other future. Someone who loved him and feared for his safety, someone to mourn him if he never returned, someone to miss him. Someone to hold him when he did come home. It was this moment that kept him frozen to her. Her fear that he would leave her was enough to scare him into thinking the same. After all, Cailan believed they would fail. It had to be true then, right? So was this all Alistair met Tess for? The Maker’s final gift so Alistair would know what it felt like to love and be loved upon dying? So he would understand the true meaning of sacrifice when it came down to him or her? He buried his face in her neck. _No,_ _this wasn’t fair._ _He wanted more time with her._

He pressed his lips to the side of her head. “I’m proud to have you, Tesslyn.”


	5. The Battle at Ostagar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Tesslyn Cousland get their orders to light the beacon in the Tower of Ishal. Alistair says goodbye to Duncan. Tesslyn performs strange magic with lyrium, and Alistair and Dog are overwhelmed by Darkspawn trying to defend the dying female Warden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music:  
> Tess with lyrium: [ Shatter Me, by Lindsey Stirling ft Lizzy Hale](https://youtu.be/49tpIMDy9BE)

A voice cleared nearby. Alistair sighed, reluctant to let go of the woman in his arms.

“I’m sorry, you two, but we have orders to discuss,” Duncan’s voice spake compassionately. Only this made Alistair release Tess. Duncan was the only other person he wanted to say goodbye to. Tess blinked beside him, and two tears spilled out over her eyelashes only to roll down her cheeks. “I am sorry to interrupt, I truly am. I trust you’ve enjoyed your day together, though?”

Tess nodded, ducking her head as more tears spilled out. “Today has been wonderful, Duncan,” Alistair said.

“I’m glad there were moments without tears, then.” Duncan smiled at Tess, but this didn’t seem to cheer her. “I apologize for my unavailability today. There was quite an argument over where to station you both.”

“Someone was arguing over  _us?_ ” Alistair clarified.

“Yes. Loghain wanted you down in the thick of battle, and Cailan kept pushing to place you both somewhere safer.”

Tess looked at Duncan now. “Cailan said goodbye. Duncan,  _can’t_ you  _sway_  him?” she begged. “He believes he’s going to his death with you.  _Please_  talk him out of this!” she was crying, now.

“I’m afraid he’s made up his mind, Tesslyn. You know him better than I. He is a determined young man. And from the sound of it, he seems to already have plans for what it to come next.”

“Wait – Duncan – you’re  _agreeing_  to this? To  _dying_  with him?” Alistair stared at the closest thing he’d ever had for a father.

“It is Cailan’s request that I fight by his side, Alistair.”

“And what about  _my_  request?” Alistair demanded. “Where is he sending us? How safe is this place he wants us to go?”

“King Cailan has ordered you both go ensure that the tower beacon gets lit. Loghain’s soldiers are already inside. He just wants you to ensure that it happens. The tower should be plenty secure.”

Tess gave an obvious sigh of relief.

“What?” Alistair cried out quietly. “I’m not going to fight?”

“It is important the beacon gets lit, Alistair.”

“Isn’t it also important that the Warden-Commander of Fereldan lives?” Alistair challenged.

“If the beacon remains unlit, Loghain’s troops won’t know when to charge.”

“Cailan doesn’t believe Loghain will fight,” Tess spoke up.

“ _Yes! That! Thank_ you!” Alistair took another double-take at her. “Oh, Maker! Tess, I’m so sorry! I’m not trying to -” he sighed, feeling like an arse for trying to insist he get himself killed right after he’d promised to come back to her. He reached up and wiped her tears away with his thumbs. “I just…Cailan really needs two Grey Wardens to look at it happening? I mean,  _why_  can’t we go fight with you?” he asked Duncan.

“These are the King’s orders, Alistair. We must do as he wishes, Blight or no. We are on his land,” Duncan pressed kindly.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But just so you know, if the King ever  _wishes_  me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line. Blight or no,” he joked, for Tesslyn’s sake. He was relieved when she let out a laugh.

“I think I’d like to see that,” she joked back.

“For  _you_ , maybe. But it has to be a pretty dress,” he teased her.

Duncan sighed.

“Well, you’ve made  _her_  happy, “Alistair told his mentor. “And thwarted an epic romantic homecoming, on my part.”

“Oh, it wasn’t going to be epic.” Tess shook her head, recovering faster since Alistair stopped resisting safety in front of her. “I was just going to steal some more of Cailan’s wine.”

“Oh. Well, then…thank you,” he said to Duncan.

“You two…” Duncan began.

“Light the beacon. Got it,” Tess said with a nod.

“ _Watch_  someone  _else_  light it,” Alistair corrected, animating his voice.

“ _Oh.”_ She did sound disappointed. Alistair giggled.

Duncan sighed again. “Is this going to be too hard for you both?”

“Possibly. I don’t want her watching anyone cuter than me,” Alistair joked. “Blight or no.”

“Alistair.”

“All right, all right.” Alistair sighed. He paused. “Duncan…May the Maker watch over you.”

“May the Maker watch over us all.” Duncan hesitated before walking away. Alistair watched him leave, and a dissatisfied knot settled in his gut. That was the only goodbye he was going to give the closest thing he had to a father?

Tess gave him a gentle push. “Go to him,” she urged. He didn’t have to be told twice.

“Duncan, wait!” Alistair caught up to the old man and hugged him before Duncan could speak. “You’ve been like a father to me. If tonight ends poorly…” he let go and took a step back. “I want you to know I haven’t taken that for granted.”

Duncan smiled at him. “I know, Alistair. You’ve been a handful at times, but I’ve enjoyed it. I am very proud of you. Your father would have been proud of you, too.” Duncan glanced toward Tess.

“Don’t worry, she’s not pregnant,” Alistair joked. Duncan softly laughed.

“Just trust in your heart, Alistair. You have a good one.”

“That’s what Cailan told me. Right before he told me to marry her.”

Duncan smiled again. “You and your brother are both wiser than you like to let anyone believe. In Peace, Vigilance, Alistair.” Duncan put his hand over Alistair’s heart. “Keep that with you always. Find a way to be at peace with all of your decisions, Alistair.” He pulled Alistair in for another hug. “I am proud of you, son.”

Alistair was nearly in tears when he went back to Tess. She didn’t say anything. She just let him scoop her up and hold her for a moment.

He let her check his armor straps, and they made sure their belts and weapon sheathes were also just as secure. She was still glowing with relief by the time they set off for the tower, with her dog at her side.

“Yes, yes, it’s been established I’m all yours for the night. You can wipe that triumphant smirk off your face now,” he teased.

“It is  _not_  triumphant,” she retorted. He grinned at her. “Why? Are you going to take back your kiss?”

“How does one take back a kiss, exactly?” he asked. He was secretly just as relieved. His insides felt lighter, his head felt lighter just knowing he’d have a good deal of control over her safety.

“I am not telling you.”

“So be it,” he chuckled. “We’ve still got a fire to look at.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then, “You  _give_  a kiss, right?”

He grinned even wider in anticipation. “Yes…”

“So, taking one back would result in some sort of  _sucking_  action.” She over-pursed her lips so that her cheeks caved in, and her lips made a sound similar to an angry baby bird. Alistair laughed louder than he remembered doing all day. Relief, it seemed, was making him giddy.

“Well, all right then! Let me take it back!” He grabbed her hand, but she immediately pulled it back with large eyes and a squeaky  _no!_ , and he only laughed again.

“”We are on an important quest! And it would tickle like mad! You are  _not_ supposed to tickle noble Ladies on important fire quests!” She couldn’t contain her smile, either.

“You really think it will tickle?”

“That’s all he heard,” she stated flatly, as they walked around the narrow curve to enter the bridge.

His laugh was cut short with the sight of catapulted burning stones and flying burning arrows. Tess stood between Alistair and her dog, and the three of them just stared for a moment.

“How did this start already?” Alistair asked. He could even see arrows flying down below, from Cailan’s troops far to the left of the bridge.

Po barked eagerly.

“Just like at the border, Po.” Tesslyn patted her dog’s head.

Po barked again.

“Yes, Par Vollen,” she told her dog, giving a single nod.

“You’re going to tell me that story tomorrow, right?” Alistair asked.

“If we survive the night, absolutely.” She took a deep breath, and then sprinted like the Archdemon itself was chasing her.

Alistair and Po ran side by side behind her. A flaming rock smashed into the side of the bridge from below, and Alistair staggered. Po yelped as he lost all his footing and slid into the wall. Alistair scrambled over and pulled the dog to its feet. “Come on, pup!” he urged the hound. Heat from flaming arrows grazed them to the right as the barrage of archers sent another flying round.

Tess suddenly skidded to a stop and threw herself against the edge and leaned over.  _“Cailan!”_  she screamed.

“What?” Alistair backtracked.

“There’s a bloody ogre!” She screamed for the King again.

“Tess, he can’t even hear you from down there.” He spotted the ogre just then. Not close enough to the king’s men or the Grey Wardens yet, but close enough.

“He can’t fight an ogre, Alistair! He wasn’t trained for that!” She readied her daggers and started to climb up on the edge of the bridge. Alistair immediately pulled her back down.

“Don’t you dare!” He held on to her armor firmly. “That will  _kill_  you! You are  _not_ doing that to me! Not after you made me promise to come back for you!” They searched each others’ eyes for a moment, and Alistair ducked as something on fire soared over them. “The only thing we can do is make sure that beacon gets lit! Cailan knew what he was doing when he placed himself in the thick of this battle!”

“But he’s being an idiot -”

“That doesn’t mean  _you_  get to be!  You wouldn’t even survive the jump, Tess!  _I’m_  the one who loses out if you jump!” he tried to make her understand. “Let’s just get this beacon lit, and then we’ll get down there.” He released her, and made sure her breastplate was still tight and secure about her.

She winced angrily as she shoved her daggers back in their covers. “ _Maker_! Why is my family so _stupid_!” she said through her teeth. She started to run again, but stopped again so short that Alistair crashed into her. Her dog literally did whatever Alistair did. “Wait!”

“What now?”

She searched all over from both sides of the bridge. “Where are Loghain’s men?” She asked. “ _Oh! That son of a bitch!”_  She screamed and kicked a barrel so hard it splintered open. “ _Cailan_  is going to _die_  down there!” She was suddenly right in Alistair’s face with her finger to his nose, fierce and determined with a fire in her eyes that he had not seen in her yet. She might as well have towered over him, with as small as she made him feel just then. “You had better be ready, boy!” And just as suddenly, she stormed away.

“What are you on about?” He chased after her, Po as his side once more.

“If that sodding arsehole cock-sucker has deserted Cailan -”

“Tess, the beacon hasn’t been lit yet!” he tried to say.

“We should still see them, though!”

“You! You’re Grey Wardens! Right?” a mage interrupted by running right up to them.

“No! Not anymore! I quit! I’ve got bigger problems, now!” Tess threw hear arms up and walked away. But a twitch of her head turned her right back around. “You have lyrium, yes?” She held her hand out to the mage, still wearing that angry-annoyed-deadly glare, with the occasional twitch of her jaw.

“I – yes, but there are Darkspawn in the tower!” the mage declared.

“I need it,” she said firmly, but slightly more gentle. “A strong one.  _Please_. In return, you take us up the tower, and I’ll keep you alive.” The mage looked so scared and confused that he toppled a potent lyrium potion in her hands without questioning why a non-mage would need it. Tess immediately uncorked it and emptied it into her mouth.

Alistair was beginning to understand her addiction better. Her anger fed it, but not just anger.  Alcohol was like a substitute for her adrenaline, as far as lyrium was concerned. Whenever her adrenaline was high, she went through it quick. Fright and anger fed it worse, so far, and she was both right now. He was going to have to watch her closely.

“Stay close, mage.” Tess threw the empty vial without looking. She advanced without waiting for the men, and the mage looked to Alistair for guidance.

“It’s best to just follow her lead,” Alistair told the mage.

Darkspawn were indeed overwhelming the tower. Spilling out of the tower was more like it. The entire courtyard was flushed, genlocks and hurlocks overwhelming what little Fereldan forces were there.

“ _On,_ Po!” Tess whipped her daggers out in stance, and the mabari barked in approval. The duo ran over with seemingly no worry.

“Noble woman’s trying to steal all my glory kills!” Alistair muttered to himself, though secretly pleased to get a chance to see her fight again. He readied his sword and shield, and charged. He intercepted Tess at a genlock with a bash so hard it sent the thing flying.

“Showoff,” she said. He barely had time to smile before another genlock advanced. Tess unfolded her bow and shook it into place as Alistair took on the genlock. He sliced across its middle with a wide arc; it was good to feel his muscles tighten again, after having little chance to fight the day prior. He swung his shield up to force the squared steel rim into the genlock’s face, twice, even a third time as hard as he could. He then brought the face of his shield down upon the distorted face before him with a heavy arm, cracking the skull so hard it crumbled.

“Oh…” she said distractedly. The mage shot lightning and ice from somewhere behind them, buying time for Alistair to see what Tess had stopped for. She was staring at Alistair with wide, wondrous eyes that searched him like she sought more of where that hard brutality came from.

The Darkspawn didn’t allow for questions, though. Alistair pointed at her with his sword, grinning like a fool and very satisfied with himself for the moment. “We will  _talk_  about that  _look_  on your face, later!” he teased. He whirled around to ram his shield into a hurlock. An arrow flew so close to his heard that its wind brushed his ear and stuck through the hurlock’s eye before Alistair could even strike.

“No, we wont!” she countered, instantly rejoining the fight. He couldn’t wipe the grin from his face for the life of him.

Tess retrieved and re-used each arrow she shot, no longer using her daggers. Twice more, Alistair felt the breeze of her arrows tickle the side of his head, and once she missed his hand by a whisper. She was also kind enough to let him “show off,” as she’d put it. He enjoyed charging, bracing himself with his shield and throwing his entire weight into his opponents like a battering ram. It also seemed like the more Tess saw him bash heads or send a body flying backwards, the more she wanted to see him do it. He caught her pausing quite a few times just to watch him swing his shield into Darkspawn.

But she slipped up. She gave away her vulnerability by watching him fight for too long. Alistair yelled her name when the genlock swung at her, but not with enough warning. She staggered as it the blade struck her from around the back. “Oh, you little -!” Again, a battle blow triggered the  _Annihilate_  part of her  _Fight or Flight_ instinct. She brought her bow arm around, but didn’t bother stinging it with her bow. She settled for a straight bash from her hardened fist, followed by a high kick that dropped it face-first into the ground, where she straddled it from behind and stabbed in the back of the head until all that was left was a shattered, gory mess. Meanwhile, the mage threw fire balls and Po bit off legs in single chomps.

Alistair glanced over to make sure the fighting was a decent distance away, and then he bowed deeply to Tesslyn. “My Lady,” he teased. She huffed a laugh and stood, wiping the riddled blood off her face with her sleeve before sheathing her dagger. He flashed her the grin that got him the most attention from the women during Templar training, and she pointed at him with her bow.

“ _Ser_ , you are  _evil_  tonight.”

“I am feeling a bit feisty right now,” he admitted, crossing to her in two swift, long strides. He flung his shield up around her, pressing into her from both sides as he hid her from an arrow.

“ _Bugger!_ They can  _shoot_  now?!” she hissed. She spun just a tad between his front and his shield and quickly snaked her arms up, rising to her toes. As she sent an arrow straight into the hurlock archer’s neck, her bow arms over Alistair’s shield and elbow over his shoulder, Alistair sang  _‘Pirate’_  near her ear. She sank back down flat feet with a bossy glare at his eyes, and he grinned  _that grin_  at her again. She slid out of his embrace as if in a dance. “Do you know what I like about killing?” she asked in a sprint that ended with her leaping like a toe-dancer and cracking her bow upside hurlock heads like a whip.

“That was very graceful and erotic!” Alistair teased, advancing to join her.

“Erotic?” She nearly got hit in the face again trying to look back at him. He grinned in spite of the almost-tragedy.

“Let me guess, you like the thrill of surviving all the bad guys?” He arched away to avoid a low swipe to his gut.

“Do you realize you have an awfully vast vocabulary for a  _Chantry_  boy?” she asked. He ducked a high swing and rammed his own hurlock like an angry tauren.

“Tess, now you’re just avoiding your own question!”

“The control.” She shot an arrow into the open mouth of the hurlock directly in front of her. She screamed for her dog and immediately reached into the hurlock’s gaping, gagging mouth to retrieve her arrow. She twisted to shoot the neck of the hurlock about to slash at her hound. “The only part -” she ran to retrieve her arrow and fire upon a new target “of my life -” she shot another arrow between the arms of a genlock wielding an axe above his head, then retrieved it “where I can  _-_ ” she grunted as a hurlock with a shield hit her from the side; Alistair rushed in and pummeled it to the ground, bashing its face with the stock of his sword’s hilt. Tess shot an arrow into its face underneath his hand. “-control how something ends,” she finally finished, sending three arrows rapidly in a row toward a hurlock rounding on the mage.

“Much appreciated!” the mage called over in relief, hanging behind them a considerable distance from then on.

“Would you like to know a secret?” Alistair pulled her arrow out of the dead hurlock beneath him and held it out to her as she stood. “That’s why I like it, too. Aside from, you know, surviving, and winning. I’m quite competitive you know,” he joked. He caught a smile from her as he turned to retrieve the three arrows from the dead thing near the mage. “Still in one piece?” he asked the mage.

“For the moment,” the mage said. “Are all Grey Wardens this violent?”

“One has to become more violent in order to sneak in a single kill around Lady Cousland,” Alistair announced loudly. She turned with a sly smile.

“Oh, so  _this_  is what noble Ladies do when no one is looking,” the mage joked. Alistair and even Tess laughed.

“Darling, don’t get ahead of yourself. I am the  _only_  noble Lady entirely this fun!”

Alistair spied three more hurlocks and two genlocks advancing on the top of the staircase toward them. He ran over to Tess, pressed her arrows flat against her chest and his lips near her mouth. “ _My_ kills!” he said firmly, and he ran off toward the Darkspawn before she could stop him.

“Erm, excuse me, Ser, but that was  _not_ a proper kiss! You get back here and do that correctly, young man!” she yelled after him. Alistair pummeled hard, taking two down at once, his face frozen in a goofy grin. He looked up briefly as a genlock smacked flat on his back on the ground next to him and the two hurlocks he had pinned, an arrow through the middle of its forehead. While the hurlocks were distracted by this, Alistair forgot his sword and punched them both as hard as he could. The one under his left wasn’t unconscious yet, so he stuck his sword down through its face as she stood. Po charged and rammed into the other genlock, knocking it off its feet, and tore at its neck until it stopped moving. The dog stopped momentarily to look at Alistair, looking proud, even probably grinning as if to say  _Hey! Look! I did it too!_

“Good boy, Po!” Alistair praised, and Po barked happily before charging off again. Alistair took a step up to join Po at another incoming wave, but something like a kick – no, longer than a kick – Tesslyn soared over his head. Maker! She just used him as leverage to jump off of! Daggers out, she landed with a roll at the feet of three more Darkspawn, one at her back and two in front of her. From the ground, she sliced the legs of the one behind her, then she popped up with her right blade parallel to her arm. She stabbed the one behind her as she brought her arm back, and then flipped her wrist and sliced up through the neck and chin of one in front of her. The third, she grabbed by the head and brought it crashing into her knee. She let it stagger for a bit, then she kicked it squarely in the chest, and when she came over it, Alistair saw a desire in her eyes that he wasn’t even aware existed in people. With her knees restraining its arms, she slid her dagger just deep enough into the face to draw blood. She dragged the blade slowly across the face. Alistair almost felt sorry for the thing as it thrashed about beneath this woman who had immense control when it came down to torture. It started screaming as her blade crept just a bit deeper, starting to descend across its…what might possibly be its nose.

Alistair picked up a fallen Darkspawn dagger and threw it into the face of a hurlock attacking Po, then he went to Tess and her…victim. He made sure her hands were out of the way, then he stuck his foot in and pressed hard on her dagger, ending the poor thing’s misery. She rolled her eyes as he pulled her up by the arm. “You know, when you said you were an assassin, I  _believed_  you. It’s really not necessary to make me watch how you like to torture things. Really. I insist.”

“Says He-Who-Smashes-Heads-to-Smithereens,” she said back, retrieving her dagger, wiping it on the ground before sheathing it as Po and the mage finished off the last of the Darkspawn in the courtyard. “And….says He-Who-Just- _Kissed-_ This-Torturer,” she said softly.

“You need lyrium.” Her hands were shaking too hard to ignore with jokes or flirting. “Mage?” he called out. “Do you have anymore lyrium?”

“I -” the mage sighed. “Yes, of course I do. Why does someone like  _her_  need it?”

“I dab it on my neck and on the inside of my wrists. Templars are addicted to the smell. They come running in flocks,” Tess said.

“Always clever.” Alistair accepted a bottle of blue liquid from the mage and opened it for Tess. “That last one went through you quick.” His eye spotted something round and blue peeking out of a fallen genlock’s purse.

“It tends to happen when I have fun,” she said, watching Alistair head to the blue thing. He crouched to a squat to loosen the purse. He met her eyes as he held up the small bottle. She came to him and took it, staring at is as if in a trance. “Just one more thing I can’t control. Even  _seeing_ it gives me chills.”

“We should check the other bodies for more. Just in case. We can worry about not taking it later,” he told her gently, standing.

“We?” She still stared at the blue liquid.

“Yes, Tess. We.” He went around to the Darkspawn bodies sprawled everywhere, and Daveth’s voice sounded in his head, telling him to loot everything. He found a few coins, but he focused on lyrium potions. He collected three, and some of her arrows from the bodies down the stairs, and also an emerald and a ruby. “You’ve been on this stuff, what, nine years?” he asked, walking back up to her.

“Yes. It’s a cursed leash that’s constantly around my neck.”

“I’ve seen how bad Templars get. They lose their minds after awhile,” he said.

“At the Circle, if they start to lose it, we offer to take them to the Fade, and then end the body while they’re inside,” the mage added.

“They don’t feel that?” Alistair asked.

“I have no idea if they do. One doesn’t feel the body’s hunger pains in the Fade, so I assume no, they can’t feel their heads being dismembered. Not all of them accept, though. Most end up wandering city streets as hallucinating beggars.”

“Templar or no, I’ve got a great future, eh? Tainted lyrium addict. I’ll be lucky if I look half like myself in ten years,” Tess said.

“If half like you is as bad as you get, I’m pretty sure you’ll still be making jaws and trousers drop,” Alistair said, only half-flirting.

She looked up at him. “No one just drops either around me.”

“I didn’t? Hm. Must have been daydreaming, then.”

“ _Funny_  little Templar.”

“What?” he giggled. “You know exactly how gorgeous you are. Even when you kill things like scary madman.”

“Even when I…” she trailed off, frozen as she knelt at a the body of a genlock mage.

“What? What is it?” Alistair went to her. She held an open leather sack, it sparkled deep blue, almost purple, giving off its own luminescence. Lyrium dust. He watched her stare at it. Those tiny grains literally had her paralyzed. “Take it, just in case. We’ll dilute it.”

She stared at it for another moment, then she tied it up and stood. “It burns,” she said. “When the dust goes down, it burns. It feels like a bomb went off in your throat. It makes you head feel like its swelling, like your brains are about to burst out. Worst headache ever, worse than the Joining.”

“Just one more thing to work on,” he said softly. She blinked twice and looked up at him. “I’m keeping count,” he joked, making sure his tone was obvious. “You have a tendency to jump off things – I may have to make you wings. You did it again, off  _me_ of all things, just a bit ago.” She shoved him gently and he laughed. “You like violence,” he continued, “but I can probably just take you to a betting match, or something. You have an unholy obsession with blue stuff,  _and_ you like to wander naked.”

“I don’t  _wander_ naked,” she said. “I went for a swim!”

“It was  _very distracting_ ,” he told her matter-of-factly, directly flirting now. She slipped him a small smile, and he grinned his best for her again. “Here.” He took her hand and closed her fist around the two cut gems. “Something  _new_ to look at. One to match your eyes, and one to match the color of your face right before you grabbed my bottom earlier.” She smiled unsurely, but as soon as she saw the ruby she ducked her head in an embarrassed giggle that shook her shoulders.

“Erm, you  _are_ planning to clear the tower, aren’t you?”

Alistair laughed loudly. “I forgot we weren’t alone!”

“I know you did.” Tess smiled at him, then glanced at the mage. “Yes, we are.”

As soon as they entered the tower, though, they found themselves in an ambush. Not directly in it yet, but they could see it. A whole squad of Darkspawn, including two genlock mages, what looked like six arches and swordsman, maybe more hiding from line of sight, spread out around. A tripwire was over the only way into the tower lobby. There’s no way they could all go rushing in while Tess disarmed it, but if she went in alone to disarm it, she would be shot down. Tess fumbled with something in her purse while Alistair tried to peer from the shadows.

“What are you doing!” the mage hissed. Alistair turned to see her emptying the pouch of lyrium dust into her mouth, gagging while she tried to swallow it dry.

“Tess!” Alistair tried to knock the bag of dust out of her hand, but she had nearly finished it all; what was left glittered to the stone floor. “What are you doing?” She shrugged him off, managing to pull a spirit shard from her sack. Her eyes rolled lazily for a moment, but she shook that off too and stomped the spirit shard to splinters. She scooped it up and dropped those in her mouth, too, and chased it all down with that sickly-spoiled-cream looking stuff that was concentrator fluid.

It dropped her like a rag doll. But before Alistair could get down to help her, she writhed, even pulled at her hair, trying to balance on one arm. She wobbled on her way up, and Alistair supported her. “Dammit, Tess!” Her nose was bleeding from both nostrils, and her pupils were nearly her entire eye. She tried walking, but he held her steadfastly to him. “What are you doing!” he whispered.

“Dying to Loghain all over again.” She did slip out of his hold this time, and she took off in a run. She ran right into the tripwire, and immediately jumped over the explosion. She had purposely stalled Alistair and Po and the mage.  

“Dammit, Tess!” He cried in frustration. He readied his shield and charged into the flames, Po on his heels. He burst through to see Tess antagonizing the genlock mages, who were each summoning some sort of magic. The archers and hands didn’t bother wasting their willpower or arrows on her, but as soon as they saw Po and Alistair, they swiftly turned. But Alistair’s focus was Tess, to reach her and shield her with himself. She hadn’t even bothered to draw her blades.

He hadn’t needed to try to protect her, though, even as the genlocks threw spells at her. She seemed to be…absorbing the spells, actually. Lightning and fire seeped into her, swirling all over her surface, at first, like a sort of elemental armor. It crackled about her, like watching paint dry out in and chip during a really hot summer, but exclusively emergent. Whatever she was doing had stopped all combat. No one was moving, only staring at her. Alistair even shared an uncertain glance with a particularly tall hurlock.

The crackling upon her suddenly sucked in, like all the lightning and fire were all water in a street and being sucked down a drain. For a brief moment, not a single being in that room breathed. Then Tesslyn’s hands lit up, and out of them came extensions of the same magic that had tried to kill her. Bolts of fire, crackling with blue and purple lightning flung from her hands like knives straight into the necks of the genlock mages, dropping them to the cold stone floor with gaping, self-cauterized wounds. Two of the archers aimed at her, but when she closed her fists around nothing at her sides, they were scooped up and crushed to nothing by giant flaming hands that disappeared the moment Tess’ hands relaxed.

Alistair knew his wasn’t the only one whose heart was racing.

The Darkspawn swordsmen charged at her. Tess cupped the air beside her; sparking flames cupped the swordsmen. Tess closed her hands and raised her hands; the Darkspawn swordsmen were enveloped and lifted near to the tall ceiling. She dropped her knees with a pound of her fists, and the swordsmen were slammed down on to the floor. Flames with blue and white highlights started crackling about her body again, and an arrow grazed her hair, the lightning and fire made her glare seem like staring down the Archdemon itself. She pounded her fists on the stone floor once more, clawed at it, and as she scraped her fingernails on the stone, the flames started to leave her again. All at once, the remaining Darkspawn archers aimed at her, and Alistair cried out. The floor rumbled, and as Alistair helped the mabari regain his balance, stone burst open and vents of fire and lightning bolts burst up like an upside-down rainstorm under the feet of the Darkspawn.

When the flames died out, Tess immediately swayed, and fainted, meeting the stone with a heavy thud and a bit of a crack. The Darkspawn settle to the floor in heaps of ash. Alistair threw down his shield and sword and rushed to Tess, sliding on his knees. “No, no, no! Tess, wake up!” He propped her up and held her against his chest, tilting her head back so he could check for breath and check her eyes.  Her nostrils were still bleeding, but she was breathing through her nose. He pushed an eyelid up. Her pupils weren’t dilating at all, no matter how many times he shaded and unshaded her eyes with his hands.  _“No_ , Tess!” He looked up at the mage. “Can you do something? Heal her!”

“Er -” the mage hesitated, his eyes darting. He knotted his hands and unflexed them, and aimed a swirling mess of glimmering, ghostly cream at Tess. “It’s only a surface heal, I’m afraid.” He attempted the spell again, and Tess’s chest rose in a deep breath.

“Oh, Maker!” Alistair laughed in relief. He hugged her tight to him. She murmured something about shattering, spinning, dizzy-something, and he searched her eyes. “What? Look at me, Tess. No, no, don’t close your eyes. Tess?” He patted her cheek, and her eyes fluttered open again. Her clear emeralds kept drifting away, but it was obvious she was making an attempt to look at him.

“What kind of magic was that?” the mage marveled.

“N-not magic,” she whispered. “Inv-inverse enchantment.” Her eyes gave a long, slow blink.

“Stay with me, Tess. Come on, look at me. Look at my eyes,” Alistair encouraged.

“I became the rune.” She stared back in Alistair’s eyes, training her eyes to focus again.

“Do  _not_ do that again!” he pleaded. “You could have died.”

“It was risky indeed,” the mage agreed. “But nonetheless impressive. I see why it’s not common practice. I’m not even sure its common knowledge, actually.”

“Why did you do that?” Alistair brushed her hair off her face.

“I have to save the king,” she mumbled.

“The king? You aren’t making sense, Tess. Maybe you should stay here. I’ll go watch them light the beacon. I’ll be right back down before you know it,” he promised.

“No,” she said with effort. She pushed herself out of his arms, but her own were too unstable. Alistair caught her before she collapsed again. “I need…red….”

“Red?” Alistair asked. She held up her fingers a bit apart and tipped in the direction of her face.

“Oh! Potions! Yes! Healing potion!” The mage scrambled about a second purse on his belt, then handed Alistair a potent health potion.

“Thank you,” Alistair told the mage, grateful for his kindness, and patience. He uncorked the tiny bottle and lifted Tess’ head. She sucked it down like a babe to a bottle. She winced against him, and buried her face in the soft part of his armor. “I’m  _starting_  to think you  _want_  to be held,” he teased her as she clung to his chestpiece.

“Piss off,” she grumbled, “I just did something really amazing.”

He laughed softly and just cradled her for a moment. But they couldn’t linger, he knew that. “We have to get that beacon lit, Tess. And it may actually be  _us_  lighting it, now that the Darkspawn are all over this place.”

She lifted her head. “Oh? We get to do something exciting now?” she asked hopefully.

He smiled. “Very exciting. I’ll even let  _you_  light it.”

“You are way too good to me, Alistair.”

He let her try to stand up, but twice she wobbled. It came down to Alistair hoisting her up, supporting her around her waist with her arm over his shoulder. “You like it when I hold you, just admit it,” he teased.

“Cocky little Templar,” she muttered.

“I’m that bad, am I?” he laughed again.

“ _You_  picked me  _up_ , remember?”

“That I did. Have I mentioned you’re distracting?” He squeezed the hand over his shoulder.

“It appears I’m more so when I don’t try to be.”

“By all means, don’t try to be again,” he flirted. She smiled, obviously still weak. “A living rune,” he stated, keeping her close.

“Lyrium is good for runes.”

“And…Loghain did that to you?”

“Yes. Not his tactics, but putting me on lyroum started it. l am only good as rune with an overdose of lyrium. Without so much, I’m just…like a staff with no charge.”

“Is this a bad time to make a joke about wood and splinters?” he joked. She giggled. “Okay, yes, beyond that. I will kill him. Stay right here,  _don’t move._ ” He released her very briefly to secure his sword and shield, but just in that short time, her knees gave out. Her mabari stood firmly at her side to be her lean-to. “Good boy, Po.” Alistair scratched behind the dog’s ear as he collected Tess again. Standing with one arm around her waist again, Alistair hooked his shield at his back and sheathed his sword. “I am going to kill him,” he repeated.

“I didn’t want to marry Cailan. That was my price to pay.”

“Because you didn’t want to marry a man you didn’t love, that gives him the right to take advantage of you and turn you into an addict? Are you really trying to justify him, Tess?”

“I do see things from his view. He was ensuring I couldn’t change my mind and later back out of our contract. He was my employer, Alistair, and I was too young to care about my future.”

“That’s no excuse for his actions. You don’t poison someone to turn them into a weapon  _nor touch_  a woman inappropriately just so your own daughter can be queen. I mean, does he even know what he’s turned you into? Does he know it almost kills you?”

“I appreciate your concern -” weakness cut her words short. Alistair had to brace himself so he could catch her dead weight.

“Tess, you need to stay here,” he told her. “This isn’t up for discussion. You can’t even stand still.”

“I- no. I have to go.” She forced her fingers to close around his breastplate. “I am Lady Lyrium and I have to save my King,” she whispered adamantly.

“As fun as that title is,  _no._  You can’t stand, you can’t even hold on to me, and I’m pretty sure about an hour ago, you called Cailan  _stupid_ , or something. There weren’t supposed to be Darkspawn in here-”

“And you were worried this would be boring,” she interrupted him with a tiny smile.

“Are you  _always_  this much trouble?” he teased. He was very aware of how close they were, of her breath at his neck. The Maker sure had a sense of humor, placing this beautiful woman in his arms in these specific untimely situations.

“Sometimes I even cause it.” She straightened her legs and took a deep breath, and took a step away from him. Alistair caught her again when she swayed.

“ _Why_  do they think putting people in  _love_ on the battlefield together is a  _good idea?”_  the mage wondered. Alistair gave him a look-over.

“It’s more effective than you think,” Tess answered. “Wouldn’t  _you_ deal more damage if someone you cared about was in immediate austere danger?”

“Great. I’m already having trouble thinking around you,” Alistair joked. But he silently wondered if he really looked in love, if  _they_  looked in love. He supposed rushing to her when she fell and constantly worrying over her ability to breathe didn’t help correct any assumptions.

“And to think I almost added a joke about watching you bend over to pick my arrows for me.”

Alistair laughed, feeling his cheeks burn a little. “Now who’s cheeky?” She didn’t answer him. He watched her fumble at her purses with one hand. “What do you need?” he asked.

“Lyrium.”

“Tess,” his voice was flat. “Lyrium nearly killed you a moment ago.”

She shook her head. “Lesser.”

“And what if I give this to you, and you die? Right here, right now?”

“It hasn’t killed me yet.”

“It nearly did just a space over,” he reminded her.

“We have to light the beacon. You can’t even walk with me like this, and I am  _not_  staying here. Give me both, red and blue.”

He sighed. “I don’t like this one bit.” But he dug through her purses until he found a lesser lyrium potion and a decent health potion. He gave her the lyrium first, watching her carefully. When all she did was take a deep breath and sigh in relief, he put the vial of the health draught to her lips. She still didn’t have enough strength, though. “Tess…”

She clung to his breastplate and rested her face against his. “Just…give me a moment please.”

“We don’t have anymore moments here, Tess.” He could feel her brow drag against his skin. She took a deep breath and pulled back with a nod. He could feel the strain she put on herself to let go of him and try to stand on her own. “No, don’t make it harder than it needs to be. Hold on to me,” he urged. When she didn’t, he took her arm and hooked it through his. “If we find anymore Darkspawn, hide. Stay out of sight. If you can use your bow, that’s great, but I’d rather you hide.”

“Alistair.”

“It’s safer if you stay out of sight right now.  _Trust_  me to  _protect_  you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she said.

“Tesslyn,” he said in a more commanding tone.

“Alistair,” she mimicked his sound.

He sighed. “Women are impossible.”

“So are little Templars.”

The run through the tower was not easy. Alistair had to hid Tess a few times – set her firmly against a wall in shadow, so he could run around the corner and make it safe for her to drag her feet. The mage seemed to understand that they weren’t going to speak about how Tesslyn was slowing them down. She regained a little more strength on the second level, enough to get in a few decent shot with her bow. She had a single berserk moment when her dog took a blow to his right hind leg, and she tackled the genlock that hurt Po. She stabbed it in the face and chest until it lie in shreds below her. Alistair had to pull her off the dead thing and assure her that Po was still alive, just a little bruised up inside. He certainly admired her tenacity when it came to trying to help people she loved.

Between the mage needing his mana replenished and Tess’ single outbreak, they were quickly out of lyrium before they’d even reached the top floor where the beacon was. There just wasn’t enough lying around to replace what they’d used up, which meant the mage wasn’t nearly as effective, and now with Po wounded and Tess starting to withdrawal again, Alistair was the only real source of damage anymore, even with the help of the Grey Wardens’ mabari collection on the third floor. Alistair was supporting Tess by the waist again. He could see her focus slipping. She was barely able to hold on to him.

On the short six-step staircase up to the top of the tower, Tess slid out of his grip and into where the railing met the door frame. He quickly dropped to recover her. “I’ve got you,” he assured her. For some reason, she kept trying to stand independent of him, despite how she lacked the coordination and couldn’t see straight. “Tess, I’m  _here. Lean_  on me,” he insisted.  He pulled her back into his arms and stood, keeping her pressed against him. Her head swung back like a floppy doll’s head.

A sharp roar on the other side of the door brought her eyes straight to his. For a single moment, they stared at each other. Po growled through the pain of his broken leg. No words were needed to tell Alistair what was just a few paces away. Praying he was wrong –  _please let me be wrong! -_ he slowly pushed the door open. The ogre was right in front of the beacon’s furnace, eating what looked like a human leg. It didn’t seem to entirely see them, or maybe didn’t register them as possible threats, yet.

“No darkness…nor death either…” Tess chanted breathlessly of the Canticle of Trials.

As quietly as he could, Alistair set Tess on the second step, in the corner, hopefully out of sight of the ogre. “Stay here,” he whispered to her. She tried to say his name, but he shook his head and quietly shushed her. “Just stay here, Tess. Don’t talk, don’t move, just…Please,” he breathed. He let his forehead rest on hers just for a moment; too short a moment. He put his lips to her face, and stood, looking at the mage, readying his sword and shield. The mage nodded through a deep breath.

Brave, loyal Po ran with Alistair, keeping up remarkably well for a broken leg. Alistair ran as fast as he could, his shield out in front of him. He wanted to end this thing before it had time to wheel around and attack. He threw his entire weight into the ogre’s leg, trying to knock it off it’s feet, though it barely staggered the monstrosity. Sparks above his head told him the mage was pulling his share.

Alistair dodged a swipe from a very large hand, and he heard Tess choke out his name. He swung his sword into a massive leg, and Po closed his jaws around the other leg. Bursts of pale blue exploded above Alistair’s head as the mage shot bolts of ice at the beasts ugly head.

Tess was cringing on the floor away from the door, coming into the room, and Alistair made the mistake of looking over too long. As clumsy as the ogre was, it managed to sneak a claw under his shoulder piece, and his entire shoulder and upper arm, even part of his chest burned. Tess managed to choke his name out, and instantly he knew why. Darkspawn were approaching. Not close enough, yet, probably a good floor or two below them. But they were certainly on their way. The Taint in Alistair’s veins buzzed all inside him, buzzed as it left the inflamed wound at his shoulder.

“Light the beacon!” he ordered the mage. “Now!”

In just that short time it took to say those small words, the ogre turned its attention on Tess.

“No!” Alistair yelled. He drove his sword straight down into the ogre’s foot. The ogre roared and turned and swiped. Alistair yelled through his teeth as the giant claws sliced clean through his armor across his sword arm and his side.

Tess was suddenly right there, a dagger in the ogre’s gut. She stuck it with her other dagger, and again, and again, climbing up the front of that colossal creature. Alistair’s very breath revered her. For her to muster that kind of strength just to help was a miracle, and she was doing it for  _him_. He respected no one more. He respected her control over the very worst part of herself to show him honor, and in return he was deeply humbled.

Alistair and the mage delivered another blow each, ice from above while Alistair’s sword stuck clear through the giant leg. The ogre reacted by plucking Tess off its chest, and her scream was instantly broken by a squeeze of the massive hand.

It was as if the Maker Himself reached inside of Alistair in that moment and lit a fuse.  Alistair was aware that we was swinging his sword under the determination to not let this thing claim Tesslyn. But it wasn’t really him. He saw his own fight as if he was someone else watching him. It wasn’t really him when the arm crushing Tess flew off in bloody spurts of however many hacks. It wasn’t him who stabbed into the gut and twisted the sword. It wasn’t him who drove his sword into its kneecaps until the thing stumbled. It certainly wasn’t him who jumped through the air and shoved his sword through the face, who continued to stab the face even after the thing fell still to the floor.

But was Alistair who dropped his weapon and shield to reach Tess. He had to cut the ogre’s thumb off of the already-severed arm just so he could free her, and he had to rotate the hand so he could even remove it. Its claws had pierced her back, and she bled liberally when they were out.

Each breath was wet and brought up blood. He gathered her in his arms and kept her upright against him. She was trembling again, a mixture of withdrawal and – he hated to admit it – blood loss, too much blood loss. But she was looking at him. That was a good sign, right?

“Craz-z-zy b-beautiful ma-man-n,” she tried to say. “I’m s-s-sor-”

“No, don’ t do this. This isn’t goodbye, Tess.” But he could hear the horde of Darkspawn now. They were close enough to hear the clank of armor clapping on stone.

She raised a bloody hand up to his face and her fingers trembled at his mouth. Her eyes closed, and he gently shook her head. “No, Tess! Do  _not_  die on me! No one is dying today!” he ordered her. Alistair looked around. The mage had lit the fire. Po was bleeding from his back and limping horribly. He turned back to his friend in his arms. “Tess!  _Please!”_  He patted her cheek until her eyes opened. “Stay with me,” he told her.

“In d-death-th, s-s-sac-crifice-s-s…” she whispered.

“No! I will not allow it!” he said. “Do not leave me!”

“Alis-s-s-s-s-s-” she couldn’t make out his name.

Darkspawn came crashing into the room, literally tumbling over each other in the doorway. Alistair put his lips to Tesslyn’s forehead as he gently laid her down. He grabbed his sword and shield and he stood in front of Tess. Po limped over and stood next to him, a hind leg and a front leg broken, a gash between his shoulders and on his head, faithfully willing to protect his mistress no matter what.

“To the death, Po,” Alistair told the firm warrior. They were both prepared to die trying to protect her.

The mage quickly disappeared under an arm of the horde that swarmed in. It didn’t take long for Alistair to lose sight of Po, either. Burning steel ripped into Alistair’s shoulder like a flame from hell, and something gashed his face, quickly followed by a slice to his sword-arm.

It took even less time for everything to fade to black.


	6. The Last Two Grey Wardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair wakes up on the property of Flemeth and Morrigan. Alistair has nightmares while he and Dog wait for Tesslyn to recover. Alistair and Tesslyn emotionally elevate their friendship/relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music:
> 
> Tess: [Innocence, by Halestorm](https://youtu.be/_CRNN5fiEwI)
> 
> NSFW art at end of chapter.

Alistair awoke to find himself in the presence of the Witch of the Wilds. Before he had time to start demanding anything, Flemeth told him that he and the girl, and accidentally the dog because it had gone to die on its mistress, were all “here” and safe. The dog was pretty much healed, Alistair was pretty much healed, and the girl was inside being treated for more severe injuries. Alistair and the dog were  _not_ welcome inside under any circumstances. The old woman told him Loghain’s troops pulled out as soon as the beacon was lit. An ogre had crushed Cailan “like a tomato,” she said. Duncan had died by an axe to the head right after killing the ogre that killed Cailan. Tess had been right about Loghain.

So Alistair waited, for days. He lost count after watching three or four sunsets, or was it sunrises? They all started to blur together. Po, with hardened bandages on his right hind leg and front left leg, sat next to Alistair. After a few days, when Flemeth took off Po’s bandages and also the bandages pretty much all over Alistair’s torso, he asked if he could see Tess. He was denied again. He didn’t mean to blow up on the old woman, but he did anyway. He couldn’t help his anger. If Tess was really alive, there would be no harm in letting him see her. She was all he had left, and the Witch held this over him. He stormed off into the woods with his sword and shield –  _the Witch could save his sword and shield but not Duncan?_  Po trotted right next to him, determined to belong to someone.

Alistair wasn’t sure how long they were out there. The Witch’s shack wasn’t very far, but it was hidden from view by trees and brush, and he was grateful. Alistair made a makeshift camp of sticks and rocks and moss, and he and the dog cuddled up to each other underneath the pathetic roof each night in front of the fire he’d miraculously been able to start with his sword and a rough rock. Po caught a couple rabbits and a small fox over the course of their time out there.

Maker, what was going on? Tess’ question from that first night, on the edge of the overlook, came to mind:  _Do you think the Maker would do all this just to punish someone?_  Did he deserve all this?  _Did_ he?

Finally, a place he felt at home – destroyed.

The only people he considered family – even his real brother, though the only family moment they’d ever shared was Cailan’s goodbye – dead. All of them.

His mentor/father -dead.

The one person he felt compelled to fight to the death for – as good as dead, or possibly dead and the Witch just wasn’t telling him.

The only thing he had left was someone else’s dog and the mercy of two apostates who had mysteriously rescued them from the murderous Darkspawn.

It was all very depressing.

The Templar in Alistair did not trust these apostates. Tess certainly hadn’t approved of Flemeth before. Yet here they were, Tess confined up in that tiny shack and him confined to stay outside of it.

All he needed was to see her, to make sure she was alive. He was willing to take care of her, to dress and clean whatever wounds she had, to feed her, anything. He just needed to make sure she was alive and safe. That short time – Maker forgive him – that single day he’d had with her had made every other day in his life worth it. It was like she was the product of all his patience and determination and willingness to do better. And just like that, she was gone. His last memory of her was of her bleeding and trying to keep her eyes open long enough to stammer his name.

_Alissssss…_

He dreamed about her, and Cailan. The ogre had Tess. It was swinging her and crushing her. It squeezed her so hard she broke completely in two, but when he went back for the body parts, she had turned into Cailan, with a bloodied goofy grin on his face, hissing name his out just like Tess’ last attempt:  _Alissssss…_

He woke from the dream by his own scream, nearly throwing the dog away from him before he even realized it had just been a dream and that he was awake now. He was so scared when he came to that he just sat and cried so hard his whole body shook. He cried so hard he gave himself a headache that nauseated him, and after he’d run out of tears, he spent the rest of the day vomiting even after he had nothing left to spit up but bitter yellow bile. He didn’t remember passing out, but he woke up near his sour vomit, with Po immediately on the other side, warming him. He buried his face in the dog, and woke up again later to see a sunrise….or sunset? He wasn’t sure.

Po followed him to a patch of swamp water that didn’t look too murky. After testing the water with a stick, he crouched down and scooped up water in both hand, and he threw it over his arms and face, rinsed out his mouth. He pulled off his shirt, then his pants and smalls –  _where in Andraste’s name did the Witches get mens clothes?_ \- and washed himself, and his hair. He even tried to wash Po, but the dog was having nothing to do with it. The clothes dragged along his damp skin when he redressed. 

He stood at his lousy makeshift camp for quite a while. He didn’t want to stay here. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his days in nightmares and vomit and headaches. He didn’t want to be so scared that he became dysfunctional and could only cry. He wanted Tess back.

With one look in the direction of the apostates’ shack, his feet took him, grabbing his sword and shield on his way out. He would see Tess one way or the other, whether the Witches wanted him to or not.

Po barked questioningly.

“I’m going to get Tess,” he told the dog.

Po gave a happy bark and joined him, tail wagging.

“Do you suppose the sneaky apostates are telling the truth? That she  _is_ alive?” he asked.

Po barked hopefully.

“Yeah, I hope so too.”

Po barked in question.

“I am  _not_  in love!” he protested.

Po barked accusingly.

“I  _am not!_ ” Alistair defended himself.

Po cocked his head with a little whine.

“That won’t work on me. She’s my friend, that’s it.” He paused. “Even if she  _is_ a goddess.”

Po gave a short bark.

“I am not a liar! Hey! Where are you going?” he called as Po took off with another bark. Alistair’s stomach flew into his neck as soon as he stepped into the clearing where the shack stood, and he knew why Po had run off.

Tess was standing outside, with both Witches. She was wrapped in some kind of sheet or shawl.

She was alive. Alistair had done so much to save her. He had tried so hard to make sure she would live. His insides tumbled in relief that it had been worth it to let her alone instead of holding her in what he had feared were her last moments.

She kept his gaze as he walked straight to her. The closer he became the faster her eyes searched. He wrapped her up and held her tight against him, and she let out a shaky breath. “I thought you were dead!” he whispered. His eyes watered when she closed her arms around him, and he buried his face in her shoulder. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up! I was so mad! They wouldn’t let me see you!” He held her even tighter. “I can’t lose you, Tess.” He pulled back enough to put his head to hers. “Maker! I am  _so sorry!_  I should have been here!” He put his mouth to her forehead, and before he knew it, he was planting little kisses all over her face, not stopping, not breathing. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to accomplish, but it just felt like it had to be done, before there was no longer time for anymore kisses.

“Alistair,” she said with a sigh. He squeezed her all over again. It felt so good to hear her say his whole name. Maybe now the nightmares would stop. Her face turned in a bit, and for a moment, they just stood there hugging.

“How do you feel?” he asked, pulling back just enough to see her face.

“I don’t feel so bad, considering what happened,” she answered.

He rubbed the back of her arms, and her shoulders curled in toward him. “You’re not shaking, for the moment.”

“What about -” she started to speak, then her eyes went wide, and she scrambled around his arm to pull up his shirt. It tickled when she touched his side over what were now fresh scars, and he squirmed a bit.

“I wasn’t nearly so bad as you,” he told her.

“Unfortunately the rest of us don’t have time to watch the remaining two Grey Wardens strip each other!” Flemeth let them she was still there.

“What do you expect me to do?” Tess turned out of Alistair’s hold to face the elder witch. “I’ve got no weapons, no money, no armor, no clothes -”

“You’re naked under there?” he said the words before he even realized he was so curious. Tess paused, turned her head to look at him as if she didn’t know to respond, then she turned back to Flemeth.

“I’ve got nothing,” she continued. Alistair turned his head as a smile spread on his face.

“You have the treaties,” Flemeth reminded. “You’re lucky your man, here, kept the scrolls in his backpack, hidden under his armor.”

“Scrolls do not make for durable clothing,” she said all too seriously. Alistair didn’t know if he was giddy from relief, but he felt like giggling.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Flemeth said.

“Because the dwarves are going to drop what their doing and join me when I walk into Orzammar naked.”

“I would,” Alistair chimed in, forcing back a giggle.

“You already have,” she reminded him. “My  _point_  is, I couldn’t take a single tower with an experienced, armored Grey Warden and an experienced mage  _and_  a war dog.  _How_  can I do  _more_ with  _less?”_  she asked. “I haven’t been a Grey Warden long enough to know what to do!”

“You’ve already been trying to do more with  _much_  less,” Flemeth said mysteriously, staring at Tess.

Tess frowned and stared back. She glanced at Alistair, then back to the old woman. “How do you even know about that?”

Flemeth laughed. “Oh, I know more than that, girl!”

Tess frowned in conflict. “This is different.  _This_ isn’t just about finding support for a king. The Treaties designate obligation for sacrifice in war!” she said adamantly.

“What king? Are you talking about Cailan?” Alistair looked to both women.

They openly ignored him. “But you’ve done all  _that_  on your own, more often without even your hound.”

“Again, I was not asking people to leave their families to  _die_   _painfully._ And, mind you, still no clothes!” She flung off the sheet around her. Alistair tried to keep her nudity out of his sight.

“What are you doing?” Morrigan asked when Tess ripped a wide strip from the sheet.

“It’s better to just let her have at it, when she’s upset,” Alistair explained.

“I’m making clothes. I can’t even walk into Lothering for a job with my blooming blushies out in the open for everyone to see.”

Alistair felt his cheeks and ears flush, but he giggled anyway. “I think you should  _try_ ,” he encouraged.

“Hold this.” She shoved the sheet into his hand, and he looked down to see her unsheathing his sword.

“Mother!” Morrigan protested.

“Let her!” Flemeth laughed. “I’m curious to see how this will turn out.”

“The Orleasians wear less with no actual stitching half the time. It should be easy,” Tess narrated.

Alistair giggled again. “Orleasian men, maybe.”

She gave him a double-take. “Then give me  _your_ clothes, and I’ll make  _you_  the loincloth.”

Sweet Maker! He was embarrassed, even more so by the thought of walking around so exposed. “I am really glad you’re awake,” he joked.

“Because it’s your  _dream_  to run around collecting war allies in your bulging skivvies?” she asked in pretty good pretense innocence.

He ducked his face into the sheet and hid his face in the cloth. “Yes. I am so thrilled I have you to help me achieve that!”

“Speaking of Orleasians,” Flemeth interrupted, “what did they have to say about your kingly quest?”

“I make a convincing argument when I have to. Celene agrees that Ferelden can do better than Cailan while he’s under the influence of Loghain.” She paused and raised her head. “Bugger. I have to go find his body.”

“Not dressed like an Orleasian!” Flemeth laughed.

“Wait, you were planning on overthrowing Cailan?” Alistair looked at Tess.

“So I just let my cousin’s body rot?” she said to Flemeth, ignoring him again. “He may have been an idiot -”

“That seems to run in the family,” Morrigan interjected.

“- But he was still family. And…considering the alternatives at the time of Maric’s death, Cailan was somewhat decent. He could have been a lot worse.” She paused again with a frown and a stare at no one, and Alistair suspected she was remembering Cailan’s goodbye.

“This Treaty of yours,” Flemeth brought the conversation back.

Tess remained ripping and cutting fabric, and holding it up to cut more. “Talk to Alistair about it. He’s the real Grey Warden, not me.”

“Lovely. Thanks for that,” he said sarcastically.

“You are both Grey Wardens, girl.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just a recruit who happened to survive the Joining. I  _failed_ at the Grey Warden part, didn’t I? The Blight still goes on. The Warden-Commander is dead. I  _failed._ I’ve been too busy contemplating suicide because I just lost my entire family, only to be magically talked out of it, only to reunite with a traitor who scarred me for life,  _and_ I forgot to monitor my lyrium withdrawals and nearly died for it which it nearly cost me the life of the ki-” she cut herself off. _"that.”_

“That wasn’t the least bit suspicious,” Alistair said.

“The point is  _I failed._ If it hadn’t been for you,” she told Flemeth, “everything I’ve done in the past would have for naught.”

“But you're alive. So it wasn’t a waste,” Flemeth said with a smile tugging at her mouth. Tess just stared back at the old woman, still nude during this serious conversation.

Tess dumped a pile of cloth on to Alistair, and he moved it off his head to see her tying a wide strip of cloth like a very thin pair of small-clothes around her hip. “There is also the matter of Loghain Mac Tir.” She spiraled the cloth up one thigh and then up past her hips.

“Unite the land first,” Flemeth said.

“It’s easier to unite Templars and mages, trust me. Do you know how many bastard babies are born in the Circle each month?” she joked.

“I wonder how many of those gets sent  _back_ to the Circle after they, I don’t know, set the banners with Andraste’s Flame on fire?” Alistair speculated.

She grinned up at him. “I’d  _pay_ to see the look on the Mothers’ faces when that happens.”

He laughed. “Me too!”

Tess wrapped her other thigh, now, winding up around just like with the other leg but in the opposite direction. When her entire torso was wrapped, save for her breasts which were obviously a bit chilled from the breeze, she took the two loose ends and crossed them, one over each bosom, tying them together behind her neck. Alistair found he couldn’t stop staring at her breasts, especially when they gave a little bounce as she jerked the cloth into a knot.

“Do…they teach you to do that in assassin school?” he asked.

She tied the remaining cloth at her waist like a – devilishly – short dress. “A male Antivan Crow trained me…so, I suppose you could say that.”

“I…am going to need to walk in front of you…” Her breasts really did hang quite nicely like that. The blush of her nipples showed more or less though the fabric, as did the clear advancement of her little perts themselves.

“I’m good with that. There’s a fine view from behind you.”

His hand instantly covered his face. “I’m leaving.” He blushed furiously, he could feel the rush of heat in his face and ears, even his neck. He literally turned and walked right into the shadow of a group of trees, where he could fluster out of earshot and out of arms-reach from her.

Oh, Maker, the dog was right. He was crazy for this girl. He watched her as she talked with both Morrigan and Flemeth. Even her expressions were perfect. The way wisps of her pale hair fell down the side of her face and neck, and the way her breasts lifted with her shoulders as she gave a look of barbed query, Maker, even her scowl was perfect. From this angle, he could see her buttocks wiggle a little when she shifted from one foot to the other, and the small pouch between her navel and her privates completed the roundness of her hips. She was just…there. Waiting to be -  

 _No!_ He buried his face in his arms, ashamed for trying to fondle her with his eyes. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the rising heat of his groin. Really? He lost everything, even his home, and he immediately lusts on the one person who has lost more than he has?

When he lifted his head, Morrigan was throwing her arms up. She disappeared into the house, and Tess came over to him. “Good work insulting the swooping witch,” he said.

“Don’t say that too casually.” She sat next to him. “Flemeth wants her to come with us.”

“What?!” he cried softly. He groaned when he looked at her. “Ugh, you said  _yes_ , didn’t you?”

“She can  _heal_ , Alistair.’

“And she can also poison us.”

“ _I_ can poison you.”

“But I trust you. I don’t trust them.” He sighed and roughly ran his fingers through his hair. “So, what? We just go tromping off to Orzammar and the Circle and Redcliffe? With an apostate? She doesn’t exactly blend in with normal people.”

“Neither of us are normal, Alistair.”

“We’re obviously not mages, is what I’m trying to say. Apostates aren’t held in high regard.”

She sighed. “Well, I have to go see Eamon anyway.”

“Arl Eamon?”

“Yes.” She groaned, “Isolde will be there!”

“Great,” he said unenthusiastically.

“I need to stop by Rainesfere and speak to Teagan, too.”

“I always liked Teagan,” he commented.

She smiled a little. “Me too. I was eight when I first heard my mother talk to him about marrying me. I still remember exactly how he was standing, how his hair was lying. He looked down at me, and said _‘she’s a bit short.’_  He  _broke_  my heart to  _pieces_. I used to play pretend that he was King and I was his Queen,” she recalled with a dreamy look on her face.

“You and Teagan?” Alistair really didn’t like this idea. But he didn’t want to let on that he was jealous. “Well…It’s been fifteen years.”

She shook her head with a glance that suggest it was a cute notion, but never going to happen. “He disapproves of my killing hobby. But he was working with me on Orlais and Seheron.”

“Working? Working on what? The  _king_  thing?” he eyed her.

She did a double-take at him, then frowned and held his chin. “Blast, Alistair! Your face!”

“That was subtle and encouraging.”

“Don’t play daft. Your  _scar_!” She turned his face and peered so close he could feel her breath on jaw.

“My what? Oh, right. She said I got hacked in the face,” he told her. She traced the scar, from his hair line diagonally down his forehead, curving down around his nose to his right cheek. “I didn’t realize it had been that bad.”

“She healed it well. I couldn’t see it in the direct light. But it reflects under here.” She looked troubled by his scar.

“I’m fine, really,” he insisted. He took her wrist and gently removed her hand from his face. “Bann Teagan’s a good man.”

She searched his eyes curiously. “He is, but that life passed me up long before I was able to realize what I might have missed out on.” She hesitated, then her brow pushed toward her hair.  _“You kissed me. A lot of times_.”

He laughed and hung his head in his embarrassment. “I have never been so relieved to see someone alive.” He looked at her. “You are the first woman I’ve ever kissed. You know that?”

“I –  _naturally_ , the first time to do it is  _forty times in a row_ ,” she teased with a shrug. He laughed quietly, glad it was just her with him for this conversation. “I think it’s a sweet first kiss. But…”

“Uh-oh. Here comes the  _'I’m just not into you’_  speech,” he joked.

“ _No_ , actually I’m pleasantly surprised with how you’re turning out,” she told him.

“What did you think I’d be like?”

She wasn’t looking at him again. “A blabbering incompetent idiot. Like Cailan, but with a piss-poor vocabulary.”

“Says the noble woman who speaks fluent pirate,”he teased, smirking.

She grinned. “I’m a hypocrite, I know. But, I approve of you.” She lost her smile, but seemed neutral still. “What I recall of you when I was at my worst was a man who proved quite honorable, despite the conditions.”

“I’m still sensing there’s an ’ _it’s not you, it’s me’_ coming up,” he predicted. “But you needn’t bother. I am perfectly fine with just being your friend. That’s all I wanted from the beginning anyway.” He met her eyes. “Is there anything wrong with just being friends?”

“You did kiss me forty times,” she reminded with a nod.

“ _I_ will keep count next time, thank you,” he joked. She smirked. “Is it  _wrong_  to love a friend for just being a friend?”

She searched his eyes. “Regardless, you may resent me when we find Teagan.”

“Adding  _Possible Future Resentment_  to my list. It’s right underneath  _Don’t Annoy Her_  and  _Get Out of the Way When She’s Angry_ ,” he played.

She giggled. “A wise list. But friend or no, you still kissed me. Forty times,” she insisted.

He mused, trying not to look too smug. “And somebody liked it,” he flirted.

“I admit nothing.” Her violent smirk rosy-ed her cheeks, and he laughed.

He watched Morrigan walk back out with a shoulder-hung sack and a mage’s staff. “Do you really think this is wise?” he asked, neither of them seemingly in a hurry to get moving.

“No. But what are our options? I mean, yes, we can fight, but I’m a wreck of a lyrium addict. I  _still_  see my  _father_  lying in his own blood every time I close my eyes, and my nephew…Neither of us has a home to go to. We’ve no coin – I mean, if we want to brave Howe’s men at Highever, I’ve got a chest that only  _I_  can open with ridiculously valuable things inside. Otherwise, no coin, no clothes, no weapons, no armor. Just us, against all of Ferelden and the Darkspawn. Do you know what I think?” she asked in anticipation with big eyes.

“What do you think?” he asked her.

“ _I_  think the Maker’s blasting sodding bored up there! A  _Chantry_  boy and an  _assassin_  team up to be the mighty Heroes of Ferelden?”

He smiled, eager to hear the rest of her tale.

“That sounds like an Orleasian puppet play! You’ve got the assassin on this hand -” she held up her left hand like a sock puppet “- Shaking like mad and trying to slaughter everyone -” she whipped her hand about like a drunken bumblebee. Alistair couldn’t help but laugh. “And then there’s the Chantry boy-” she held up her right hand in front of him “ _giggling_  in battle -”

Alistair giggled in a mixture of embarrassment and humor, hiding his flush in her arm.

“- trying to command the assassin through his giggles, going ’ _No! No! Kill the turts! NO! The SWOOPING turts! The swooping one!'”_ she said this very fast, and he couldn’t stop laughing, especially at her impersonation of him. She looked at him flatly. “We’re  _doomed_ , Alistair.”

His shoulders shook, he was laughing so hard. “At least we’ll die having fun!” He whined though a laugh as his side hurt with the sudden strain of giggling so hard. “I think I need to find some toys to play with.”

“Toys?…as in…prison cuffs and feathers?” she asked with incredible interest.

He froze, staring at her, his mind suddenly wiped clean. “I…what?”

She looked a little sheepish – only a little. “I’m sorry. I know better, with a Chantry boy.”

“Prison cuffs, huh?” he pondered this. “How?”

She grinned. “Four, normally. Hook them to bed posts.”

“Maker…” His eyes rocked back and forth in thought, trying to imagine himself so vulnerable.

“Toys.  _Children’s_ toys, Alistair.” She grinned still.

“Hm?” he met her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m a little bit distracted…you had me at prison cuffs.”

She hesitated and turned her face away. Then, “Maybe one day.”

“You are right.  _We_  are  _doomed_. Ferelden will not be able to depend on me. Not when you’re around,” he joked, still a little absentminded.

“Even better. Beware, Archdemon! I come alone!” she declared with a smirk.

“Oh, I’ll be following,” he assured her, “mind you, it might be a tad close to your back side.” He couldn’t believe he was flirting like this. Maker save him! This woman did strange things to his insides.

“You seemed to do fine on the bridge,” she encouraged.

“You couldn’t see it from up ahead, but your hound was dragging me. I had teeth marks in my collar,” he joked. But the image of the bridge brought back the moment after the bridge, when she bargained the mage his safety for lyrium.

“He’s a good helper.”

“Tess…” he looked at her, suddenly done with all that risque talk. “What are you going to do about your lyrium problem? It’s going to take us three days to get to Lothering. We’ll  _have_  to camp at sundown, there’s no way we can get there by tonight.”

She stared at nothing. “I’m just going to have to try to wean again.  _Balls!_ ” she scoffed. “There are going to be some long nights.”

He remembered her in the tower. He remembered her unable to stand, unable to look at him, having to lay her down in shadows to hide her each time they encountered more Darkspawn. Glimpsing her try to yell for him with a voice so broken he could barely hear her, watching her inch across the floor. He worried for her. “Tess,” he said. He turned her face toward him. “Remember I’m here. Please. I’ll do whatever I need to help.”

“This isn’t your addiction, Alistair.”

“It almost was. I was days away from finishing my training. They would have had me coming for regular doses. I was  _so_  close. I’ve seen what it does to you, Tess. I…I honestly don’t know how to say this without sounding like I’m overly-attached already, but watching what it did to you was scary for me. Having to try to hide so you would be safe because that stupid blue drink turned you into a rag doll scared me. I can’t begin to imagine what it does to your insides when you’re like that.” He hesitated. “I  _think I_ would want help.”

Flemeth called out to them, and Alistair sighed. “And so we start our gypsy parade.” He got to his feet and held his hands down.

“I do not deserve you, Alistair,” she said as he pulled her up. Standing on slightly higher ground put her just about as his height.

“It’s not about what anyone deserves or doesn’t. It’s what we  _need_ , isn’t it?” he asked.

She cocked her head with a quizzed frown. “I’ve had more than my share of men, so…the Maker sends me a  _Chantry_  boy?”

He grinned.

“He’s a bit of a  _cheeky_  Maker, if you ask me. He could’ve just written me a note.”

Alistair giggled. “So what does that say about me? A Chantry boy meets a woman who carves up Darkspawn and becomes a rune?”

“I think maybe He gave you a way to cure your boredom.  _Or_  He’s trying to tell you to work on your  _medic_  skills.”

“That explains everything that’s happened since we met!” he laughed.

“I suppose we’ll just wait for the Blight to destroy itself?” Flemeth barked.

“Yes! That will do nicely, actually! Saves  _me_  a lot of trouble!” Tess countered without hesitation, leaning around Alistair.

“I like that plan,” he agreed.

“Yes. It gives me time to get some proper clothes and weapons and  -!” she gasped loudly with large eyes and her hands flew to her face. “My bow!” she whispered.

He winced. “I am truly sorry, Tess. Is it possible to make another?”

“Yes,” she sighed, looking forlorn. “And now, witches.”

“ _Swooping_ witches, at that.” He turned around. “Just so you know, when we do stop for camp, I’m sleeping with you.  _Far away_  from her.”

“Even if I sleep naked?” she tested.

“I’ve seen you naked,” he reminded her. “A few times, already.”

“Could you sleep next to me if I’m naked?”

He thought about this. “You…might wake up to being groped, but yes. After awhile, I would  _eventually_ fall asleep.”

Her cheeks flared up shyly and she pushed him. He could only laugh.

After an uncomfortable goodbye between the two witches, Flemeth sent them all off with all she had to spare: two bed mats rolled up, a thick fur rug, tiny bundles of rolled furs and wool blankets, and then a few small cakes, aside from what was in Morrigan’s sack

A few paces out of the swamp, and Alistair realized his Grey Warden wasn’t wearing any shoes. “Tess? Would you like my boots?” he offered.

“Your feet are nearly twice as big as mine, though!”she marveled, glancing at their feet.

“Would you like me to carry you, then?”

“To Lothering?” she said skeptically.

“You’re going to ruin your feet,” he said.

“I’ve gone barefoot before.”

“You've walked barefoot for days before?” he quipped.

“…Around my family’s castle…as a child…” she said unconvincingly.

He laughed. “Same thing, right? Well, let me know when you realize your toes are filthy.”

“I actually go barefoot when it rains. I love it,” she told him.

“Barefoot in the rain,” he pondered.

“Usually naked, too.”

“Don’t you get cold?”

“Not really.”

“Huh. Even in winter rain?” He was truly curious about this. He loved the rain.

“Not so much winter rain. Warmer rain. Summer, autumn, late spring. This time of year is best, when it’s starting to get hot but still cool at night? The clashing temperatures bring lightning and thunder. It takes my breath away.”

“That’s very poetic,” he approved.

“You thinks so?” she asked.

“I do think so. And I like the rain, too. I love thunder.”

“Do you two  _ever_  stop talking?” Morrigan complained.

“Not when we’re together, “Alistair answered. “Except maybe when we’re asleep. I don’t know. Tess, do I talk in my sleep?” he looked down. His fingers accidentally brushed hers, and he was shocked at feeling so shy about it. He pulled his arm in tight and walked a step further away. It didn’t seem to bother her, though.

“I do not know,” she said pensively. “I was drunk that first night, and unconscious for the rest.”

“You should watch me sometime to find out,” he joked.

“Watch you when you sleep?” she echoed.

“Yes! I want you to watch me when I sleep so you can tell me if I  _talk_ while I’m sleeping!” he animated his voice more.

“That is…the most  _innocent_  proposition I have ever had regarding a man and sleep,” she sounded bewildered. Alistair giggled. “Well, If I withdrawal hard enough, I will be up all night.”

“I  _have lyrium_ ,” Morrigan offered.

Tess literally froze in her tracks. Morrigan nearly walked into her.

“Morrigan, that’s not helping at the moment,” Alistair said.

“I brought it for her, mostly. We will need her at her most alert.”

“Well, she’s not very alert now, is she? She was talking about weaning, earlier. That might be a good thing, considering what the mere mention of it does to her,” he tried to defend Tesslyn’s decision.

“And when she screams in torment because withdrawals are torturing her from the inside?” Morrigan challenged. Both of them resumed walking when Tess did. “You care for her. I’m positive you’ll come running to stop her pain once you see how bad it truly gets. 'Tis half the reason we kept you from her. Mother could not heal her with the lyrium so thick in her veins. We had to silence her with a spell and let her body pass it on its own. Mother had to keep her hands bound, for she kept trying to dig it out of her insides herself.”

“I thought you said she was unconscious the whole time?” he asked.

“She was. But the body still breathes, blood still flows when one sleeps, yes?”

“Will you two please stop talking about this? It’s doing nothing for my nerves!” Tess said.

“Sorry!” Alistair rushed.

The rest of the day was relatively quiet. Tess started ticking and twitching before sunset ever fell upon them. She didn’t say anything, so Alistair figured she was trying to make it seem like it really wasn’t bothering her. When the sun did start to set and they decided on a clear enough place in the woods to make camp, Tess insisted on going alone to find firewood alone. Alistair was reluctant, for her jaw was clenching and her words were starting to trip over each other. But he made her promise to stay close. He set up their bedmats; Morrigan opted to use the thick fur rug as her bed. He told Po to see if he could find something for supper, expecting rabbits or another fox. When Tess didn’t return with another few drops of the sun, he gathered stones to set at the base for the fire.

The sun had nearly disappeared behind the mountains and trees. Tess still wasn’t back, nor was her dog. He set out the direction she had left in. He groaned as branches slapped his face. Being so tall in the woods at night when he could barely see was nearly undoing him.

He nearly tripped over her. She was squatting with her head down between her knees. The only reason he even knew it was here in such low light was the rocking back and forth. Her hands were tangled in her hair, clenching to a pulse. “Maker, Tess!” Even her toes rocked, even her ankles spasmed. He carefully unhooked her fingers from her hair, and instantly her head started twitching. “Oh, Tess.” She was in bad shape. He crouched and braced her tight in his arms, and stood as carefully as he could. “You need to yell for me when this happens,” he told her gently. He tipped her as he readjusted one arm under her legs. Her head jerked at the crook of his neck and her fingers tightened around a fistful of shirt at his collar, nearly in unison with her head. He hurried back to camp, and it dawned on him that he was once again saving this damsel in distress.

“Morrigan! I need a potion!” he demanded in a bossy tone.

“I told you,” Morrigan said smugly as he stepped around the bedmats and brought Tess to her.

“Just make the potion.”

“And you have been dying all day to carry her,” the witch continued mockingly.

“Yes! I’ve been waiting  _all_ day for her to curl up in pain, unable to move and unable to call for help!” he snapped. “How are you so insensitive? If I hadn’t gone to find her, she would still be stuck out there!” He rested his left leg on a tree stump and set her weight on him so he could attend to her face. No bleeding, but she wasn’t focusing at all and her pupils were very small for such low light.

“I had no reason to suspect anything was wrong. She is a capable woman.” Morrigan poured a small handful of lyrium into a fat vial.

“Right, except it doesn’t take anyone that long to gather firewood in a forest and we both know she has a severe lyrium addiction that completely incapacitates her!” He really couldn’t stand this mage. He certainly didn’t trust her. Tess’ eyes tried hard to stay on him, and her lips kept opening. “It’s almost over,” he assured her. He brushed her blonde locks off of her face and neck. “I promise.”

“'Tis finished.” Morrigan turned around and held out a small bottle of blue liquid.

Alistair quickly snatched the vial. With the arms supporting the back of Tesslyn’s head, he reached around to open her mouth. He poured just a trickle of the potion on to her tongue. Almost instantly, her body started relaxing. Hands still trembling, she found his wrist and tipped until the vial emptied past her lips. She took a deep, shaky breath and let her head hang back. She stammered out  _more_. “Another, Morrigan!” Alistair ordered. The witch looked at Tess in such a way that said she hadn’t believe Tess’ addiction was really so bad. She took the empty vial and proceeded to make another batch.

Tess, with her face still titled toward the nearly blackened sky, climbed her fingers up Alistair’s wrist and clasped his hand firmly. Her chest rose too evenly, like she was trying to force her breath to normality. He understood she was grateful, but this was just one more sign that he was supposed to take care of her.

She practically inhaled the second dose. Her chest heaved drastically, finally able to fill with air. However she was still disoriented, or weak. When she tried to stand, her knees gave out. She clutched him around the shoulders, and he caught her before she slipped from his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he assured her. She buried his face in his shoulder and clung to him like she didn’t trust herself to let go.

“Let’s get you set,” he said. “I’ll start the fire, and go find Po.”

“Where’s Po?” she was muffled against him.

“He went to go find dinner.”

“What?” she raised her head and looked quizzed.

“I told him to go find dinner, and he left. Don’t worry, he hasn’t been gone long, I promise.” He braced her waist. “Do you want to try to walk, or should I carry you?”

“I need to move,” she said. He held her with only one arm and guided her to where he had set up their bed mats, letting her set the pace. As soon as he had her securely sitting, Po came trotting back with a proud grin and what looked like a bloody snout.

“See? He’s fine.” Alistair knelt in front of Tess and studied her eyes for a moment. Even though Morrigan’s campfire was a bit far and so the giving light poor, Tess’ pupils were dilating now.

“I guess we all can’t be fidgety lyrium addicts in the woods,” she joked softly.

“I would hate to see your dog on lyrium. Our luck, it would make him fly or something.”

She gave an exhausted smile, and he gently pressed his fingers to her head when he brought his lips in above her eyes.”Will you be all right if I go get firewood and see what Po caught?” he asked. When she nodded, he told her not to move and promised he’d be right back. He told Po to go guard his kill, and the dog happily obliged. Alistair gathered two armful of fallen branches close to their campsite, and one armful of kindling. He borrowed some fire from the witch, and as he made sure the rest of the wood took to the flame, he noticed the solemn glow upon Tesslyn’s face. He stoked the fire until it roared, and then he sat next to her on the bedmat.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.

“Yes.” She stared at the fire as if in a trance. “No.”

“Yes  _and_ no,” he echoed. “So, what  _isn’t_  all right?”

“Me.”

“That’s hardly accurate, Tess,” he insisted. He didn’t like hearing her talk like this.

“No, I’m just…thinking about what you said earlier. It’s something we  _need_. I’m…I guess I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that…I may not be able to live without you. Which the stupidest thing I have ever told a man, but…” she shook her head. “Whether from myself or my addiction or ogres, I  _do_ …need you. I can’t live on my own anymore. I don’t ever remember having so many problems. I’ve traveled all over Thedas by myself, half of the time without Po. But I doubt I’ll live to thirty without you, at this rate. I can’t help myself anymore. You’ve had to do it all for me.”

“You have been through so much, Tess, excluding Ostagar. You have to give yourself a break sometime.”

“The thought alone scares me terribly. Thirty may not be possible if I don’t stay with you.  _Twenty-four_ may not be possible without you.” That was just her next birthday. “I’ve never been scared of anything before.”

“Are you looking for an answer  _why?_ ” he asked. “ _Why_  do I help you?”

“No. I’m just…” she sighed heavily, then scoffed. “Climbing up the front of a toothy ogre doesn’t scare me, but possibly dying at any given moment does.”

“I guess I’ll just have to stick to your side, then.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Okay,  _why_?” she said with a sigh. “Why would you do that? Why would you do anything you’ve done for me?” She looked at him.

“To be honest, I don’t really know why I started. Maybe…I don’t know. I could see you were having a hard time, before your Joining. I could see  _pain_  in your eyes. That made me overlook your moodiness.”

She groaned. “I’m  _sorry_  about that!” she winced.

“Don’t be. I understand,” he assured her. “As far as why I keep helping…” he shrugged. “Isn’t that what you  _do_  for a friend? I consider you my friend. A good one. The best one I’ve ever had, truthfully. You’ve caused me some very manly giggles.”

She ducked her head in a sheepish laugh, and he smiled for her. He pressed his mouth to her bare shoulder, and she withdrew quiet breath, the same shoulder lifting as her head turned toward him with closed eyes.

“ _What_ was _that?”_ he asked, suddenly distracted and very interested.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, blinking a few times, turning back how she’d been before he’d kissed her.

“Uh-huh…” he watched her face closely and put his lips to her shoulder again. She gave the exact same reaction, but added an eye roll this time. He grinned, admittedly arrogant right now. “ _You like_ that.” he concluded softly.

She sighed with her eyes closed. “You’re changing the subject. I thought we were talking about your man-giggles?”

He sat back, still grinning like a smug fool. “All right, all right. Let’s see…where was I? Oh, yes. And you’ve shown me that there’s more to life than the hardships of living in the Chantry when I don’t want to. Plus, I don’t like to lead, so if I take care of you, then  _you_ can be responsible for everyone in this army we’re supposed to gather,” he teased.

“Oh. Funny.” Her eyes narrowed, though her lips stretched. He laughed.

“Funny and true. I am not completely selfless,” he joked. “And as an added bonus, I get to hold a beautiful woman every time you fall.”

“Yes,” she said flatly. “Completely selfless.”

He laughed again. “First and foremost a man. I’m actually surprised you think otherwise.”

“ _No,_ ” she said even flatter, shaking her head. “A normal man would have take advantage of me being naked or incapacitated. I rather prefer the Chantry boy. It’s…new and refreshing, and …very much beyond my experience.”

“You don’t exactly make it easy to keep my morals, you know. Dropping your clothes in front of me? And…that dress-thing you made with Morrigan’s sheet looks nothing short of wonderful. You have  _amazing_   _legs_ , by the way, amongst…other things.”

She let out a wide, shy grin and a little laugh to match. “Thank you and I’m sorry. I had to improvise.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” he said quickly, and she giggled harder. “They just don’t teach us to deal with this sort of thing in the Chantry.”

Po came trotting back shortly, and Alistair realized he’d forgotten to go retrieve dinner. He left Tess to follow Po, and he came back to camp with a fox an a quail and a nest full of eggs; it looked liked Po had killed the fox, but the fox killed the quail. Alistair praised the proud dog and took the cache back to camp to clean in the fire light. The smell of browning meat grumbled stomachs, they almost couldn't wait. Alistair let Tess pick what she wanted to eat, but still fed her bits from his meal.

Alistair wanted to take care of her. He wanted to share everything with her, just like that last day at Ostagar when sharing with her had made the world perfect.

But there was always a hiccup. If it wasn't Cailan at Ostagar, it as Morrigan now. “The witch is watching us,” he said, lying on his side, propped up on his elbow next to Tess with his back to the eyes he felt scour him.

“Maybe she, too, likes the view of your backside,” Tess joked.

Alistair craned his neck back to stare up at her, and she giggled so hard her knees shook. _Maker, she was adorable like this._. He didn’t like the idea of the witch growing fond of him, but Tess was a much different story. “Okay, I may have lied a little bit, earlier today.” He put piece of meat in his mouth. “When I said I was perfectly content just being your friend. The…truth is I sort of feel like I’ve known you for a long time, and I really enjoy being near you, and I like touching you,” it came out faster than he wanted. Alistair paused and waited for a response, sighing when it never came. “Did that sound creepy? It did. I’m sorry. You can forget I said anything.” He sat up.

“I’m –  _please_ never mistake my silence for disapproval, Alistair,” she said quietly. He looked at her. “I just don’t want effort to be wasted on either of us when you may easily despise me soon.”

“Why does no one think I’m capable of making good decisions for myself?” he wondered, not specific to her.

“That’s not what I meant.” She looked over at the sliver of the moons. “How late do you suppose it is?”

“Maybe just shy of midnight or so,” he guessed. “The moons aren’t terribly high yet.” He paused, assuming the conversation of his feelings toward her was over. “You must exhausted. You’ve had a hard day.”

“Don’t sound so excited, Alistair. You’ll scare the witch.”

“Despite all the advantages I see to that, I can’t help it. This gorgeous assassin I met the other day slowly keeps crushing her hand around my heart,” he joked aggressively.

“Oh, ouch!” she laughed heartily. He smirked and leaned back, and planted a quick kiss on her cheek before he stood.

“I really am glad you’re awake and alive and well, considering.” He tossed his scraps to the mabari and rinsed his hands from a skin of drinking water. He took a drink, and then brought the skin to her. She thanked him, and tossed the pheasant bones to Po so she could free her hands. Alistair sat on his bedmat and untied the laces on his boots. “They didn’t have any womens clothes inside?” he asked.

“Inside where? At Morrigan’s?” she looked at him. “No. Not that I saw. Why?”

“Flemeth gave me these to wear. They’ve have men over before, ones with my build, it seems. She gave me a couple pairs of boots and pants to try. I think that’s a bit creepy.”

Tess frowned unsurely. “You’re saying I should go back? Demand pants?”

He laughed. “No.” He pulled his boots off his feet and set them just out of reach from his bedmat. He watched her settle into her bedmat, her feet toward him, pulling a blanket up around her. “Are you going to be warm enough?” he asked her.

“Oh, yes. I have my pup.” She snuggled right up to her dog.

“You know, he slept with me while you were…whatever Morrigan says you were doing. When you were unconscious.”

“He is a good friend,” she said.

“I agree. He reminds me a bit of you, actually.”

“Ridiculously adorable, floppy tongue, cute tail?” she guessed.

He laughed softly. “That’s exactly it.” She buried her face in her dog’s coat and stretched her feet out. Her feet poked out of the blanket.

Suddenly he felt very razzed and plucky. He looked at her face. She wasn’t looking at all. He fought a smirk as he reached over. She was going to smite him for sure. “Are your feet ticklish? Mine are.” Before she could react, he tickled his fingers just under her toes. Her legs shot up faster than he had ever seen anything move, and he laughed so hard he fell onto his back.

“Maker have mercy on you!” she yelped. Alistair buried his laughter in his headrest, watching her relocate her own headrest to where her feet had just been. She failed to fight a smile as she looked at him.

“I couldn’t help it!” he tried to breathe through his laugh.

“Did that quite answer your question?”

“Best answer ever!” he giggled. “If this is hereby the end of our friendship, I can safely say it was completely worthwhile.”

She laughed silently. “Oh, Holy Maker, what were you thinking? Sending me someone with such a long reach.”

He grinned deeper. “Hm,” he sighed. “Definitely worth it.”

“Do I have to worry about anything else during the night?”

“No.” He just smiled at her, watching her settle in again, her head within reach this time. “You know, Lothering has a river.”

“It does have a river,” she agreed, pulling the blanket up around herself and her dog.

“Do you think it will be cold?” he asked.

“It’s still early in the season. Hard to say, though. Lothering’s usually warmer than the rest of southern Ferelden. It won’t be a comfy bath tub, but I’m pretty sure you’ll come out with both jewels.”

He giggled even more. “You’re right. The throne would  _explode_  with you on it.” She returned the smile, lying upon her headrest with her face toward him.

She was a lovely sight indeed. She glistened almost gold in the light from the fire. He could still see the pink of her cheeks and lips. She was the reflection of the rising sun upon a waking rose, and her hair  shone like the summer heat itself. Watching her was like listening to the romantic tales of Andraste. He wasn’t sure he deserved to be in her presence.

“Still think I look nothing like my brother?” she asked, gazing gently with a matching smile.

He grinned. “ _How_  did you  _know_  I was thinking about your  _brother_?” he played along.

She shrugged with a sly, cute smirk. “Oh, you just have that look on your face that says ’ _those sparkling emeralds are_ nothing _to Fergus’ boring brown. And his lips are_ definitely  _not plump and kissable. Maker be praised! She’s got cute little dimples when she smiles.'”_

He couldn’t help but adore her. He leaned his head propped up on his left hand, never taking his eyes off her. He couldn’t stop smiling to save his life. “My face says all that, huh?”

“It does.” She smiled a new smile for him. It stretched to the left more than the right, crooked and wide, showing off her dimples. Maker, she was smiling like that on purpose. She was flirting with him.

“Those are cute dimples,” he flirted right back. He let out a breathy laugh. “Maker’s breath! Am I really that obvious?” He was a little embarrassed, but he liked it. He liked how she could make him shy just with a simple flirt, a simple tease.

“It’s precious,” she flirted. No, not flirting. Adoring, at least for the moment.

“Precious like a baby?” he asked.

“Your innocence is precious.” She paused. “If I ever have any advice for you, it would be  _don’t lose that._ ” They stared at each other still. Here eyes studied his whole face. She even reached over and tried to fix a cowlick he could never get to cooperate. “Your innocence has made you a wonderful man. You have such a big heart, Alistair. Most of us lose our innocence early, those who don’t grow up in the Chantry. Even many who  _do_ grow up in it.” She tucked his hair behind his ear. “Even us  _pompous nobles._ Outside of the Chantry, as soon as girls get their first blood, we’re… _supposed_  to be married off. Boys are expected to work the fields or learn a trade, like smithing, or hunting. Some girls even prefer to learn trades. It’s in the learning of these trades that lusts forms, they draw in the need to relieve tension. But it doesn’t stop at sex. It transforms us into creatures of greed and we are never satisfied.” Her fingers trailed down his face. He turned into her caress. She made his whole head tingle. “Your innocence makes you so beautiful. I feel very humbled to know you.”

He caught her fingers in his hand when they fell past his chin. He looked at their hands as he laced his fingers with hers. He met her gaze again. “Would it be wrong of me to ask for a kiss so soon?”

Her brows furrowed a bit. “I will break your heart, Alistair.”

“You already did that, actually,” he told her. “When you said your goodbye before Duncan gave us our orders. I think we both thought you were sending me off to die. And then that  _sigh_  you let out when he said we weren’t parting.” He paused to try to word things decently before speaking. “When you hugged me, it was like my life flashed before my eyes. It made me aware that I didn’t have what you were giving me, I didn’t have a woman like you waiting for me to return, I didn’t have a woman bursting with joy at my return. I honestly thought I was going to die, and all I’d given you was that lousy kiss on your hand.”

“It wasn’t lousy to me,” she said.

“And then there’s  _that._ ” He briefly pointed with a finger attached to her hand. “All those little things you say to me. You’re the only one who remembers what I say. You tell me  _thank you_  and  _thank you for being my friend._  Telling me that how I just am makes me beautiful. I was never here because I have to be, Tess. I’m here because I want to be.”

“You are not supposed to be so wonderful,” she said, almost a little sadly.

“I couldn’t ask for a better woman,” he let her know. “The Maker delivered the perfect woman right to me.”

She winced. “Please stop. I have something to tell you when we find Teagan, and the man you are  _right now_ will not thank me for it. You may even hate me. On top of that, I have a debilitating addiction that I can’t overcome, I’m  _not_  pure, and I could never give you children. And –  _and_ I kill people. I enjoy  it. I am certainly not perfect, Alistair.”

“I think you may be perfect for  _me_ ,” he said.

“ _Nobody_ wants the kind of person I am.”

“Can  _I_ be the judge of who I want?” He refused to release her hand when she pulled it back. “It’s not like I can help how you make me feel. And don’t even try to tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about just because I’m…inexperienced. I know for a fact that most people don’t become instant best friends.”

“How are you so sure of me?”

“I might ask you the same thing. You follow me around just as much as I follow you.”

She sighed. “Alistair. I don’t carry you to safety. I don’t whisper gentle comfort to you -”

“But you  _could,”_ he cut her off with a smirk. She opened her mouth, and then shut it in attempt to hide a smile. He laughed a little. “I have a pretty long lost why I like you.”

“Already? You’ve only known me for three conscious days.”

“When you say it like  _that_ ,  _yes_ , I do sound a bit creepy and possessive,” he joked. “But I think my reasons are fair enough.”

“Like… _she’s taught me I  need to stay away from manically depressed pirates_?” she guessed.

“Very, very close,” he teased. “The first one is actually  _she greatly appreciates it when I give her weapons.”_

She giggled. “A fine reason, if I ever heard one.”

“And… _she’s given me one thing to live for and a hundred_ _ways_ _to be happy with nothing else but her company._ I can only assume that if we survive this Blight, you’ll keep surprising me for the rest of my life. Speaking of surprises!” he suddenly remembered. “What was that look you gave me when I smashed in that genlock’s head with my shield?” he teased. She instantly frowned in accusation, and he laughed. “You sort of called yourself out with this one!” He grinned.

“It was impressive, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh. It reminds me of your reaction when I kissed your shoulder a bit ago.”

She frowned again. He felt smug all over again.

“And it also reminded me of how  _I_ feel when you suddenly take off your clothes.” He searched her eyes. “So, the  _king_  thing…”

“Oh, dear…”

“ _Oh dear_  is right,” he joked. “You talked to Flemeth about it. At first I thought you were talking about Cailan, but then you slipped up at Morrigan’s house. You said your lyrium problem  _nearly_  cost you the life of the king. But Cailan had already died.” He paused, waiting for her to chime in. “That’s what you need to speak to me about, isn’t it? To Teagan about. You meant  _me. I_ can put two and two together.”

“And what  _does_  two and two make?” she evaded the question.

“Twenty-two, obviously,” he joked. She smiled a little. “You know, don’t you? About me? About who my father is?”

She didn’t speak for awhile, only searched his eyes. After a very long moment, she said, “Yes. I’ve known since I was eleven. No one had to tell me. I figured it out all on my own. My family stayed with Eamon on a trip home from Denerim. I knew nearly the moment I saw you. You  _look_  like him, like Cailan.”

“No, I don’t. Do I? I’m cuter though, right?”

She smiled crookedly again. “ _I_  think so. I happen to have a thing for red hair and freckles.”

“Ooh. That thoroughly explains your obsession with both of those on me.”

“Hm,” she mused with a dreamy smile. “You have no idea.”

He laughed softly. “Then for once, I am glad that I have them.”

“Otherwise, you look like him.”

“I don’t remember you,” he said.

“We didn’t officially meet. I sort of spied on you. I thought you were Cailan at first. I told you he pestered me?”

He nodded. “Dolls in the lake, books in fire. Abominable things.”

“I thought you might be him. I  _honestly_ thought he’d followed me from Denerim and colored his hair  _just_ to  _pester_  me again.”

He laughed. “How old was he then? You were eleven? So, he was thirteen.” He giggled harder. “What I wouldn’t have given to see that look on your face.”

“Yes, all very funny, laugh it up.” She smirked. “But I followed you, and…I figured it out. I knew enough of court life to know I had to keep you a secret. I am  _still_ very irked by Isolde, by the way. And not just for the way she talks.” She gave a shudder, and he smiled.

“And your business in Orlais that Teagan is part of…?” he prompted.

“I will not end this night with that story. I’m honestly terrified of your reaction.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“It may be.”

“All right.” A thought struck him. “Did you know my mother?”

“If I did, I don’t remember her. I’m sorry. I know that’s not the answer you wanted,” she apologized. “She must have been beautiful, though.”

“How do you suppose that?”

“She had  _you_ , didn’t she?”

“And you wonder why I feel all mushy around you,” he teased.

“I mean it.”

“And I appreciate it. I do. No one has a painting, even.” He hesitated. “Apparently I’ve got a sister in Denerim. Word is she has five kids.”

“That’s very brave. I’ve  _heard_ women go through childbirth. It sounds like a nightmare. I honestly think I’d rather take on a dragon.”

He laughed. Still holding he hand, he extended his fingers to touch her chin. He couldn’t get over that lopsided smile of hers. He wanted to kiss her. “What’s it like?” he asked softly.

“Twenty-two?” she guessed.

“No,” he laughed again. “No. Erm, being…intimate with someone you love. Everyone I know who uses the brothel always calls it  _fun_  or  _a good time._  Is it…just…physical, then?”

“I  _cannot_  believe I’m hearing this from a  _Chantry boy._ ”

He giggled. “Believe me, I don’t ask anyone about this stuff!”

She smiled that crooked smile again. “I’ve heard it’s better if you love the person.”

“You’ve never loved anyone? I can’t imagine men not falling over themselves for you.”

“Those are two very different things. People  _have_ fallen and fought over me, but the closest  _I’ve_  come to love is my childhood fantasy of wearing a crown  _next to_ Teagan.”

“ _Next_ to him,” he mused.

“I’ve been in too many places and never stayed long enough.” Her eyes wandered. “I’ve  _seen_  love, though. My parents loved each other, and my brother and his wife loved each other.” She met his eyes again. “Father made Duncan promise to get mother and me to safety, but mother refused to leave. She told him she would kill everyone who came through the door…she refused to let him die alone.”

“I know that feeling. I recently experienced it, in fact. Something about an ogre in a tower,” he said. “Actually, I think we both did a little of that, then.”

“I do  _not_  recommend climbing an ogre,” she advised flatly, and he grinned.

“Where was the painter when we needed a portrait, eh?” he joked.

“Tell me about it!” she agreed. She looked down at their hands, comparing her fingers to his. “I wasn’t about to let it kill you.”

“You were suffering terribly,” he recalled.

“That’s no excuse. You deserve a better death than something so hideous.”

“Right. And I suppose I’m so handsome that only the most beautiful woman should be allowed to kill me?”

She hesitated. “If you weren’t complicating this…thing I was doing with your perfect-everything every moment, I would agree. But I am officially terrified of hurting you. Though I know I will. But I’m still scared to do it. I have never had someone like you that I can trust fully, and in return be trusted by fully.”

“Can we just agree that we drive each other crazy, then?” he smiled for her.

She stalled again, searching his eyes. “I suppose that would work.”

“I’ve never been in love either. I’m curious to see what you do to me.”

“Alistair?” she said. She was looking a little drowsy.

“Yes?” He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her fingers.

“Did you ever sing in the Chantry?”

He smiled. “Now her hand is raised, A sword to pierce the sun, With iron shield she defends the faithful, Let chaos be undone,” he sang in the slow, ominous way the Chantry choir taught him.

“Do you do  _everything_  perfectly?” she asked.

He smirked. “I haven’t tried everything yet, particularly in the romantic area.  _You’ll_  have to  _tell_  me if I’m always perfect.” She raised a singly eyebrow in an expression similar to the one she wore at Ostagar when he bashed that genlock’s head in. “Ah-ha, I got you!” he teased.

“Maker, forgive my deliriousness, but I just dreamed a Chantry boy propositioned me.”

He laughed. “I – yes, I suppose I did…didn’t I?”

“Just when I begin wondering if you were ever really in the Chantry, you start blushing again.”

He ducked his head in embarrassment. “I was also a Templar for awhile. Sort of,” he said, finding her eyes again.

“And I suppose you sweet-talked all the mages like this, then?”

“Never. None of them caught my eye enough.”

“Enough?” she repeated.

“I wasn’t around the mages very often. I sat through a Harrowing once, which was horrible. But I spent most of the time with the other recruits studying and practicing.”

“So when you say enough, that means you liked  _looking_?” she probed him for more.

“You really want to know about other women I’ve looked at?”

“I’m just curious.”

He was hesitant to tell her. “The elves were cute, but I never talked to anyone.”

“Elves, eh? But I’m not an elf. So why do you like me? Isn’t it the ears and the small stature and the pretty eyes that everyone likes? The legs?”

“Can we not talk about this, please? I feel really disrespectful talking about this with  _you_.”

Her brows lifted. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” She gave a slow blink, immediately followed by a yawn, and he smiled.

“You don’t have to stay awake for me,” he told her.

“I suppose you never get tired, either?” she yawned again, letting her head rest on its side.

“I will always fall asleep after you,” he told her.

 

 

 

*** _NSFW***_

_Alistair and Tesslyn with their scars from the battle at Ostagar **:**_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by me. The scars as I at least expect them.


	7. Part of the Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tesslyn Cousland realizes she and Alistair are too emotionally attached. She leaks part of the plan she had been hatching, why she had been out of Ferelden during King Cailan's entire reign, for fear that if she waits, it may jeopardize their friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music:  
> [Innocence, by Halestorm](https://youtu.be/_CRNN5fiEwI)

Something pushed against Alistair's face over and over. Something soft, plush. It didn’t take him long to figure out someone was kissing him all over, just as he had done to Tess the day before. He couldn’t open his eyes because she was kissing him so often so fast. He reached up and blindly found her arm, and her kisses slowed. She carefully planted each kiss, her lips soft, tender. She made his face tingle.

“Maker…” he murmured. Surely this was the best way to wake up in the morning.

“ _Actually_ , I am  _not_ the Maker!” she said optimistically. 

He smiled and peeked at her with one eye. Without giving any warning, he grabbed her with both arms and pulled her over his body next to him. Alistair held her firmly against him. “ _Oh, blast_!” she muttered in defeat. He laughed into her hair. “Don’t you  _dare_ tell anyone I was ambushed by a  _sleeping_  man!”

He giggled and squeezed her tight. “This is  _amazing_ , Tess,” he told her. “I want to wake up like this every day.”

“You want to be smothered with kisses in your sleep every day?”

“Oh, Maker, yes!” he said into her face. Her fingers twitched at his shoulder, and he opened his eyes. “Shall I call for the witch?”

“No need. The  _witch_  is here.” Morrigan was suddenly there indeed. “'Tis complete.” She set a bottle of lyrium potion down dear their heads and walked away. “You are both making me ill!”

Alistair grinned. “Two birds with one stone. I could get to like this.”

“Is this always going to happen?” Tess asked.

“As long as you wake me up with a kiss, or forty,” he teased, “then I will feel like cuddling.” Her fingers clenched again, and he wrapped his hand around hers. She flinched again within his hand. Alistair reached above his head until his fingers found the tiny bottle. He watched her as her mouth closed around the tiny rim. Her throat moved as the blue liquid disappeared from the bottle.

Alistair took the opportunity to press his lips to her cheek, lingering as long as she let him. To his surprise, she didn’t stop him. She reached around and held the back of his head. “I have never wanted to wake up solely to see someone before,” he whispered, brushing his lips against her silky skin. Her face turned in toward him.

“I have never not wanted to leave a man when he fell asleep, before.” Her fingers grabbed what they could at the back of his head. “You are ruining me, Alistair. Assassins aren’t suppose to be soft.”

“Really? You feel awfully soft from here.”

“Oh, shove it! This is  _your_  sodding doing!” she gently pushed him. He laughed and curled around her, squeezing her again.

“Would you two stop your intimacies so we can move on?” Morrigan yelled over.

Alistair turned his head to yell back: “We’re not naked!”

“Is that even permitted? Two Grey Wardens…”Morrigan trailed off.

Alistair grinned. “What?  _Caboodling_?”

“Oh, Maker!” Tess muttered.

“Fraternizing,” Morrigan said flatly.

“That’s it! I want out!” Tess quickly got to her feet. “The Archdemon can kill himself!”

“What?” Alistair laughed. “And Morrigan,  _no_. There’s nothing wrong with fraternizing.” He sat up. “Tess. Where are you going?”

“To find water while you two verbally maim my vicious reputation.” She looked back with a smile.

“No! Not without me.”

“I just had lyrium. Finish your quarrel!” she called as she walked away.

“No, no, no! You’re not really going to leave me here with  _her_ , are you?” he whined.

She looked back again. “I am.”

“You upset her,” Morrigan smirked.

“Oh, shut up!” Alistair snapped. He got to his feet and looked around. The sun was still a bit orange; it wasn't very late in the day yet. He walked the opposite direction Tess had gone to relieve himself, then he wandered, not wanting to return to camp when it was only the apostate waiting there.

He also felt a little naked without his sword or shield. He found a broken branch about the length of his sword and carelessly hit trees and tall weeds as he walked. And he thought of Tesslyn.

Was he pushing his luck with her? Recalling their talk last night, and how he’d wrapped her up and just held her when she woke him up? How serious was she about not wanting him to love her more than just a friend?

“So, tell me if you’ve heard this one,” her voice rang out. He turned, already wearing a smile. “This girlish pirate assassin gets recruited by a bunch of men in dresses -”

He grinned. Her stories so far all turned out good.

“- and then she accidentally runs into the very same Prince she’s been working so hard for five years to…elevate.”

He lost his smile. “I do  _not_  want the throne, Tess.”

She held up a finger as she walked nearer. “But he is not what the assassin plans for. He turns her insides to jelly, which now puts her at an impasse on her mission.” She paused. “I told you I was trained by an Antivan Crow, yes?”

“Yes, you did,” he recalled.

“He told me, the First Rule of being an assassin is never get involved. Don’t make friends and don’t fall in love. Morrigan has a point, emotions complicate things.” She looked out at the forest. “I  _do_  plan to put you on the throne. But at this rate…what happens to _me_  then? Assassins aren’t good leaders. I suppose I could…just go back to the way I was.”

“And what if  _I_  want to remain a Grey Warden?” he asked.

“That would make things easier on me. I would still be  _alive_  in ten years,” she said lightly.

He frowned, apprehensive. “Have you been  _watching_  me for five years?”

“Longer, when I’ve been in the country. Before I was fourteen, I was simply curious to see what you’d do with your birthright. But after the mess with Loghain riddled me, I knew he would only stop if someone who didn’t idolize him like a lost puppy was king. Seeing you at the Chantry and at Redcliffe, I knew it was you. It has to be. You’re the only person who defies having others restrict his freedom to choose so  _empathetically_.”

“ _Please_  tell me this isn’t what you’re really doing!” he groaned.

She frowned, clearly conflicted. “I really wanted to wait as long as possible to tell you. But it’s better you know now, than…” her eyes trailed away. “Than later. Than having things continue how we’ve been acting, and having you feel betrayed.”

“Wait. Before you say anything else, you were trying to kill yourself when we met! How can this be a real plan?” he asked.

“It  _was_  a plan. I did  _not_ expect Howe to massacre my family, though. That alone was enough to make me want to throw the whole plan out. Duncan was  _able_  to conscript me because I was too upset to fight him. Can you try imagining  _my_  side for a moment?  _I’m_  ready to give it all up, and the Maker suddenly delivers me right to you. As soon as we reached Ostagar, Duncan’s first order was  _Find Alistair._ And then  _you_  talked me off a ledge.  _You_.” She met his eyes. “You will likely have no choice, Alistair. I can’t let you deny your position when  _you_  could put a stop to the rest of the Loghains in Ferelden. In the past five years, I’ve been home twice – no, I’ve been in Ferelden twice, for a month each. I have played lovers, bards, Chanters, I’ve broken into houses to seduce people in various ways to get knowledge and approval and support-"

“Tess, I do not want the throne,” he insisted. “It’s always been made clear to me that it was never in my future. I’m  _content_  not being king. I hate leading. I hate being responsible for people.”

“You do fine with  _me_ ,” she tried to point out.

He sighed. “It’s different with you. I  _like_  you. When you woke me up like that…I can still feel it, my skin still tingles. You’re an exception  _because_  I like you. And you’re one person, you are not an entire nation full of…starving people, and quarrels over titles, and petitions and refugees and…keeping the peace. I’m not good at leading.”

“You led Jory and Daveth well,” she commended. “And you are  _my_ inspiration for continuing. I’m  _not_ talking about finding the king, I’m talking about your friendship. The  _kind_ of friend you are.”

“And helping a pretty girl because I like her shape and how she giggles qualifies me to be a good king _how_?” he asked.

She raised one brow slightly higher. “You can’t pull that over me, Alistair. It’s not just physical, you know that. You  _carried_  an  _assassin_  to  _help_  her.”

“That still doesn’t make me a king.”

“No, your  _father_  made you a king. Future king. Maric knew where babies come from, believe me. Otherwise,  _Cailan_  must have seemed like pure magic.” She looked away for a second. “Cailan knew. He knew I was in Orlais to try to convince Celene to support Ferelden under your rule. That whole marriage blessing he gave us was for when you take the crown. He stubbornly made me promise to take care of you. To marry you and take care of you and make sure something like Loghain never happens again to the king.” She grimaced. “Sodding bastard was thousand times more clever than I ever gave him credit for.” She met his eyes. “He fought with Duncan because he wanted to die fighting beside someone he trusted. He willingly went to his death for you…for us.” She let out a deep, disappointed sigh. “The tower was supposed to be safe.  _Blast_ him!  _He_ bloody sent us there. He was trying to make sure we survived.” She sighed again. “Long live the King.”

“ _You had better be ready, boy,”_ Alistair recited her words at the end of the bridge. “You were talking about this, about making me king.  _Dammit_ , Tess.” He didn’t like this one bit.

“I told you, you wouldn’t like it. You may even hate me for it.”

“I still like  _you_ , but I  _hate_  your idea.” He growled and whacked a tree sharply, breaking the stick. “Great. Just… _fantastic._ Can we stop talking about this? Please?”

“As you wish…my Prince.”

His eyes flew to her. She wore a sweet, alluring, come-hither look on her face. He knew it was a play, too. He tried not to smile. He still didn’t like the idea of being king, but dammit if she wasn’t trying to sweeten him up so he’d reconsider. “Have you been  _saving_  that?”

“ _Yes!”_  she exclaimed excitedly, her eyes large. “It’s been driving me  _mad!_ You have  _no_  idea!” She seemed genuinely happy. Carefree, no forced smile. He hadn’t seen her so loose before.

He couldn’t hold his smile in any longer. “That is not funny,” he said with a goofy grin.

“But it  _is!”_  She was so excited she could barely contain herself. “It feels  _so_  good that you know that I know!” she gushed. “I am  _never_ letting you live this down! Especially all that manly giggling at Ostagar!” every word was rushed with glee. She leaped away with her arms out. “ _Eyyy oooh ba ya da_ _bum_ ,” she belted out, dancing away from him. Her mabari romped over to jump around her, just as excited.  

“Is that your victory dance?” Alistair mused. As much as he didn’t want  _this_  woman in particular trying to make him king, he absolutely adored seeing her like this. She was silly and fun, and her voice was just as lovely as she was.

“You think I should  _do_  this after  _I_ slay the Archdemon?” She glanced back at him.

He laughed a little. “I’d pay to see that.”

She was grinning like it was stuck to her face. “It’s part of an Orleasian nursery rhyme.  _I am a little wyvern and I’m still kind of young, mama says I’m clumsy but I think it’s all fun, I like to hide in bushes and chase the butterflies, and sometimes I trip over but I don’t really mind, Eyyy oooh ba ya da bum, Eyyy oooh ba ya da bum!”_  she belted, shaking her hips and dancing in circles with her dog.

“ _Chase butterflies?”_  he echoed, unable to wipe the smile off his own face. “And you’re singing this about me?”

She looked at him as she danced away to this music in her head. “Eyyy oooh -”

“Yes,  _eyyy oooh,”_  he chimed in, following her.

“Nicely done, Your Majesty.” She incorporated a deep bow into her dance.

“Even better!” he joked sarcastically. “Do you know any  _other_  Orleasian nursery rhymes that remind you of me?”

“No. Well, yes! Sort of! But it has flowers in it.  _Throw my petals to the King, My flowers lie before…_ ” she froze. “Er, well, that actually rather sounds like a consort’s song, or something. Not a child’s farewell.”

He laughed. “That explains a lot about Orlais, actually.”

“A little  _too_  much,” she said with wide eyes.

“Weren’t you looking for water?” he teased.

“Hm?” She turned in such innocent query that told him she had completely forgotten. “Oh! Yes! But then I started looking for wood to make a new bow, and  _then_  I saw  _you._ ”

“I’ve never seen you this happy,” he marveled.

She paused. “I think I used to be…before everything.”

“So…what’s new?” he asked.

“I…you know that I know that you’re a prince?” she guessed with a shrug.

“Likely,” he said dully. “Is it really that exciting to you? Honestly?”

“It’s not the fact that you  _are_  a prince, it’s that I don’t have to pretend like I don’t know anymore. It’s a hard secret to keep, you know. And I  _wasn’t_ so sure that  _you_  even knew.”

“Am I more attractive as a prince?”

“You’re forgetting, you’ve  _always_  been a prince to me. This is not new information for  _me_. The only  _new_  thing is that now you know that I’ve always known.”

“You’re avoiding the question, Tess,” he joked seriously.

She laughed. “Oh…” she sighed. “I am  _still_ attracted to you. Your brother didn’t have half of your body. I’d much rather have  _you_  with me.”

“And…what part of my body is attractive to you?” he asked slyly.

Her eyes narrowed. “I see what you’re doing here.”

He grinned. “Stop deflecting. It’s just us, anyway.”

She stared at him, eyes first, then her gaze traveled down his body. “Your buttocks.”

He even blushed a little. “That explains what you did in the compound.”

She smiled shyly. “I do like your bottom a lot. And the bulge of your groin. I also happen to be attracted to large shoulders, and you have them.” She paused, looking distracted. “And your arms. And your thighs…and calves… _Oh Maker! I need to find some water!_ ” She immediately turned and walked briskly.

Alistair couldn’t stop smiling. “Wait! Hey! Tess!” He went after her, but she didn’t slow or stop. He picked up his pace. “ _Tesslyn_. Wait.” He stopped her in her tracks by enveloping her in his arms from behind. “I’m sorry,” he told her, doing nothing except hug her.

“One day, you will know the torture of wanting someone like this. You can only know it by lying with someone.” She rested her head back on his shoulder with closed eyes. “It’s like a knot.” She took his hand and folded into a fist. “It itches from inside.” She brought his fist down to rest just above her womanly parts.

He was tempted to touch her, to slip his fingers between the weave of her makeshift dress. He _did_ want to touch the hair at her center, wanted to hold her hips… He flattened his hand against her, and she gave a quiet gasp.

He put his lips to her shoulder and slid his hand up her arm to lock his arms where he had originally hugged her. “Not here. I’m not…not yet. But someday, when we have a moment to breathe and have a bed, and no swooping witches, you can show me how torturous I am to you.”

“For the record,” she said a little breathlessly, “Cailan could never make me feel this way.”

He smiled and pressed his mouth to the side of her head. “Good.”

“This severely complicates things, Alistair.”

“ _Oh._ The  _king_  thing.”

“You’re awfully thrilled about this, Alistair. People will start thinking you  _want_  the throne!” she said.

“Cute. What part is complicating?” he asked.

“Ferelden needs you.”

“So do you.”

“Therein lies the complication.”

“If it comes to that –  _if_  – you could take it, too.”

“Oh, right. You think those glittering pisscoat nobles in the landsmeet would let a murderous pirate wench on the throne? With  _this_  mouth? Not a sodding chance! I’d have to smash in all their gleamin’ jewels just to show 'em I was serious!”

He giggled. “ _I’d_ put you on the throne with that mouth.”

“That would go over – wait.” She turned her head toward his. “Too? Like, together?”

He smiled at her easy distraction. “Mm-hm. If you’re bound and determined to put me on the throne, I am taking you down with me.”

“Hey, now, no threats.”

He grinned into her shoulder. “You think I  _want_  to spend the rest of my days in a silly coat listening to  _glittering pisscoat nobles_  over whose side of the land the top of a tree belongs to? No way. If you make me do this, you are utterly suffering with me.”

“What a punishment.”

“If you want the throne alone, be my guest.”

“I mean, what a punishment to be married to such a wonderful man.”

“Of course you did,” he giggled.

“I  _did,”_  she insisted. “No one else has ever done so much for me...Alistair?”

“Tesslyn?”

“There’s no water around here, is there?”

He laughed. “No, I don’t suppose so. Lothering’s river runs east to west.”

“Blast! Were you just going to let me wander all giddy and singing and frolicking through the woods like some elf?”

He laughed harder. “I honestly wasn’t thinking about water.” He closed his eyes. “Can we go back to bed?”

“Lothering is still two days away.”

“And we have all day left. Is it too much to ask just to cuddle?”

“Morrigan is still here. She will oppose the idea.”

“Do  _you_  oppose it?:

“No. I like it when you hold me.”

He groaned. “And I’m hungry.”

“Me too.”

He sighed. “Fine.” He planted one last kiss on the crook of her neck before letting her lead him back to camp.


	8. A Long Day in Lothering, or, Chanters & Spiders & Bears! Oh My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tess, Alistair, Morrigan and Dog arrive in Lothering and spend the rest of their day trying to earn favor with the town so they can purchase supplies. They recruit Sten and Leliana amidst all the confusion.

Nearing Lothering, Tess complained about her feet hurting; the pass had grown strewn with spikeweed. Alistair offered to carry her, but she grumbled something about  _reputation_  and  _villagers_. Unable to help a grin, Alistair reminded her she was heading into town dressed like a bed sheet. He strode at her side with a giggle throughout every harsh glare.

Ascending the hill to the bridge that led into town slowed their steps. A handful of shady characters in mismatched armor blocked the entrance to the bridge. Alistair groaned to himself;  _bandits_. Unfortunately there was no other way around. 

“Halt right there, good folk!” one man called out cheerfully, stepping forward.

“ _Balls_ ,” Tess sighed.

“We have assumed control regarding admission to Lothering in light of refugees fleeing the Blight.”

“You’re here to keep refugees out?” Tess walked closer anyway, swaying her hips a little more than usual.

“Not at all!” the apparent leader said with a jovial smile. “We are presently stationed to ensure safe tides of the refugees from the Darkspawn! We simply require cordial blessings to maintain our upkeep of this exemplary service.”

“'Tis as if he’s reciting from a thesaurus!” Morrigan muttered in amazement. Alistair silently agreed that it was remarkable this type of person actually existed.

“May I inquire of two things?” Tess said with a voice so think of honey that it really didn’t matter what her actual words were. Alistair knew the effect it would have on these “guards”, for he was affected by it as well.

“ _Certainly_ , good Lady!” the leader drawled.

Tess spun slowly with her arms out at her sides. “I have no pockets, Ser.” As she turned her back to the man, she found Alistair’s gaze with an impish sparkle in her eyes, continuing her twirl. She gave the man time to soak in the curves of her shape, every little shift on her hips as she moved with grace and flexibility on the balls of her feet. “I fear I come with nothing but myself,” she drawled. Alistair could see her lower lip push out in a pout. She clasped her hand together down at her front, pushing her bosoms out. Alistair faked a cough and turn his head to disguise his smile.

“I…yes, I can…” the spokesman cleared his throat. Morrigan didn’t bother hiding a smirk. “But surely, er, your companions can spare some appreciation for our efforts to ensure their delicate flower stays safe from the Darkspawn?”

“I truly love the offer, my Lord, but I’m quite positive Alistair can protect himself,” she gestured back to Alistair with her thumb.

“That’s me. Delicate little flower,” Alistair said sourly. Morrigan sniggered with the suave leader.

Without foreboding, Tess suddenly drove her knee into the leader’s crotch. When he doubled over her foot met his face, slamming him down on his back. Everyone suddenly drew their weapons at once.

“A heads-up would be welcome next time!” Alistair rushed in to shield Tess from a sword.

“What have I told you about warnings?” she replied, the ball of her palm jutting hard into an unprotected neck. Alistair stopped a bandit about to swing at Tess by bashing so hard the man went flying over the edge of the bridge. Tess flung herself over the stone parapet in amazement.  _“Alistair!”_  she marveled, instantly forgetting about the fight.

“I’m a little busy!” he told her. He swung his sword high to slash a neck. Morrigan roasted someone behind his back, and Po kept a man off of Morrigan’s back.

Tess grabbed another bandit by the collar and made him peer over the edge with her. “Did you  _see_ that? That was  _amazing_! Do you think  _I_ should get a shield?”  she gushed  as if she and the fellow were both on the same side, or not in a tussle at all.

Alistair put the tip of his sword to the same bandit’s back as he pulled a dagger. “Don’t even think about it,” Alistair said darkly. Arms shot up in surrender; Morrigan behind them froze the other remaining cur into an ice cone. Alistair saw past the yield though, saw how easy it would be for the bandit to reach out and slice Tess. Alistair refused to take that chance. He shoved his sword deep into the man’s back with a firm arm, that sharp ring of steel slicing flesh calling forth a cry, twisting the blade to hasten completion of his intent.

Tess watched the outlaw slide down from Alistair’s sword. She raised an eyebrow in great interest at her Grey Warden. “ _You killed_  someone. In  _cold blood,”_   she teased and accused and was far too impressed.

“Did you think I was going to let him cut you?” Alistair asked, wiping his sword on the dead man’s leather armor.

“He surrendered.” Her eyes sparkled.

“He still had his weapon drawn,” he said.

“ _You. Relished_  it. I saw that. That was  _slow_  and  _precise_  and  _controlled_ …and  _look!”_ She flung herself over the parapet again and pointed. “Did you _see_ how _far_ he flew?” she was genuinely awed.

“You are easily distracted for an assassin,” Morrigan observed aloud.

“For once, I agree with her.” Alistair sheathed his sword and peered over next to Tess. The bandit lie sprawled with his head and limbs in distorted angles. “That  _was_ pretty neat, though,” he mused with a little smile. “He just went -” he trilled a whistle and motioned a finger to imitate a projectile soaring and falling.

“Maginificent!” Tess giggled. Alistair gazed at her, grateful again she was there to make it all better. It took effort not to think of bandits as living people, but the fact Tess remained alive and happy made the loss of life worth it; _unnecessary life that wouldn't be missed._ She raised her head, and her face instantly fell. “Oh, _balls again_.”

“More balls?” he joked.

“Bigger ones.”

“Should I be jealous?” he flirted. She giggled and turned his head by his chin. He saw exactly what she meant: a lot of refugees camped around town where merchants usually set up. “A  _lot_  of balls,” he stated. She smirked.

“Exotic balls, at that.” she giggled at herself. Alistair giggled too; Maker, it never got old hearing a woman - a noble - curse so liberally.

Morrigan scoffed beyond their line. “You are both immature!”

“At least we have fun,” Alistair said. He turned and glanced over the weapons lying on stone; if anything, they might fetch a price. He picked up a bow and half-full quiver. “Here, Tess. It’s not perfect,” he tested the flexibility before handing it over, “but it will do for now.” He watched her while she inspected it. “Though I daresay you actually  _need_ a weapon. Please never get so annoyed with me that you bring your knee to  _my_ crotch.”

She giggled again. “Yes, I will try to resist the urge.”

He grinned, and spied a dagger. He knelt to retrieve the daggers he could see. Of the five, only one was decent, made from silverite instead of iron. Not as sharp as it could be, but it was better than iron and had an enchantment on it. Lighting. He knew it from the crackling purple glow it emanated even before he looked at the rune. It was the same rune he had painted on her face before Ostagar was razed. He held the dagger up for her.

“ _Oooh!”_  She took it excitedly. “It’s sparkling!”

He smiled as he stood. “Not just for decoration,” he played, “I hear they’re used in combat, too.”

“Are you quite sure?” she joked skeptically.

“I’m positive,” he giggled. She ran a thumb over the blade. “It could use a sharpening.”

“We’ll find one,” he assured her.

“You should loot them for coin,” Morrigan's tone dictated.

“I’m not doing anything _you_ suggest, Morrigan,” he retorted. “I’m  _Tesslyn’s_  man, I do  _her_ bidding, not yours.”

“You might regret saying that,” Tess flirted.

He grinned crookedly. “I like to think I’d surprise you.”

“I don’t doubt it. You’ve surprised me so far.” She turned back to the refugee-filled town. The homeless were literally everywhere a tent could be set up. Children, dogs, but mostly adults; most of them lanky and slender – _elves_. “The refugees complicate things. Refugees mean no or minimal supplies.” She knelt to confiscate the purse of the bandit Alistair back-stabbed.

“Maybe we could find work in the Chantry?” he suggested. He crouched to help sift through purses when he realized Tess was doing so alongside Morrigan. “There has to be something.”

“I haven’t been to this Chantry in many years,” Tess said. 

“Let me guess, in disguise?” Alistair teased.

“A very good guess. You may find out soon.”

“Tesslyn? This one is rather small. I ended him with frost. His armor is still in tact. Do you wish to salvage it? It may fit you, at the least provide the covering you desire. He also wears a belt with sheaths.” Morrigan spoke to with Tess noticeably more patience than she ever gave Alistair.

Tesslyn shuffled over on her hands and feet. She was quickly distracted, though, again. “Oh, Alistair…” she said with a dropped voice.

“What?” Alistair stood, and immediately spied what she gazed upon. Alistair crossed to her to peered down at the Templar’s body. “The Revered Mother is  _not_  going to be happy about this.” He crouched beside her and sought the Templar’s purse, the most likely place for a Templar to carry any identification.

“I…know it sounds disrespectful…”

He looked at Tess in question. “What does?”

She met his eyes. “You need armor, too,” she meant for Alistair to utilize this Templar’s armor.

He looked down at the dead body; an arrow clear through the head was enough damage to this poor soul already. “I don’t know…it seems so  _wrong_ to leave a good man to die without the last of his dignity.”

“He was a Templar. That does not automatically qualify him as a good man,” Morrigan spouted. “If you have no qualms with letting Tesslyn strip  _this_  one, then stripping the Templar should equally pose no concern.”

“ _I_ used to be a Templar, Morrigan.” Alistair shook his head, telling himself it was no use arguing with a person who saw no wrong in her actions. He felt around inside purse for to identify the Templar with. “Might have something here...yes, look. A note…to…” he unrolled the tiny scroll. “Ser Donnell?”

“What?” Tess leaned over his arm to read.

“I know him. He’s from Redcliffe.”

“Yes, one of my cousin’s personal guard. He’s very loyal to Eamon.” She glanced at Alistair. “You have a remarkable memory, you realize that?”

“I remember a lot from Redcliffe. I was ten when I left. Quite a few servants coddled me there. It’s the story of my life,” he said, skimming the letter.

“Urn of Sacred Ashes…” she read aloud.  _“They’re going after Andraste’s Ashes?”_ she hissed. Alistair handed over the letter and resumed searching the purse, but nothing to discern the dead Templar. Trying for a last bit of hope for a good man's family - the Chantry, in this case; the Brothers and Sisters would want to light a candle in memory - he ran his fingers along the collar of the armor. A cool chain met his fingertips, and he gave a good yank to break the clasp. It was a steel circle with the Fire of Andraste imprinted. The back held an engraving:

 

_To our Ser Henric_

_We are proud of you son_

_Love, Father and Mother_

 

“Oh, Maker…” Tess sighed; a curious hint of annoyance, though Alistair brushed it aside. Tess studied the amulet, as well. “Did he send  _every_  guard from Redcliffe after the Urn?”

“Hopefully he’s the only loss. They’ll be in the Chantry, I suppose,” he closed his hand protectively over the amulet.

“I’m really leaning toward you taking this armor,” she told him.

“I’m not that eager. I’ll be fine without it for now,” he said.

She paused, her eyes darting below his face. “… _yes,_ you  _are_ fine without it…”

Alistair laughed softly. “Are you flirting with me over a  _dead_  man?” he teased in a whisper.

“Yes. Yes I am.” She tried not to smile, though failed when he grinned at her.

“I  _am_  fine.  _You_  are the one that needs armor,” he told her. “We’ll be here for at least a week, maybe two. I’ll work on getting my own armor after we get camping gear.”

“A week or two?” Morrigan cried out. “We don’t have _a week or two_ to _linger!”_

“Morrigan, we may not have a choice,” Tess insisted. Alistair let her take over this argument. “We need coin to buy thing like clothes and armor and weapons and camping supplies, and with this many refugees that may take some time.  _I,_ for one, would like a tent. And a cook-pot, and a grilling slate. And a washboard and thread and scissors.” Tess started loosening the dead small-bandit’s blackened leather armor. She continued: “And cloth, and leather, and some wine and cheese – the  _soft_  kind, from Orlais -” she clarified. Alistair laughed softly and brushed his lips against her cheek when he stood. He did so adore this woman. “- and some crackers, and fish, and baked pumpkin with  _globs_ of butter with a side of fresh hot milk, and I want roast halla garnished in dill and elfroot, and pint of fresh Tevinter ale -”

“Somebody’s Taint has settled in!” Alistair laughed.

“And a steamy hot bath in a tub made to fit an ogre, sprinkled with rose petals and splashed with milk and honey and cinnamon -”

“ _That_  actually sounds like a  _pie_ ,” Alistair said.

“I’m not done yet!” she said adamantly. He giggled again. “I  _also_  want my hair washed in hibiscus soap and rinsed with a lyrium and lemon extract, and then I want it braided in three parts, one on top and one on each side, all brought together at the middle of the back of my head and then let down to drop in a tail. And I want a dozen daisies made into a crown and adorned atop my head with a matching white gown trimmed with sunshine-yellow!” She sighed and stood. Alistair could not stop laughing. “And matching shoes with floppy tassels.  _Pretty_ ones,” she added darkly. Alistair had to lean against a pillar of the bridge so he wouldn’t fall over for laughing so hard. Catching his breath was harder than it sounded. Every time he looked at her when she was in this mood just made him giggle more. He stood there grinning at her, giggling like he’d drunk too much wine.

“A  _pretty_  dress, then?” he joked, remember how he’d told her he would only dance the Remigold for her if he had a pretty dress.

“A  _very_  pretty dress.” She only removed the belt from the dead bandit. “I don’t have the patience for this right now.”

“It’s fine, Tess. We’ll find a smith,” he promised her.

She looked out toward the mass of refugees and groaned. “Oh, I’m hungry.” She put a hand over her belly.

“And I suppose the refugees look tasty? I’d personally rather kill a cow, but if we must have refugee, I’d still rather starve,” he joked.

Tess laughed through a grimace. “Eew.”

He stepped over dead bodies to reach her, placing the Templar’s purse in her hand. “There’s lyrium in there,” he said softly. “Just in case.” He led her by the arm away from the dead bodies.

“I have found seventy-silvers,” Morrigan informed. Alistair glanced over to see the witch dropping silver coins into her purse. “Also a few gems we could fetch a price for.”

“Thank you, Morrigan,” Tess said kindly. Alistair looked down at her. She was tired - he saw it around her eyes. And she had to be cold; Ferelden wasn’t exactly known for it’s warmth, and she was still gloriously wearing the ripped sheet. He rubbed the back of her arms.

“Do you need anything?” he asked her, “besides an entire banquet?”

She smiled, then shivered and curled into him as he barely tickled his fingers over the back of her arms. She gave a deep breath out and closed her eyes. “You probably shouldn’t touch me like that in front of people,” she whispered.

“Why not?” he teased, although he knew what. That was exactly how she’d reacted when he’d kissed her shoulder. She wove her hand up between their chests and made her finger act as if it was _springing_ into something stiff. Alistair instantly dropped his face to the crook of her neck to hide the flush that attacked his face. Leave it to Tess to pretend that her finger was a man’s…manhood, and a manhood getting excited, at that. They giggled together, her fingers messing in his hair as she held his head. “Parley!” he was muffled by her skin. Her shoulders shook with laughter.

As always, It took a while for his flush to cool, then he stepped away and rubbed his face through a deep breath. Tess held the crook of his elbow from below and stood on her toes; Alistair's heart sighed and leapt as she pressed her lips to his cheek; _it felt good to have someone want to kiss him._ He leaned over with her kiss as she fell back to flat feet, her lips making a little noise as they released him. Alistair wove his arm out of her hand and cradled her, keeping her to his side as he pondered how to handle the refugee-riddled town.

“Do you think we should split up?” she asked.

He met her eyes with concern. “It would be more efficient, yes, but is that a good idea for…” he gave a nod of his head toward the witch.

“You need to work on your discretion, Alistair,” Morrigan criticized.

“Good for me,” he shot back. “Splitting up  _would_  allow us to cover more ground in the little daylight we have left.”

Morrigan sighed. “If we must.”

“So, who wants to tackle the homeless people?” he said with a gesture to the refugee mass-camp site.

“ _Literally_ tackle?” Tess asked with great interest.

He grinned. “All right, you may have it. Morrigan? Do you want the Chantry?” he joked, knowing it would irk the apostate the most.

Morrigan scoffed. “For your own sake, that had better be a joke!”

“Fine, I’ll take it,” he said. “Be nice, sneaky witch. Got it?  _My_  standard of nice.”

“'Tis not my best attribute.”

“ _Just try_. We need them to like us so they’ll give us jobs and coin.” He looked down at Tess. “Take that lyrium with you, please?” Alistair requested gently.

“I’ll be fine,” Tess insisted.

“You say that every time you’re about to spasm,” he reminded her. She blinked deliberately at him and then opened the Templar’s purse, pulled out the vial of lyrium, and downed it like a shot of hard alcohol.

“There. See? I’ll be fine.”

“And I’m still not reassured.” He released her to look at the dog. “Po, do  _not_ leave her side!” he ordered the dog, although talking to the dog never sounded like anything close to an order. Po barked happily.

Alistair parted from the women and the dog, not caring specifically to enter the Chantry for work. But he supposed growing up in the Chantry gave him an advantage regarding what to say. He even found a Sister outside who needed help with a shady merchant. Once he heard the Sister complain the man had bought spare wares from all the townsfolk before the blight, and then started charging triple once the Blight left people with nothing, Alistair nearly walked away. He was not fond of diving into others' drama, and not as silver-tongued as he liked to joke; Tess was the only exception. But when the merchant tried to bribe Alistair with double the pay to get rid of the Sister by whatever means possible, Alistair felt a twinge in the back of his mind and became a voice of reason. When the merchant wouldn’t bend, Alistair even threatened to drive him town with nothing but the clothes on his back. Alistair loathed the idea of becoming so brutish; he preferred to  _help_ not hurt, but his threat was apparently appalling enough. The merchant grumbled an acceptance to lower his prices, and the Sister thanked Alistair with a sigh of relief and three gold sovereigns.

Inside the Chantry made his gut knot up. _Loathe_ wasn’t really the right word, though he certainly didn’t like it. It housed the same oppression as any other Chantry, but there was more than lack of personal liberty here. Not as holy or sacred as he thought a Chantry should be. Maybe it was the refugees inside, maybe it was the bored Templars lurking about, he wasn’t sure. On the bright side, he found Ser Donnell, and then on the dark side of that visit, he learned Arl Eamon was gravely ill, and Ser Donnell’s quest for the Sacred Ashes of Andraste was to be to cure the Arl; not quite the news Alistair had hoped to discover. After he bid Ser Donnell farewell, Alistair braved Ser Bryant, the Templar in charge of the town until the guards returned. When Ser Bryant questioned Alistair’s Templar formality, Alistair explained he’d been a recruit until he was conscripted into the Grey Wardens. Ser Bryant looked around, and pulled Alistair away from others, and quietly told him that Teyrn Loghain had declared a bounty on surviving Grey Wardens for deserting the King during the Blight. He assured Alistair _he_ didn’t believe Grey Wardens would do any such thing, especially to side with the Darkspawn, but he advised Alistair lay low, gave him a key to a cabinet with spare potions to aid the Wardens quest, and urged him to prove a friend to the Chantry everywhere he went.

 _Well, that is just great!_  Alistair told himself. He emptied the spare stocks then tossed a nod to Ser Bryant as he pushed his way outside. Alistair and Tess so far had little coin, no armor, no supplies, and now they were wanted across Ferelden. He needed to tell her.

She was already at the Chanter’s board when he approached, but she wasn’t searching it. As he came within earshot, he realized she was talking to a Chanter, a member of the Chantry who was only allowed to speak in verses of the Canticles. No, wait. The Brother was talking to her, and she was standing there with her arms over her chest, weight on one leg, and a challenge of  _dare_ all over her face.

“Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow,” the Chanter said in the typical calm Chantry demeanor. “Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.”

Before Alistair could tell her that the Chanter could only respond to her in Chant of Light verses, Tess surprised him by not only replying, but in the exact verses herself: “Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. Yet the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. A great hymn rose over the Valarian Fields gladly proclaiming, those who had been slaves were now free,” she spoke clear and precise in….answers? _Andraste’s flame!_ She was answering the Chanter. Alistair watched her curiously. The two were actually conversing in the Canticles. 

“Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children, they are sinners, who have given their love to false gods,” the Chanter replied.

Tesslyn’s eyes narrowed. “Maker, though I am but one, I have called in Your name, and those who come to serve will know Your glory. They will see what can be gained. And though we are few against the wind, we are Yours. Your light is ever present. But my Faith sustains me. For there is no darkness in the Maker’s Light,” Tess….retaliated?

“ _Oh, Maker!”_ Alistair sighed. “I can’t believe you’re  _arguing_  with a  _Chanter!”_ he hissed “ _in the Verses!”_

She turned her head but kept her eyes on the Chanter. “He remembers me from when I posed here before, as a Chanter. Brother Devons, now Chanter Devons.”

“Those who work to bear false witness, And work to deceive others, know this, there is but one truth. All things are known to our Maker. And those who steal from their brothers and sisters Do harm to their livelihood and to their peace of mind. And He shall judge their lies,” the Chanter retorted calmly.

“So…who exactly started this?” Alistair was even more surprised to see this Brother accusing someone through Chant verses.

Tess ignored Alistair to reply: “Many are those who wander in sin, Despairing that they are lost forever, But one who repents who has faith, unshaken by the darkness of the world, She shall know true peace -”

“ _What_ is she  _doing_?” Morrigan asked, suddenly very near Alistair.

“She’s arguing with the Chanter,” Alistair huffed in amusement.

Tess continued: “The Light shall lead her to safety. Through the paths of this world and into the next. For she who trusts in the Maker, Fire is her Water. She should see Fire and go toward the Light. And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword. For You are the Fire at the heart of the world. And comfort is only Yours to give.”

“She’s telling him she’s no longer a bad person,” Alistair told Morrigan quietly.

“Unshaken by the darkness of the world, And boasts not, nor gloats. From these emerald waters doth life begin a new. With iron shield she defends the faithful. Let chaos be undone. This truth the Maker has revealed to me,” the Chanter told Tess.

“For all who walk in the sight of the Maker are one,” Tess finished with a bow to the Brother, who returned a small smile and a slight bow.

“And…that was the Chanter accepting her on her word that she is a changed woman,” Alistair translated. “That was… _incredibly impressive_ , Tess!” he told her as she reached for the Chanter’s Board postings.

“What was the point of all that?” Morrigan asked.

Po barked in approval. “Why, _thank_ you, Po,” Tess told her dog, who barked again. “Chanters are only allowed to speak the various verses of the Chant of Light, Morrigan. This Brother recognized me from a job I did years ago. He called me out in the Chant of Light.  _That alone_  is impressive.” She was just as amused by this as Alistair.

“Was that  _hard_ , Tess?” Alistair asked her. “I mean, do you  _really_  have the whole Chant  _memorized_?”

“I do. Which is to say, if I ever forget your birthday, _that_ is why. Already too much in here.” She tapped her head.

“Do you even already know when my birthday is?” he teased her.

“The twenty-eighth of Guardian, nine: ten Dragon Age.”

“Figures  _you’d_  know. When is yours?” he asked.

“Thirteen Kingsway, nine: seven Dragon Age.”

“I’m surprised you fancy a younger man,” Morrigan commented.

“Listen here, missy,” Tess said in a playful tone. “It doesn’t matter what sort of Maker you believe in – whether it’s  _the_  Maker, or the force of nature, or whatever – the fact is,” Tess said all of this while visually shuffling through the posted jobs, “that some things are more compatible with others even upon no prior interaction, and some things just repel. And sometimes we are so used to experiencing the attempt to hold on to something we are  _not_  compatible with, that when something we  _are_ in tune with crosses our path, we try to push it away and deny it for not having recognized unity from before. And  _sometimes_ we are faced with a partially-compatible thing or being of which we enjoy yet must also work hard to keep, and this particular one can quite easily be called the Path the Maker sets before us but that we refuse. Or it can even be reversed – trying hard to keep something which is not intended for us, thus causing us to deny that we are pushing ourselves in an unhealthy direction. Pushing against something we think we don’t want yet we are intended for can also be shown in denying one’s  _birthright_  -” she was now specifically regarding Alistair.

“ _Or_ ,” Alistair interrupted, “one can simply  _give in_  to what the Maker provides for us, and  _bam!_ Instant best friend! Which I believe answers Morrigan’s question. But that is a lovely analogy, Tess.” He was truly impressed with how she viewed personal relationships to the Maker. He fancied this spiritual side of her, it complimented her zany side beautifully and left him in even more awe of her.

“Hm? Oh, yes! Did that answer your question, Morrigan?” Tess asked hopefully.

“ _No,_ it actually created  _more_  questions.”

“Excellent! It’s always good to be curious about the Maker!” she teased, or was just being really enthusiastic.

“I am  _not_  curious about the Maker!” Morrigan huffed.

Alistair laughed. “I can’t believe you led yourself into that one, Morrigan!”

The witch sighed. “Well, I found two people willing to pay for a service, and a caged Qunari who might be of assistance on our journey.”

“A Qunari?” Tess was interested in this.

“But alas, the jobs,” Morrigan ignored her. “I cannot make traps -”

“I can,” Alistair piped up.

“ _Good_ for  _you_ ,” Morrigan gladly expressed her annoyance. “And the lady who requires the three spring traps mentioned a man who uses poison for his. He may have something for you, Tesslyn.”

“Hm? Oh, yes, poison is my expertise,” she said.

“I thought your expertise was stabbing things in the neck?” Alistair joked.

“What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents,” she smiled.

“What did _you_ find, Tesslyn?” Morrigan asked.

“Some elfroot and a chicken.”

“And a chicken!” Alistair laughed. “And what did the chicken say?” Tess paused, then imitated chicken noises with a rather good impression,  _bok bok bok_. Alistair laughed, even harder so when he saw the Chanter try to suppress a smile, while the little boy beside the Chanter giggled into his hands.

“And what about you?” Tess smiled at Alistair.

“Ser Bryant sent me out here,” he told her. “But here, hold this. I’ll just spend it.” He shoved the three sovereigns in her hand.

“Where did you get this?” She immediately sighed, “Alistair, you are  _not_  supposed to sell your body! I  _knew_  I should have had that talk with you earlier!”

He grinned and leaned against the board to talk to her more directly. “One of the Sisters was having problems with that merchant behind you,” he said. She peered over in interest.

“And he’s still alive? Your capacity for patience is a never-ending wonder, Alistair.”

“From  _you,_ that’s a compliment.”

“And the jobs?” Morrigan pressed.

“Yes, yes! Don’t rush me!” he grumbled.

“And  _there_   _goes_  his patience,” Tess mused. He grinned just for her.

“The traps? And possible poison? The man in question should be in the tavern.” Morrigan told them.

“We will get on it, witch,” Alistair piqued.

“Fine. Do as you will, or won’t. I am going up to the bridge, away from all this…crowd. I have poultices to make.” Morrigan turned with her nose in the air and left them at the Chanter’s Board.

“I  _really_   _don’t like_  her.” Alistair shook his head.

“I know you don’t.” Tess looked through the jobs again. “Bears, big spiders, wolves and bandits.” She sighed. “Sounds like a slow day.”

He laughed. “No kidding! What’s a few wild animals compared to an entire tower of darkspawn?”

“Exactly. Although I really just want a hot bath.”

“I promise you, as soon as I find a bath tub, I will personally fill it myself,” he pledged. “And then maybe I’ll sneak in and watch. Or join you,” he didn’t look at her while he said this; he knew he would blush brightly if he did. And he was right. Even though she was simply smiling, no tease, he felt his face and neck and ears glow red. He forced a cough and cleared his throat to divert the tide. “In the mean time, maybe we’ll just go buy some camping supplies,” he said softly.

She surprised him with a light kiss at the corner of his mouth, and they just looked at each other for a moment. Every time he reckoned he carried his interest too far, she always turned his doubts aside. _Maker, his skin still tingled._ Would it always be like this?

Then, “I’m really hungry. Can we go kill a bear?”

He laughed. “Yes, we can go kill a bear!” he agreed. “Er, merchant first. For something sturdier than the custom fashion armor you have on now.”

Alistair introduced Tess to the chagrined merchant, who waved them off to do as they _rudding pleased_. Light armors, leather, some reinforced with steel chestplates. The only piece that closely fit Alistair was long on the gut; Tess speculated it had probably been fitted to a heavy drinker. She said she could easily remedy it, though they first needed to make enough coin to purchase sewing tools, also camping supplies. She ended up trading in the bow Alistair looted off one of the bandits before, and though it cost fifty-seven silvers, the new one was enchanted to with a rather decent frost rune for being such an otherwise uninteresting bow. The look of excitement on her face alone was worth agreeing to the purchase. They each found boots and leather pants, an extra purse, a backpack, and belt for Alistair. The man indeed carried camping supplies, including flint rock, fishing line, a whetstone and plenty of rope. Tess felt it necessary to threaten the merchant with her sparkling dagger to hold all the camping supplies for them; Alistair personally did not care for threats, but he'd seen so much wisdom from her...and seeing her roughen up was a little exciting.

“You know, part of me really likes seeing you threaten people,” he admitted, stopping her on the bridge.

“Is that so?” she eyed him with a smirk. He grinned, though briefly as the sight of a Templar on patrol reminded him of unsettling news. He pretended to check the straps of the armor she’d just put on.

“I have to tell you something before we get anymore crowded,” he said softly.

“Let me guess. You’re…secretly married?”

He frowned, a little taken aback by this joke. “I seriously hope you have more faith in me than that, Tess.”

“All right,” she laughed a little. “What is it? You’re fiddling suspiciously with buckles that are already secure.”

“Inside the Chantry, Ser Bryant said Teyrn Loghain set a bounty for any remaining Grey Wardens.” Her face instantly hardened. “You’re so far taking this better than I anticipated.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked around. _“Blast that toad thumper!_ I’m going  _gut_  that man!” she hissed. “And _then_ I’m going to _skin_ him and hang his outsides on top of Fort Drakon like a  _flag!”_

“ _That_ is more like the reaction I expected,” he chuckled, “and _eew_.”

“Well, then, the answer is obvious.”

“It is?”

“Yes. We go around parading ourselves.”

“What does that accomplish besides lead a trail right to us?” he asked.

“We parade around as proud Grey Wardens while we gain the support of the cities by solving their problems for them. Then when it comes time, we will have all the supporting classes in Ferelden at our backs.”

“And…this is why  _you’re_  leading. Not me.”

“It’s a political tactic, it has nothing to do with leadership. Feed and aid the starving and sickly, and then when your enemy walks up with his entire platoon, you’ve got nothing to fear because the entire country is willing to kill to preserve the only person who helped them.” She looked around again. “I need a drink first.”

“I think we may have enough for maybe two or three drinks,” he said.

“Perfect. We’ll each get one and a half.” She began walking toward the tavern.

“I can kill a bear on a pint and a half, I think,” he joked. He took her hand as they neared the tavern door, and she looked up at him. “Is this okay?” he asked, kicking himself for not asking first, especially when she was in a mood.

Tess hesitated, but when Alistair tried to retract his hand, she squeezed. “Yes.” He almost laughed at himself; he felt so foolish with all this affection stuff, yet he craved it every time he met her eyes. Just a simple squeeze of his hand, that's all it took to send tingles up his arm and his pulse racing.

He froze as his hand touched the door. Two men not a stone’s throw away were speaking of Loghain; the name was unmistakably clear. Alistair looked down at Tess. She had heard it too. Her eyes were completely still though her pupils had enlarged. They stood there at the door to eavesdrop.

_I heard the Teyrn pulled his men out just in time. Those Grey Warden bastards abandoned the King! After King Maric forgave their past_ _treason_ _!_

Tess took one step toward the gossiping men, and Alistair released the door to grip the collar of her armor, keeping her at his side. She growled under her breath and continued to glare at the men.

_I_ _heard the bounty’s quite high._

_I don’t doubt it._   _The Wardens from Orlais didn’t even show up. I_ _even heard they might be_ _siding with the Darkspawn._ _This whole thing was a ploy to kill the King!_

Tess tried to lunge again, but Alistair held firm. “Not now, Tess,” he told her softly.

“But -!” she protested with a sharp gesture toward the men.

“Let’s go have drink. You can kill them  _after_ we convince the rest of the town to like us. Deal?” he bargained. She sighed heavily, but agreed. Alistair pushed the door open and encouraged her inside first. Damnable way to ruin his romantic moment.

“Well, well, boys!” a gruff man said with a smirk of satisfaction as soon as the door closed behind Alistair. “Look what we have here! Weren’t we asking all around town this morning about a woman of this likeness?” The man flashed a scrap of painted cloth before handing it to another.

“I’m not signing anything, gentleman, I’m fresh out of quills. And ink,” Tess quickly countered disinterestedly.

“While you play with your new friends, I’m going to get us something to drink.” Alistair told Tess.

“Yes, please. Thank you,” she told him gently. As soon as Alistair approached the barman, though, he was reminded that his shield bore a very distinct sigil of a two-headed gryphon.

“Looky here. _Another_ Grey Warden. The King will be pleased.”

Alistair turned around in time to see Tesslyn flipping the spokesman to the dirty wooden floor. “Touch him, and I will pull your eyeballs out and shove them up your ass, am I clear?” Tess threatened, while the other two men pulled swords; Alistair did the same.

“Gentlemen, surely we can resolve this without violence?” a Sister of the Chantry approached.

“I agree. Anyone who causes damage in my saloon pays for it!” the barkeep declared. 

“Suspicious Sister who carries daggers, do not interfere,” Tess said in annoyance. She glanced up at the two battle-ready men. Without warning, she gave a twist and a jerk of an arm grounded man with a sickening crack, and the man screamed. Tess looked up at his companions. “Kindly hand your weapons to my gigantic friend, or I kill all of you right here.”

“Please, must we resort to violence?” the sister tried to interact.

“Sometimes violence is the only means to achieve liberation. Look at the war Andraste started with Shartan!” Tess retorted quickly. Alistair sheathed his sword and shouldered his shield to accept the weapons of the two standing men. “Where is this likeness you compare me to?” Tess asked as she pulled the whimpering man to his feet. One of the other men pulled a folded cloth from his purse and handed it to her. Tess unfolded the cloth, frowning, and while she studied it, she removed the dagger and the sword from the man whose arms she broke. She handed the sword to Alistair, and sheathed the dagger for herself. “Fictitious Sister, if you really want to help, you may babysit.” Tess crossed to a bar stool and sat. “Two pints, and a quill and ink, if you will,” she ordered. Alistair laid the swords on the bar counter and stood sideways to her, so he could keep an eye on the hired thugs. Tess smoothed the cloth out on the counter. It was a painting of her, obviously her, with her tied hair up and adorned with gems. The canvas had been cut from a more complete picture.

“Quite a likeness. How old were you here?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a painting so accurate before.

“Seventeen. The year before Cailan became King. Cailan kept it hung in his private quarters.”

“It looks cut.” He traced his finger over the slightly frayed edges.

“It was a full-body painting. I was in a dress that matched my eyes.”

“And…you’re going to…send a message back on it?”

“Yes, I’m going to scribble all over my face with a promise of my return.” She thanked the barman as he set down two pints, and the ink jar and quill she'd requested.

“What? No! Don’t!” Alistair told her. She looked up at him uncertainly. “Don’t ruin it!  _I’ll_  take it.  _May_  I have it?”

“You really want it?”

“Yes, I do. It’s remarkable.” She slid it over toward him, and he smiled probably bigger than he should have. “Thank you,” he beamed at her. "It's lovely," he admired.

“Is this going to cause problems? Do I need to be jealous of my own portrait?” she teased.

He giggled quietly. “Definitely not. I’ll only look at when you’re gone, I promise.” He carefully rolled it up the thick cloth and nestled it in one of their purses.

“And stationary, if you have it, please?” Tess requested of the barman. She grabbed a pint and took a frothy sip, and she sighed. “It’s warm, even.”

“Oh, thank the Maker!” Alistair grabbed the other and brought it to his mouth. Warm, bitter ale danced through his mouth as bubbles tickled his tongue.

“That’ll be six silver, seven with the stationary,” the barkeep said.

“That’s it?” she asked.

“Had to lower the prices to keep up with the refugees,” he told her.

“What do you intend to do with us?” one of the thugs asked.

“You’re going to wait there until I finish my ale and my letter,” Tess said in a bossy tone. She pulled out seven silvers and pushed them away as she slid the crisp writing paper closer. Dipping and tapping the quill, she asked: “Should I be polite?” she looked at Alistair.

“Polite to a false king who tore your face from your body from the true King’s bed chambers and put a bounty on our heads when  _he’s_ the one who deserted?” Alistair asked back.

“I can’t argue with your logic.” She took another drink, and brought the quill to the paper. Alistair watched over her shoulder as she wrote.

 

_The next in line and the heir wish to see your head on a pike in return for the untimely death of my cousin/his brother and the quietus of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. Drink while you can._

_And fuck Anora for me._

 

Alistair choked on his ale, and Tess grinned. He supposed there were some words only nobles could get away with using.

They finished their ales while the letter dried. “Why does it feel like everyone is watching us?” she said.

“Because they are,” the barkeep informed her.

“You did break a man’s arm as soon as we walked in,” Alistair teased Tess.

“He was  _oogling_  your  _backside!”_ she said, purposely twisting the words.

“My shield,” he corrected, though his cheeks flushed a bit. Tess glared flatly at him.

“It doesn’t matter. It falls short of your  _lower_ backside, which I have already claimed,” she stated firmly. Alistair shoved the mug to his face to hide his embarrassed grin. Tess tested the ink with the tip of her little finger, then grabbed the corner and spun to hold it out to the three mercenaries. “Take this directly to your traitorous leader.”

One of the men with both working arms took the note from her. “Who is  _the next in line_  and  _the heir_?” the man asked.

“I am Tesslyn Cousland -”

“My Lady!” The third thug dropped to one knee in a gasp. Alistair watched curiously to see how Tess would respond to this acknowledgment.

“Get up, you fool!” barked the one holding Tess’ letter.

“But she’s – I grew up in Highever!” He was yanked to his feet.

“But she’s an outlaw, now.”

“Wrong. I will  _always_ hold a higher title than Loghain Mac Tir, and until a Landsmeet can be called with sufficient evidence that I ought to be stripped of my status, then I will continue to use the power I was born with.” Tesslyn was suddenly very much a noble. “If you grew up in Highever, then you owe your allegiance to me until death. The Couslands have  _always_  treated our citizens with utmost care.”

“And who is the heir?” the man with the broken arm croaked.

“My giant Grey Warden friend. Alistair Theirin, son of Maric. You all owe the heir even more allegiance than you might owe me.” Alistair hid his face in his ale again. Maker, did she  _have_ to do that? “I hope you realize that by obeying a traitor who means to  _kill_  the Heir, that you are committing Treason, of which the Royal Decree authorizes immediate punishment of death, and as second highest in power to the royal family in addition to sharing  _blood_  with Cailan, I am more than authorized to carry out such punishment.”

“Do you plan to kill us then?”

“No.” she shook her head. “You will take this and deliver it personally into Loghain’s hands.”

“Without any weapons?”

“That is as far as my mercy extends. I do not take threats to myself or my family lightly.” She gave a nod toward the door. “Get out of here, before I decide to send you back in nothing but your small-clothes.” She watched the three men shuffle past her, but she stopped the one who held her letter to Loghain. She rolled up the letter and gave it back to him, and slipped a coin purse off his belt.

“You take our weapons  _and_ our coin? How will we eat?”

“I guess you’d better run back, then, hm?” she said. She watched the doorway swallow the three men from sight, then loudly ordered the people of the tavern to mind their own business. She came right back to the stool next to Alistair and ordered two shots of rum.

“Oh. You’re going to expose me, and then get me drunk?” Alistair said.

“I’m getting  _me_  drunk,” she rectified. He let out a laugh.

“Right. I’ll have another ale, then,” he ordered of the barkeep.

“I could help you, you know,” the Suspicious Chantry Sister spoke from the other side of Tesslyn just as Tess tossed back one shot.

Alistair and Tess looked at her. “Why? I’m not sure I can trust a Sister who carries daggers.”

“I second that.” Alistair remained standing.

“My name is Leliana. And I – this may sound strange, but the Maker told me to help you,” she spoke in an Orleasian accent.

“You’re right, that does sound strange.” Alistair nodded at the bartender when he slid another ale over.

“And I suppose the Maker said my name, did He?” Tesslyn said. “Ugh. I’m starving. Hurry up, Alistair.”

“Right. Bear. Maker, that sounds amazing right now!”

“Yes it does.” She traded him the other shot of rum for his ale.

“To answer your question,” Leliana said as she watched them drink, “He gave me a vision - of life, of hope, surrounded by destruction and despair. I knew He was telling me I needed to help the only hope that Ferelden has.”

“Why would you leave the Chantry for a vision? I thought the Chantry teaches the Maker has left us?” Tess said. She wasn’t fooling Alistair; Tess believed the Maker was still present.

“I do not agree with that teaching. I feel my vision was confirmation of this, that the Maker is still here, and He only shows himself in times of need to people who are able and willing to make a difference, just like you said of Andraste and Shartan. I know what my vision was telling me. I  _know_ He was telling me to help the only hope for life in these dark times, and I believe you are it. You speak as one able to lead an army, and you produce immediate results. I would like to help you to make your efforts worthwhile.”

Alistair knew Tess would accept this woman even before Tess could verbally agree. The whole speech was just the sort of thing Tess was looking for, and that last line was the lure; Alistair had talked her out of suicide with a very similar line. “Welcome to the party, Leliana,” Alistair told her. Tesslyn looked up at him in pleasant surprise. “ _I_  don’t particularly like the idea of…everything she said,” he told Tess softly, “but I know _you_ do.” He finished the ale. “Now please can we go kill a bear?”

Tesslyn gladly agreed, and they exited the tavern with the bundle of excess swords. Alistair kept one of the swords as a back up weapon but they sold the rest to the cranky merchant outside the Chantry. They caught up with Morrigan just past the well; she was not happy about recruiting a Sister. She grumbled up until she was able to point out the caged Qunari, and only stopped grumbling to suggest they pick the lock to take him along. Alistair explained it was not that easy, and even if they did pick the lock, the Templars would attack unless they were permitted by the Revered Mother. So they backtracked - all the way through town - and Morrigan waited outside with Po while Alistair, Tesslyn and Leliana entered the Chantry. Despite the stares they received – possibly because of Tess’ history there, they were allowed in the back room to see the Revered Mother. The old woman was reluctant to release the Qunari. Tesslyn showed a great amount of restraint in her voice though Alistair could see her start to twitch; _lyrium,_ he felt guilty for forgetting. He supposed the suspicion from the Revered Mother only encouraged Tess’ ticks. Alistair finally took over and said they needed the Qunari’s help, and - _another belittling threat_ - they would invoke the Right of Conscription if needed. It was only then that the Revered Mother gave them a large brass key to dismiss them. Alistair silently prayed for the Maker to take pity and  _not_ smite him - they needed numbers, surely the Maker understood that even when the Chantry didn't? - while Tesslyn drank another bottle of lyrium potion outside. 

The walked all the way back to the cage to release the Qunari. Sten, he called himself, misunderstood Tess’ politeness for mocking and was just as hesitant to join them as the Revered Mother was to release him. It surprisingly took little to convince the foreigner though. At the first mention of _Blight_ , Sten vowed himself to the Wardens' disposal. When Alistair offered him the spare sword, the Sten - a _title_ , apparently, not his name -  refused, said he was comfortable with two-handed swords; they walked all the way back to the merchant, purchased the only greatsword for  _the_ Sten, and they bought back the bow they’d sold earlier because Leliana said she preferred bows over daggers. _Finally_ , they set out to kill bears.

But it wasn’t just bears. As soon as they left the town gates and turned toward the river, they were hit with multiple groups of bandits and a pack of wolves. The wolves had been attacking the bandits, and before Alistair was even aware how it happened, his own party was right in the thick of everything, sometimes fighting alongside the bandits, sometimes fighting alongside wolves, and sometimes fighting both. 

Before refugees or townsfolk could rush in and salvage, they looted anything of value, but breath was an equal priority. Alistair was actually winded. Unlike with the darkspawn, this had been waves of enemies at once. He stopped Tess, and for a moment, just rested his chin upon her head, leaning on her while he found his breath. She turned in to him, though as soon as her arms circled, she hissed and pulled away, raising her bow to fire an arrow. “Spiders!” As soon as her arrow hit and the spider screeched, they heard a roar.

“And bears.” Alistair sighed. He was suddenly grateful they enlisted the Qunari and Leliana for help. Po, Sten and Alistair rushed on to take the bears, while the three women engaged both the bears and the spiders from a distance. Although when Alistair felled one bear and glanced over, he saw Tess taking on a spider with her _daggers_. He sighed in aggravation,  _why does that tiny person flirt so closely with death?_ He left Sten and Po to rush to Tess, but instead of ramming the spider, he tackled Tess out of the way of a shooting web.

“Maker’s breath, Alistair! You can’t just do that in front of people! We have no privacy!” she tried to keep a straight face as she pushed him off. He barely had time to laugh before he had to dodge a rushing spider.

“I  _hate_ these things! Why in the world would you take one at close range?!” he managed to say between ducking from huge needles and pincers.

“What, you’re not having fun?” she asked. She whipped out her bow again to shoot two arrows at once into the many eyes of a giant arachnid.

“You’re hilarious.”

“Why do you suppose the Maker created such big spiders?” she asked.

“I heard a tale once,” Leliana called from a distance where she safely employed her bow, “where the Qunari first hailed, there are insects as big as these spiders. Flies just as big!”

“That is quite unsettling!” Alistair announced.

Po barked happily, joining them.

“I agree,” said Sten, right behind Po. “The larger the enemy, the more honorable the kill.”

“I believe the point you all but Po are missing is  _the bigger the enemy, the more fun the fight is!”_   Tess gave a cry as she stabbed another set of eyes.

The blasted spiders were tough, leaving them even more out of breath than the bandits and wolves had. When all the fighting was over, _hopefully for the night_ , Tess collapsed on the dirt right where she was. Alistair crawled over to her and collapsed as well. “That was really fun,” she wheezed, grabbing his hand.

“I think I’d rather take up chess. Or…knitting,” Alistair huffed.

“And you two are Grey Wardens?” Sten said in doubt, looking down over them.

“The best Ferelden has to offer!” Tess said in weak triumph. Alistair giggled breathlessly in the irony.

“They are the  _only_ Grey Wardens of Ferelden," elaborated a surly voice.

“Thank you, Morrigan, for crushing my ego,” Tess said. She groaned. “I’m hungry!” she whined, sitting up.

“Po and I are starving too,” Alistair said. Po gave a bark of approval.

She sighed. “You three, stay here here guard the bears, please? Maker, I’m taking what I can before I let the refugees get through. And Morrigan, would you milk the toxin from the spiders  _please_?” she asked with a sweet smile. Morrigan agreed with a scoff and a sigh. “Thank you! We’ll go back in town and get the camping supplies.”

“Don’t forget the traps, Alistair,” Morrigan dictated. Alistair refused to tell her he already had, though he made a mental note to buy the materials.

Blood-splattered and worn out, Alistair and Tess dragged their feet back through town with Po. The sun was starting to set as they turned in their completed Chanters Board jobs, received seven gold, and traded the excess bandits weapons. The claimed every bit of camping and survival gear they spied, including a washboard and a tanning rack; Tess insisted. Alistair remembered supplies to build traps this time, which reminded Tess to return to the tavern to ask about poisons. A man near the Fire also offered them a job from the Blackstone Marauders, adding Blackstone jobs were available in every city in Ferelden with pay. After agreeing to start _tomorrow_ , Alistair and Tess and the mabari trudged back outside to meet the others at the bears. Morrigan was levitating the dead bodies of the humans and wolves and mabari, and shoving them then spiders’ cave.

The bandits had set up a camp site alongside the river, with a small ridge of land separating the camp from the outskirts of the town beyond the windmill. Alistair firmly declared he and Tess and Po were taking this area, and the others could sleep on the other side on the grass. Alistair divided up the camping supplies, taking enough furs for to make a large tent, and switched the bandits’ bedmats for his and Tess’, then dumped the rest of the furs and bedding off for the other three. He stoked the fire until it roared while Tess cut huge chunks from the bears. It was just about dark when Tess brought bleeding steaks of bear meat to the rest of their party and to Alistair, who shoved them on a stick and hoisted over primitive props he’d whipped up. It did not take long for the scent of browning meat to waft through the air above dripping, sizzling fat.

Tess took off her armor and splashed water over her hands and face and legs, and then just sat in a squat at the water’s edge for awhile in her rag-dress. “Are you all right?” Alistair asked tenderly, concerned the long day had been far too much for her.

“Yeah.” She paused. “Actually, I think I’m going to head to the Chantry for a bit. I…need to apologize to the Revered Mother for when I was here last.”

He nodded. “All right. Do you want me to come with you?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“I…don’t really want to,” he admitted. She gave him a small smile. She looked utterly spent. “I’ll just finish setting up. It will all be ready for you when you come back.” He stood when she did.

“Thank you, so much, Alistair.” She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, and he squeezed the hand she laid upon his chest.

He lingered on her hand as she started to walk away. “Tess?” he said after her.

“Hm?” she turned in exhausted glory.

“I’m proud of you,” he told her. “Take your time.”

She searched his eyes, silent though the tiny clench of her brow said she wasn't sure how to respond to his praise. “Thank you,” she repeated softly.

Alistair removed his own armor and washed up a bit; the water already had that midnight-chill to it. He unrolled their bedmats side-by-side; he really hoped she wouldn’t mind sleeping next to him. He didn’t trust the Qunari or the armed Sister nearly well enough, and definitely not the apostate, to let Tess sleep by herself. He was especially cautious of having another male around. He wasn't sure if Qunari went after human women or not, but he didn’t want to take that chance.

After he set up the tent, he cut a straight branch from the nearest tree and sat on a crate that just so happened to be full of wine, and he began carving a pike. Not nearly as long as the ones he trained with on the Templar grounds, but if he made a couple, it might be something fun to do with Tess.

“What's this?” it was as if thinking of her summoned her.

Alistair looked up, and froze for a moment. She was even more beautiful, a thing he didn't realize was possible, now donning Chantry robes of pale yellow, pink, gold and mahogany. The colors he'd grown bored of these past ten years in Templar training now bloomed on the woman before him. Even with the dark of night shading so much of her, the robes seemed to embody the very shade of natural blush on her cheeks, and her lips. She was like a rose in sunset. Maker, she made  _everything_ perfect, even the Chantry.

But she had clearly been crying. Beneath her eyes drew shiny lines down her cheeks. “Tess!” Alistair jumped to his feet and rushed to her. Her eyes were glossy, tiny tears dotted her eyelashes, sparkling against the firelight. “You’re crying.” He reached up to touch her shining face.

“I’m fine, really.” She took a deep, _whole_  breath. She did seem more relaxed than he’d seen her all day. “I asked the Revered Mother if I could confess, and,” she breathed, “I cried the whole time.” Her eyes filled with water. “She just sat there and let me cry on her lap.” He moved his thumb to wipe a stray tear away. “But I feel fine, really. I feel  _good_  inside, I do,” she nodded. “I’m rather crying in relief. I didn’t expect her to forgive me.” She took another deep breath. “And  _then_  she put  _clothes_  on me,” she laughed softly.

He smiled for her. “I think it looks beautiful on you,” he told her.

“What is this, Alistair?” she gestured to the only and rather large tent.

“I don’t trust our sketchy companions,” he said.

“So we’re sleeping together?” she asked searching his eyes.

“I’m…not ready to take off my clothes yet, but yes. Mainly so I can keep an eye on you.”

“This is…so you can watch me sleep?” she joked; he hoped she was joking. Amused was better than angry.

He grinned. “ _Yes!_ Yes, I have  _sworn_  off sleep forever  _just_  so I can watch  _you_  do it!”

She smiled, almost shyly, and slid her arms over and under his, standing on her toes to complete the hug. “Thank you,” she told him softly.

 _Maker, her arms felt good_. He held her tight, relishing the sensation of such an amazing woman wanting to hold _him,_ wanting to press herself close to  _him_. He sighed without noise as he realized her _skin_  smelled sweet; he couldn’t place the aroma just yet, but it was wonderful. _She_ was wonderful. He took his time just breathing in her scent. “After all we’ve been through in this short time, I can’t let myself think of letting you go unprotected. I worry I’ll wake up to find you’ve suffered half the night. Just thinking about it feels like I’ve failed you.” He squeezed her tighter. “You’re my best friend, Tess. I can’t let you get hurt.”

“Alistair…” she sighed.

“Besides, that guy is  _huge_ , and you are a very beautiful woman, even in a  _Chantry_  gown. I’m not giving anyone any chances here.  _What’s_  in the  _bag?”_  he asked, suddenly distracted by the hard things in the string sack at her back that clopped together when he jiggled the bag. She pulled from him with a giggle.

“And you say  _I’m_ easily distracted.”

He giggled with her. “We both are.”

She pulled the strings over her head and arm and opened the sack. “The man inside the tavern who wanted the poison? He had Grey Warden toys.”

“He  _what?!”_  he hissed, surprised by his own excitement. She giggled again, pulling out a little carved, wooden man and placed it in his hand. It was about as big as his palm, painted with blue “armor” and a tiny white two-headed gryphon on its chest, complete with a sword and shield carved on to the ends of the arms, and with a gray helmet painted on. Painted on the shield was two-headed gryphon that matched the one on the chest. The arms even moved up and down. Alistair heard himself squeal like a child.

“And this,” she said, pulling out a familiar sight that Alistair only knew from daydreams and story books as a child. The head of an eagle and the body of a lion, painted cleverly to the tips of outstretched wings.

He couldn’t stop grinning. “These are _amazing_ , Tess!” he laughed. He held her head and planted a noisy kiss past her lips. “Thank you!  _V_ _ery_ much thank you! I’m going to be over by the fire playing with my new toys like a four year old!” And he sat down in front of the fire. Maker, he didn't even care who walked over right now, he was too excited. He wasn't sure if his glee was fueled by gifts from a woman he adored - from his best friend, or because the toys reminded him a little of Duncan who introduced Alistair to his first taste of freedom. He'd never had toys for long as a child; they always broke or he was denied them. But he had toys now, he had  _something of his own_ now. He sort of wished he could stay up all night playing. The gryphon especially excited him. Alistair had always seen them as a sign of freedom, large powerful creatures able to protect and made to fight -  _like Alistair had understood his position in the Chantry to be -_ but also able to fly away, to leave their masters and be _free_ _whenever they wanted_. He'd always envied this. 

“What are you doing with this?” she asked. He glanced up, moving the arms on his little Grey Warden toy like a man about to charge.

“A pike,” he said. “A short one, but a pike.”

“A pike?” she echoed. “Like for…” she moved her finger across her neck with wide eyes, “heads?” she guessed. He grinned and she immediately sighed. “Alistair, I thought we talked about this. We  _need_ them to help us  _fight_ things,” she joked.

He chased his Grey Warden after the Gryphon when he realize he couldn’t make him ride it; too close to the same size. “Weapons. Close-range. Mostly used for blocking, unless you’re really, really good at them, like I am. I’m going to make another. I thought it would be fun to practice together.” When she didn’t reply, he looked over. She was smiling at him; a small smile but sweet and adoring. “I think I should start demanding you kiss me every time you look at me like that,” he teased. His tease stretched her lips further and summoned dimples.

“Is this going to be a bet? Like,  _I bet you can’t go a whole hour without looking at me like that_ -”

He laughed softly. “ _A whole hour_ ,” he echoed.

“Or just a blunt demand?” she played back.

“Hm…which one is going to get me an  _actual_  kiss, and which one is going to get me the  _most_ kisses?” he teased.

“I’ll require remuneration if I tell you,” she bargained.

He laughed. “You will, will you? All right, what is this remuneration?”

“You have to take off your clothes.”

He froze, and she giggled. “You want me to take off my clothes  _before_  you kiss me?”

“It does not take long for a kiss to turn into something else.”

“What if I just take off my shirt? I’m not entirely thrilled about being naked with so many people near-by and no privacy.”

“We now have a tent…”

“With a lockable door,” he clarified.

“Oh, balls,” but she giggled. He chuckled, and spied a yawn on her. “Is the meat almost done?” she sat down on the crate.

“I checked it shortly before you got back. It’s a pretty thick cut. It’s still bleeding.” He set down his new toys to stand to check the steak again anyway. The inside was still oozing with blood, but he cut off a long strip along the cooked edge. He brought it over and held it in front of her mouth. “It’s a little hot,” he warned. She groaned as she took it from him with her teeth.

“You’re _amazing_ , Alistair. I don’t think we’ve eaten since breakfast, have we?”

“Not at all. Just the ale, and the rum.”

She made noises of pleasure while she ate, and he silently delighted in her content while returning to his toys. “Will you remind me to collect the furs tomorrow?” she asked.

“Of the bears? Of course. I’ll even help you,” he offered.

“We can use the bear fur for bedding, or cloaks. We can easily stay here until they tan.”

“That sounds perfect.” He laid down on his side, propped on his elbow. “I suppose you tan hides, too?” he speculated.

“Roughly. Literally rough. I think it’s worth a try, anyway, while we have somewhere to camp and restock and wash up after.” She winced. “Does this hunger ever wane?”

“After a while. But I imagine it’s worse now because we haven’t eaten all day.” He got to his feet again and turned the steaks. “The crate you’re on is full of wine.”

“Is it better than your brother’s drink?”

“I’m overlooking that reference simply because it also refers to  _rainbow juice_ ,” he teased, and she giggled.

She got off the crate and try to pull on the lid. “Bloody forgotten thaig! I need a beast to open this!”

Po quickly stood and barked an offer of service.

“A _different_ beast, Po.”

Po barked eagerly.

“Do you have opposable thumbs?” she wiggled her thumbs at her dog.

Po barked confidently.

“Actually, you  _do_  need thumbs to open a crate,” Alistair answered the dog. Alistair pried the crate open, “See?” he teased, and Po slumped down with a small whine. “Two kinds,” Alistair knelt. “White and red.”

“Red,” she said.

“The white’s good, too. I started a bottle.”

“Isn’t it bitter?” she asked. “Orleasian white wine is bitter. At least, the kind the servants drank was.”

“It’s no more than red,” he told her. He opened a bottle of red wine and handed it to her.

“A whole bottle? Alistair, are you trying to get a lady drunk?”

He grinned, shoving the lid back on. “Last time I got you drunk, we both fell asleep about fifty feet from a very long fall.”

“Hm.” She took a drink from the bottle and made a sour face. “And now we’re near a shallow river and carcasses bigger than both of us put together.”

“That just means we need to dream bigger,” he joked. “Somewhere with no cliffs. Like a beach, maybe. With white sand spilling up over the deck. And no suspicious neighbors.” He sat in front of the fire again, closer to her than before. “It does feels really good to just sit, though. No people to hunt down, no papers to shuffle through…no people to bargain with…”

As if prompted, “What would you give me if I shared this bottle of wine with you and rubbed your shoulders?”

He grinned up at her. “I’ll cuddle you all night and keep you warm.”

“Hm,” she hummed in interest. She knelt behind him and took a drink before setting it beside him. “Just out of curiosity, can men actually cuddle without taking off their clothes and having sex?”

“Is it really that hard for people to stay decent?” he laughed in the irony. “I’ve never… _lain_ anywhere with a woman, but I don’t think of cuddling and… _that_  as the same thing.”

“Decency is really not on one’s mind when the mood hits…” She started pressing on his shoulders through his shirt, circling with her fingers.

“Then is it wrong of me, or  _abnormal_ for me to want to wait until  _I_ feel that it’s perfect?" A groan rolled off his tongue before he could stop it, "That feels  _really good_  by the way,” he said. She grabbed his shoulders sternly, pushing with her thumbs as if she were shining him. Every motion rocked him, every other pulling a moan as tension yielded to comfort.  _Oh Maker_ ,  _why does the Chantry ban these things?_ He had no idea kneading over muscle could feel so good.

“I’m glad you like it. And _no_ , it’s not wrong of you. It’s just not common.”

“I don’t want to be common.” He closed his eyes and just let his body sway as her hands massaged, spreading warmth to his shoulders and back almost like a steaming bath.

“I don’t think you should be.” She paused. “Common people let me inch my way to the edge of that overlook, and they let me search past dark for firewood. Common people think nothing of killing small children to fulfill their own greed.”

He reached up with crossed arms and took her hands, pulling her down against him. He cradled her head in the crook of his neck. “You can’t do this to yourself, Tess,” he said, locking his fingers between hers. "None of that was your fault. You can't blame yourself."

“I don’t mean to.”

“I know." he paused. "It's sort of automatic, I know. I think abut Duncan,” he admitted, “probably more than I should.”

“You do?” she sounded concerned.

He nodded. “And I see Cailan dying when I sleep. When you were still being tended to, at Morrigan’s house, I dreamt of you and the ogre, and then you turned into Cailan. Now I just dream about Cailan and Duncan. There’s always an ogre.”

“Oh, Alistair…” she said sadly. “ _How_ do you…keep it together?” she asked. “You’re so _happy_ all day.”

“I…have  _you._  You keep me occupied, whether you’re making me laugh, or grabbing my hand when we walk, or when you go into a fit. I’m especially focused on making sure you don’t fall into a fit again.”

She groaned and buried her face into his shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to spend your days like that.”

“I _want_ to," he insisted, "I _like_ you. You’re my _friend_. You take my mind off all the bad things that happen. They don’t seem so bad with you around, like with those spiders earlier. I  _want_  to keep my focus on you.” He leaned his head on hers and closed his eyes.

Po whined, and so did Tess. “I  _know!”_ she was muffled against Alistair’s shoulder. She raised her head. “Do you think the Archdemon can hear when our stomachs rumble?”

“I hope so,” he giggled.

Leliana brought over bread when Alistair found the meat was cooked enough to pull off the makeshift spit, and he gave her three bottles of wine to take back to their side of camp in a hopeful gesture of goodwill. Leliana squealed in delight over her and Tess wearing matching Chantry gowns, gushed over the colors blending nicely with Tess’ skin and hair and bringing out the natural blush in her lips and cheeks even in the campfire light. When Leliana finally left, Tess explained that Orlesians were very into fashion, men and women alike, it was just a part of daily Orlesian culture that was easier to deal with if you simply squealed along with it, even if you never understood it. He asked her if she understood it; after hesitation, she quietly replied she now liked sparkly things.

Not long after they finished eating, Tesslyn started nodding off in front of the fire, while she was still sitting up. Alistair set down his polearm and knife with a small laugh. It had been a long day for sure. “Come on,” he helped her stand. “Literally falling asleep in the fire won’t help any.”

“Just trying to give the Archdemon a fair chance,” she yawned.

“As much as the Archdemon  _needs_ help from you, he’ll have to wait until morning. It’s time for bed.” He held the loose flaps of the tent open for her.

“May I just point out how cozy it is in here?” she said.

He smiled. “That’s the point. I like my bed to be cozy.”

“By cozy, I mean,  _Alistair, our beds are so close they are one.”_

He laughed a little. “I’ll just be a moment,” he said, watching her duck down to her knees to crawl in.

“I’ll be asleep. Alone. On this bed for two.”

He laughed again. “Are you trying to ask for something?”

“A goodnight kiss and a tuck-in would be nice?” she requested.

“A kiss and a tuck-in, eh?” he asked as he shoved the knife and the unfinished polearm with the rest of their camping gear.

“Mm-hm.” She had already curled up on the far bed with her eyes closed when he returned to the tent and sat just inside.

“And she talks in her sleep,” he teased, taking off his boots, setting them outside the tent furs.

“Keep dreaming.” He giggled a response. “But, on the chance that I do, don’t you dare tell anyone,” she told him. He giggled again as he settled in next to her.

“Oh, I am going to tell  _everyone_!” he played. In the faint light, he admired her. She was still, her breath even. If he hadn’t seen her withdrawal or her rage before, he wasn’t sure he could imagine the woman in front of him ever having a trouble in her life. “I love seeing you like this,” he told her. He tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Why? Because I’m too slow to throw a dagger before you can blink?” she murmured.

He laughed softly. “No, but that’s not a bad reason.” He unfolded the blankets and covered her up, making sure her feet and legs were tucked in, made sure her arms and back were covered. “You look at peace.”

She slowly peeked at him, the dim light bouncing off her eyes like tiny flames. “I do?”

“Yes, you do. It’s nice to see you not worry for once.”

“Maker,” she groaned. “Do I really look that bad all day?”

“You are  _incapable_  of looking bad, my dear,” he flattered. “But worried? Yes. I can see it around your eyes, even when you laugh.” He laid down and pulled his blanket up to his ribs. “Lift your head?” he asked. She looked at him with droopy eyes again and did ask he asked. He closed the tent flap with one hand, and he slid his other arm under her head. “Perfect,” he said, when she nestled her head at his shoulder. He reached for her head in the dark, and blindly put his lips to her face; just above her nose.

“Good night, Alistair,” she mumbled faintly.

“Good night, Tesslyn.” He fell asleep with his arms closed around her, her hands pressed to his chest, and hot, rhythmic breath seeping under the collar of his shirt.


	9. A Kiss in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and F!Warden have their first major dream of the Archdemon. Then they share their first, and rather steamy, kisses.

It was gigantic. The black dragon screeched out a roar just before it breathed fire so hot it was blue. Genlocks and hurlocks marched, armed with crude weapons and armor. Gangly bodies, appearing like rotted flesh, or maybe acid-burnt. Deformed monsters of stories. But familiar, like...cousins, maybe. Family you don't live with, though you'd recognize them anywhere, even though the last meeting hadn't gone so well. The dragon was ordering them, speaking. They understood it. He sensed they understood, but he could not. It was like a language he wasn't familiar with, like he was a babe watching older siblings and parents speak. He didn't understand, though he knew it was a command, especially when the others started off like a squad. Of monsters? No. He knew them. Didn't he?

The dragon screeched again, and the blood burned throughout his body like the sting of a thousand wasps.

Alistair jerked awake to find Tesslyn gasping deeply. Her fingers tightened in knots at his shirt collar. He could feel her heart pounding like a charging bronto against him...or maybe that was his heart. “Are you all right?” he was surprised to hear his own breathlessness.

“Does this happen often?” she gasped.

“Duncan said only during Blights.”

She sighed heftily. “There has got to be some sort of retribution.”

He let out a small laugh. “I wish.” He cradled her head and pushed his lips into her hair. She was damp with sweat. The veins her face thumped in a dangerous current against his chin. “Maker, Tess...your pulse is racing. Are you sure you're all right?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

He took a deep breath, and let her go to lean backwards. Their legs were a tangled mess between the blankets. His top leg was sandwiched between hers, her own top leg locked around his, gripping tighter as his hip and leg pulled away with his back. She tried her best to keep him to her body. “I'm only checking the fire,” he assured her. She loosened her grip enough for him to lean over and push open the tent flap. Po was just outside the tent, and the fire still blazed. Either someone had tended it, or they hadn't been asleep very long.

He closed the flap and turned back in to her. “See? Still here,” he said. She wound her hand up around his neck and held the back of his head. Her lips laced tenderly over his, lingering; his heart and breathe skipped a neat. “Tess...” his voice was husky.

“Thank you for being here,” she whispered.

Alistair waited for another kiss. But it never came. He couldn't stop the sigh of disappointment that escaped his throat, though he tried to silence it. He knew she could feel it. Now he felt like a jerk for  _expecting_  romance from her.

Her nose brushed his, then brought her mouth back. Something exploded inside of his chest like wildfire, and he responded with a hunger he didn't even know he owned. Their lips danced together like they were running out of time. His hands brought her in as close as she could be. She was soft and tarrying, and his lips squished between hers. Her tongue passed through and grazed his teeth, and with stolen breath, he reached to taste. It was like lightning hit him everywhere. Every part of him jumped to life, his groin shouting for her body. The buzz returned to his fingers and toes, but this was sensual, yearning; lust. He could feel her breath resonate beneath his fingers as he stroked her skin. He groaned though the kiss, already struggling with the impulse to push his hips in. His smalls grew uncomfortably tight. 

Her tongue retreated and his whole body followed when his mouth chased hers. She submitted to his lips from beneath him, her thighs spread to accommodate his weight atop. He reclaimed her tongue; Chantry morals reminding he shouldn't, but he couldn't fight the current that blazed in his loins. He craved her taste as if he'd known it before. Her fingers tugged at his shirt until she found skin, and he swelled even harder, forcing the strings of his smalls to nearly cut into his flesh in the attempt to conform to this new itch. He found her thigh, pressed his fingers in as he ran his hand along, wrapping her around him. He succumbed to the urge and arched his hips; she swallowed his sigh of need and surprise. She was hot at the core, a silent plea of loneliness he hadn't known existed, a plea he'd been unaware his groin could hear. He kissed her harder, muffled moans, lips weaving around sloppy tongues, hands eager and possessive and daring through cloth. Alistair allowed himself a single rub; more than enough to make him itch for somewhere to dive.

She broke from his mouth. “You know, for a Chantry boy...” she didn't even need to finish. He fell into her neck in a fit of breathless laughter, flaming desire still severely constricting him. She had been right. It didn't take long for a kiss to turn into something else.

“Why did you have to do this when we're already tangled together and alone?” he groaned.

She hesitated. “It was honestly supposed to be a  _thank you_  kiss...But, consider this payback for when you kissed my shoulder, and made me describe what I like about your body, and when you caressed the backs of my arms earlier.”

He breathlessly whimpered through a laugh. “ _This_  is what I  _do_  to you?” he lifted his head, though he could barely see a darkened silhouette.

“Yes. Just because I don't have a wanker doesn't mean I'm not boiling lava inside.” It never got old to hear her say  _wanker;_ he giggled every time.

He dropped his head at her neck again. “Is this going to happen every time I kiss you?”

“I'm not going to shove my tongue in your mouth in front of the others. But...I don't know...it takes even less for you to affect me.”

“Just looking at me, right?” he muttered. It took nearly all his effort to filter in her voice through the yearning cradled between their legs.

“Everything you are turns me on. Even your freckles and your hair, and your voice. Your smile.”

“Really?” he pushed up off her and flopped on his back next to her with a brawny sigh.

“Yes, really.”

He laid his hand over his chest. “It almost hurts. Maker, my heart has never pounded like this before.” He reached blindly until he found her hand, and he brought it up under his shirt. He held her open hand over his heart. “Can you feel that?”

“Yes.”

“Is it  _supposed_  to hurt?” he asked quietly.

She paused. “Someone once told me you can only fall in love if it hurts, because that's how you know you've actually given your heart away. You've opened yourself up, cut a huge chunk of yourself and given it to someone. It leaves you vulnerable because it's entirely up to the other person what she wants to do with it. Does she keep it? Does she give you a piece of herself to patch the hole?”

“Who told you that?”

“My brother, when I asked how what it was like to be in love,” she said softly. "Most nobles aren't. But my parents are - were... and my brother i- he loved Oriana. I'd never seen anyone else in love," she recalled. Alistair stared at the pale outline of her face. He could faintly see her nose and tiny reflections in her eyes. “He said it's a good sort of pain, like...having faith that they're always going to be there when you turn around, or wake up.” Her fingers found the hairs he had on his chest, and he held her wrist while she stroked him.

“I already took that for granted,” he recalled of waking up in Morrigan's swamp without her. “It scared the daylights out of me. I don't want to do that again.”

“I overheard Cailan once ask my brother why he never had any mistresses. Cailan had plenty, and he wasn't discreet about it. Fergus said Oriana was his best friend, and he couldn't imagine ever hurting his best friend. Not like that.”

“That's how I feel about you,” he told her. “You're my best friend. I never want to hurt you. Also, I think you would dice me up and feed me to your dog if I ever did.” She burst into fierce giggles and buried them at his shoulder. He sighed in relief with a smile, winding his arm around her.

The fire gave a few loud crackles and the sound of falling charcoal, and she sat up. “I'll take care of it,” he told her, sitting up himself. Her hand slid down his front and slipped out of his shirt. He silently sighed as he adjusted his small-clothes. He wasn't as hard anymore, but he was still trying to stand in the crotch of his pants. He pushed aside the tent flap and rolled to his knees to push to his feet. He immediately had to readjust his smalls again.

“Pants still snug?” she asked in a bit of an arrogant tone. He let out a huff.

“Yes, just a bit. Proud of yourself?” he teased.

“Considering I had Chantry boy pressing between my legs?  _Oh_ , yes.”

He grinned, only a little embarrassed, as he stoked the fire. He secretly loved that she could make his body react to her like this, though, and he loved the reactions he'd been able to pull from her so far. Her hips had opened to receive him even before he'd hiked her thigh around him. He could feel her eyes on him as he rearranged the coals and added more wood.

When returned to her, though, her eyes were drooping again. He got on his hands and knees and pushed his mouth to hers when her eyes closed. She made a little sound at his kiss. He picked her up with one arm and moved her over just enough to make room for his body. He cradled her right back in his arms, comfortably cramped. He whispered goodnight, and her lips slowly moved with his until she fell asleep under his kisses.


	10. Sheepishly Excited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the growing party prepares for the long journey, Alistair gets carried away in the river, and ends the night with an embarrassing sex talk.

Alistair woke to solid shifting over him. He half-opened one eye to see Tesslyn failing not to disturb him on her way out. He moaned in protest and grabbed her gown to stall her. With a huff, she plopped down right over him.

He laughed sleepily. “What are you doing?”

“I was trying to sneak out test the river,” she said. “I've got a busy day of doing absolutely nothing, and I want to get started quickly.”

“Sneak?” he peeked at her. “Did you forget how?” he teased.

“It's not easy to move around in this dress,” she joked defensively.

He laughed again. “And so just dropping on top of me is going to fix that?” But he loved her weight upon him. She was warm, soft, and her curves over him at this angle were...spectacular.

“ _Something_ has to work,” she said. He giggled. “No wonder Chanters never run anywhere.”

“Are you really going to bathe right now? The river will be freezing,” he exaggerated.

“I know. But I'd rather get it over with now so maybe my hair will dry by sundown.”

“Then go for it, fearless leader,” he said, “I'll try not to laugh too hard when you shriek like a little girl.”

“I _am_ a little girl,” she retorted, pushing her self back up.

“Hm.” he mused, “Little girls don't kiss Grey Wardens in the dark,” he teased.

She turned at the waist to point at him, leaning close. “ _Shove_ it, Ser.”

“Where shall I shove it, my Lady?” but he couldn't say it without laughing.

“Templars!” she scoffed. “I apologize, but alas I cannot stay. A river near-freeing awaits me.”

He giggled again “Oh, don't let me stop you! I'm all too eager to hear that -” he gave a quiet, high-pitch screech “- when the water hits your privates!”

“You are _such_ a boy, Alistair,” she giggled.

“Would you have kissed me if I wasn't?”

“It would not have been the first time I've kissed a woman,” she said so casually. Instantly his mind went blank. She giggled at his speechlessness and dipped down for a quick kiss. “Goodbye!” and she crawled out of the tent.

Not a moment went by before she hissed. _“Blast! Eew! Mud! Oh, wonderful!”_ she griped. Alistair giggled to himself. Never a dull moment around her. She auditorily struggled with her linen-wrap dress. _“What in Andraste's name was I thinking?”_ Alistair chuckled into the headrest. After a series of grunts came a deep sigh of relief. And then, and yelp of surprise followed by a splash.

Alistair was already laughing at the thought of her falling into the ice-cold river when another splash brought out her pirate's tongue: _“Po! What in the blasted cock-hole knicker-blaster was that for?!”_ she screeched. _“Bleedin' dust-sniffer! Whoooooo! And stop your blasted laughing!”_ she added to Alistair. Alistair could barely breathe for laughing so hard. Po barked happily, and Morrigan yelled incoherently from the other side of the hill. They were a round of dissonance.

Alistair eventually composed himself enough to crawl out of the tent. He found Tess no longer screaming, pouring a bottle of lyrium potion over her hair. Her bare breasts peaked above the surface and water pooled at the bend of her waist. _Maker._ It wasn't like he'd never seen her bosoms before, yet they immediately caught his attention. He had to tear his eyes away, fearing she'd think him a lecher.

“So!” Alistair leaned against the crate of wine, still chuckling and thankful it hid his blush. His goofy grin was clearly induced by the sight of her now and the memory of her scream.

“ _No_.”

He giggled. “Fall in, eh?”

“It was Po's fault! He kept leaning on me, and then when I didn't move, the nipped at my bum!” she accused. Alistair burst into another bout of laughter.

“Po!” he wheezed through laughing. “Next time come get me first!”

Po barked proudly with the best grin a dog could give.

“ _No_! There is _no_ _next time!”_ she declared. Po barked happily again.

After giggles died down, Alistair leaned his head on his arm, the crate a perfect prop to watch Tess. _Maker, she was lovely._ Her breasts called to him again and he admired her,   _perfect shape, perfect color_. Rosy teats and their matching auras stood out against fresh cream, taut and perky in the early morning chill. Clear water dripped off a nipple in a stream as her wet hair fell over one shoulder. Every curve was flawless, she looked like she'd been sculpted. She almost reminded him of fountain statue.

“For all that laughing,” she glanced toward him, “you ought to join me.”

He laughed again. “Oh, no. I'm not eager to show off my manly side just yet.”

“You don't have to be naked,” she said.

He grinned with a little laugh. “I meant my screaming. But now that I know where your mind is at -”

 _“It is not!”_ she insisted.

“No, of course not,” he teased. “Not _your_ mind.”

“You realize quite a few of our conversations end up like this?” she pointed out.

He grinned wider. “That is true, isn't it? My answer is still no. I like my balls where they are just fine, thanks.” She looked over through the corner of her eye, and he giggled. “Good _morning_ , Tess,” he said. He felt almost obnoxiously giddy and flirty. He supposed it was leftover euphoria from kissing her in the middle of the night.

“I'm glad my mornings are amusing.”

He couldn't help but smile at her. _Maker, he adored this woman_. “You're a very fun person.”

“Is this better than being kissed forty times?” she asked.

“They're equally amazing, just in completely different ways.”

“Hm...I should add that to my list of professional qualifications,” she pondered.

“The Mighty Tesslyn Cousland, absolutey amazing in completely different ways!” he announced. “Actually, that sound sounds like a circus act.”

She choked on her own laughter. “An Orlesian circus act!” He giggled with her.

“Are you going to stay in there all day?” he asked after awhile. “I'm surprised you haven't lost feeling yet.”

She took a deep breath. “The chill actually helps with my shivers.”

He sighed inside. “I was wondering how you made it so long without an episode. Morrigan!” he yelled over his shoulder.

“ _Blast and damnation!”_ Morrigan yelled back. _“Why must you pester me so? Some of us have only just woken to the sound of shrill cursing!”_

“One day, Alistair, that witch is going to…what did you call it?” Tess teased, _“Zap! Frog time!”_

He grinned again. “I tend to annoying people, sometimes I even enjoy it. I usually get funny reactions.”

“You don't annoy me.”

“I have tried,” he admitted, “even this morning. But you never fall for it.”

She frowned in thought with darting eyes. “I don't recall anything you've done as annoying. Not to me, anyway. I actually find your humor refreshing. It helps takes my mind off things for awhile.”

“That is what I'm here for: to distract noble pirates with witty one-liners.” He could hear her teeth start to chatter from where he sat. “Okay,” he got to his feet with a little laugh. "Time to get out.” He pulled a blanket from inside the tent and held it out for her at the edge of the river.

“I s-suppose by n-now you're impressed with my b-bold-old strategy plan-n-,” she shivered as she trudged toward him, sloshing water with each dramatic step.

“What, fight your addiction or freeze trying?” he guessed. He let his eyes wander down, past her breasts, past her waist. He stared at the curls where her legs met. They dripped  and glistened with the reflection of the sun rising over the mountains. His smalls were suddenly uncomfortably tight again. How could that small patch of hair have such an effect on him?

“Brill-iant, right-t?” she stepped into the blanket in a shiver that took nearly all of her. He smiled as he wrapped her up snugly.

“It makes perfect sense,” he teased. He pulled her right up against him and the chill of her skin instantly bled through the blanket and his clothes. He firmly cupped his hands at her jaw to warm her. “You are _ice,_ Tess!” he remarked.

“Thank y-you,” she murmured, her eyes closed.

“Does cold water really help?”

“For awhile. I thin-nk it's more of a distrac-distraction. I don't much notice the pain when the...water's this cold.” She made a noise of gratitude when he massaged her jaw. “You will forever be taking care of me,” she murmured.

“I can handle that, I think,” he told her. He watched her eyes settle in relief as he pressed about the length of her jaw, from ear to chin and then back again. His gaze landed on her lips; he remembered exactly how she had felt against him in the middle of the night, she _looked_ just as soft as he remembered. _Maker, how did this perfect woman fall into his life?_ He didn't - _couldn't_ wait to feel it all again. He tipped his head and pushed his mouth, trying to copy her lips from last night. Her breath withdrew in a whimper, _so glad it wasn't just him._ She pressed against his chest, through the blanket he felt her fingers clutch at him. He drew her in closer, lips yielding to each other. _The embrace,_ the same sweet gestures she stole his breath with last night. Fingers slipped out from the blanket to curl at his collar, and when he tasted her lip she breathed his name. Pushing harder, tasting faster and gasps between kisses fed heat and affection tight in his groin.

She broke from his mouth with desperate breath. Eyelids fluttered to seek the other as chests rose and fell together. The swelling was back - his heart, his gut, his small-clothes, even his limbs itched to feel her. It felt like his body wasn't big enough, like his chest was going to explode. _Holy Maker, what was wrong with him? Was he in love? Was it possible to fall in love so soon?_

He kept his eyes on her as his lips brushed hers magnetically. “You're stuck with me now, you realize that?” he murmured; he wanted her to know what she did to him. She unlocked _love_ he didn't know existed _from inside him_ and he wanted her to have it all. His eyelids fell for a deeper kiss, but her lips stretched. He kissed her smile and pulled back to look at her.

She blinked and, with a bit of a blush, tried to hide her smile. “I – yes, I suppose that would...work, or something.”

His own smile stretched as far as it could. “It's going to have to work. I'll tie myself to you, if I have to.”

She laughed softly. “That in itself should frighten the Archdemon off, right?” Her fingertips crawled up his neck, his jaw, and traced a crease from his smile.

“If all else fails,” he pursed his lips to her fingers, “then I'll just borrow your Chantry dress and try the Remigold.”

Disgust and irritation cleared its voice behind them and broke their giggles, and Tess immediately withdrew into him for protection. His chest tightened, heart swelling again; she was _his_ , willingly relying on him now. He kissed her forehead before turning to face the interrupting voice.

“'Tis impolite to demand assistance and then force the obligator to watch you indulge in weaknesses of the flesh!” Morrigan snapped.

“That's all well and done, just leave it there, thanks.” Alistair turned right back to Tess' lips, wrapping her tighter in his arms. Tess smiled through his kiss, and he giggled into her grin when she accused him of doing that on purpose. “It _was_ on purpose,” he agreed.

She twitched in his arms, and immediately turned her head, wincing in shame. He rubbed her arms, pressed his lips to her temple then left her to retrieve the small blue bottle Morrigan had left.

“Why don't you sit?” he suggested, uncorking the bottle.

“I am not completely helpless yet,” she reminded.

“You are twitching again, though.”

“And?” she said, sitting on the crate anyway.

“Which means it's _my_ turn to take over. _You_ answer to _me_ now,” he played. Her brows shot up in anticipation, and he laughed. “Damn!” he laughed. “I should have thought that out before I said it!” He held the tiny bottle to her mouth and tipped so she could drink. “Erm, so...relaxing? While we skin the bears?” he recalled the plan.

She groaned. “I forgot about that.”

“If you need to rest today, Tess, do it. We can always buy furs later.”

“No,” she sighed. “It's going to be more efficient to skin them here. And more cost-effective.”

“Didn't I just say _I_ am in charge?” he joked.

She grinned up at him. “As your official Royal Adviser -”

“Oh, is _that_ what you are now?” he couldn't hide his amusement.

“- I have to insist we skin these damn bears here today, and smoke as much meat as we can, so we can leave this ridiculously small town fully stocked in a couple of days.”

“Then as your – Maker, I can't _sodding_ believe I'm actually saying this – as your Prince and Future King -”

She beamed up at him.

“- I override your arduous suggestion, and I'm ordering you back to bed so I can cuddle you.”

“Your Majesty -”

He made a face that made her giggle.

“- if I don't get dressed, at least in my bedsheets, then the refugees and townsfolk will all come swarming over like a plague of vicious, starving Templar recruits. And they may even remember the bears at some point.”

He laughed loudly. “Oh, well, now we can't have any of that,” he played along. “Kiss me, and I'll waive your punishment.” She raised one eyebrow curiously. She leaned forward and pushed puckered lips against his still-bulging groin, composing a hiss from him, causing his hips to hitch. His smalls were instantly a great deal tighter. He sunk down with weakened knees and buried his face in her blanketed bosoms. “That wasn't fair,” he croaked.

“Your Majesty was not specific,” she teased. She wiggled her arms out of the blanket and held him.

“Great.” he muttered. “Just...try _not_ to do that to me when we're around people, okay?”

“I won't ever touch you like that in front of people,” she promised. She kissed his hair.

“That was amazing, though. Just for future reference.” He felt her smile into the top of his head. _“Please_ put that clever wrap back on so I can't just rip your clothes off?” he begged.

She finally agreed to dress _in just the wrap_ and after sharing bread and wine, they grabbed their hunting knives and headed to the bears. Alistair skimmed a thick fatty layer of the flesh that had been exposed all night and tossed it to Po, who happily devoured it in a bloody mess. Alistair cut steaks for their party to cook for the day, skewered them over the fire then returned to help Tess skin. The refugees came begging soon after; Tess allowed them to do what they wanted with the third bear, but she and Alistair weren't giving up the bears they had claimed for anything.

Skinning the damn bears took nearly half the day. After the refugees had picked the third bear like vultures, Po took over the bones, dislodging huge legs to gnaw on. Irregular clanks of bone on bone mingled with birds, dogs and noisy insects near the water’s rush itself in serene ambiance; a more welcoming sound than refugees or the remnants Ostagar that still lingered in Alistair’s mind. With skins lain fur-side down, Alistair and Tess cut and tossed steaks for their party. It turned out Tess had a tendency for souvenirs; she carefully carved out the jaws to _harvest teeth_ , also a paw. She seemed to have a fascination with bones, a fascination Alistair could work with; he set the jaws of his own bear aside, already planning how to replace the bow she'd lost at Ostagar.

The townsfolk came in the next wave; Tess wasn't nearly as lenient with them She insisted that since they all had homes to go home to at night, they would earn whatever they wanted cut. Tess, splattered and smeared with blood and wearing only her linen-wraps, told the villagers to dig holes to bury the carcasses for when all the carving was done. She was adamant; unnecessary life had been taken no matter the benefits, so bodies needed to return to dirt to allow new life to spawn. This was the cycle of life, and it must not be disturbed.

Alistair loved hearing her talk this way. It was sort of like a Chantry lesson on respecting what the Maker provided, though from someone who had learned about it and came to know the Maker by experience, by blood and trial, not mere text. Tess' lessons were actually sound.

Nonetheless as they complained, the village men split up and started digging two large holes. Tess kept her end of the bargain and steaks for the working men.

“Can I remark how amusing this whole scene is?” Alistair stood to skin the belly and hind quarters of his bear.

“What is? Fereldan common folk _not_ horrified by the sight of a woman in rags holding a knife and covered in blood?” she joked.

He grinned. “There's that, too. Actually I was going to say, I just heard the most spiritual speech of my life, and then the woman who _gave_ the speech convinced an entire village of men they ought to slave away for her,” he mused.

She smirked hard without looking up. “It worked on you, as well.”

His smile tipped crookedly. “Your kisses had something to do with that.”

“Oh, yeah?” she asked curiously.

He laughed a little. “Yes, but I am honestly helping just to help. I don't want you doing this all by yourself.”

“I appreciate your help.” her sweet stare melted his insides to sap.

“I'm glad I _could_ help, then.” He paused after he tossed another section of fur on the grass. “Have I mentioned I don't like the smell of blood?”

“Really?” she asked in surprise.

“Let me guess – _you love it?”_ he said. She hesitated to speak, then glanced over with a sheepish bite of her lip. Alistair laughed. “I knew it.” He took a look around. They'd completed quite a bit of work already; bears nearly half-skinned, flesh cut down to fat surrounding organs and the sun had just passed overhead with plenty of daylight remaining. He left his dead bear to tend to their campfire, gazing at Tess from afar as he turned the meat.

Watching her these past few days, Alistair couldn’t find the _assassin_ she claimed to be, and hardly noble with the exception of the tavern. Especially now, Tess was all Fereldan; the way she carved meat, how she skinned hide, unafraid to dirty herself, liberally catering to her mabari. She seemed too normal, too honorable to be a professional killer. She was a good person... _and she adored him._ Despite this Grey Warden mission they were on, Alistair felt like a worthy man for once because of her.

Alistair pulled off his shirt as he returned to Tess. She shot him a double-glance then stared frozen as he approached. Eyes locked on his top half with her own chest heaving, she made him feel incredibly confident about his shape. He knew, of course, or _assumed_ that women in general found him attractive given all the looks from female Templars, aside from occasional propositions after he joined the Wardens. He'd never intentionally taken care in his appearance aside from his hair; bulking up was just something that had happened during Templar training. Keeping his shape had never seemed important for reasons other than the ability to wield arms, but if his body drew drew this obvious reaction from the woman his waking moments revolved around, then by the Maker, he was going to keep training, or train harder.

Alistair dropped his bloodied shirt on a clean spot of grass and held his hand out to Tess. “Come, noble pirate adviser Lady.”

She was still stunned, eyes flickering from his chest to his eyes. “What are we doing?”

“Rinsing off. I feel grimy.”

“But...”

He grabbed the knife from her hand and stuck it in the bear. “You deserve a break, Tess. Look how much you've done today.” She put her hand in his, unable to keep her eyes from his naked top half. The look on her face as he led her to the river suggested he was actually leading her to bed. Her chest rose and fell dramatically, eyes and pupils large, lips parted to pass her heavy breath easier. “You know, I'm not sure if the Maker's teasing me, or punishing me,” he said.

“What?” she breathed.

“That look on your face right now is...very romantic. Yet there are a dozen people right over there.”

She closed her eyes and breathed very deep, letting him lead her into the water. “Maybe you shouldn't take off your clothes in front of me, then.”

He laughed, pulling her closer. “And what do you think you do to _me_ when _you_ remove your clothes?” he asked.

“Your cheeks and ears turn pink and your freckles stand out a little more,” she whispered. He laughed again.

“Do they really? I guess that's a dual-punishment, then. And this water a bit colder than I'd hoped,” he winced as he waded mid-thigh in the river. Tess was nearly submerged to her waist. She searched his eyes as he cupped his hand and brought water up to her arms to rinse her off. “What did you used to do for fun? Before...Cailan became king? Or maybe when you were a child?” he asked her.

She blinked a few times, eyes darting in thought. “I like to read. I would spend most of my time in the study. It was like a library.”

“What sort of books did you read?”

“Everything. I enjoy genealogy. It's mandatory noble curriculum growing up, learning the noble family lines. I enjoy it though. I love history, especially the old tales of the Grey Wardens, with the gryphons.”

He smiled. “Me too. I used to daydream about riding gryphons.”

“Did you always want to be a Grey Warden?”

“For as long as I can remember,” he answered. “I can’t picture myself as anything else, even without the Taint, even now after...” _after Ostagar._ He brought water up to her neck; she tilted her head back with a silent gasp and closed eyes. “What did you _want_ to be when grew up?” he asked. “I mean, surely even nobles dream of something other than...formalities. Right?”

Emerald orbs fluttered open. “I don't...I don't remember. I just remember wanting to see the entire world. I guess I've done half of that already. And to be able to use a weapon. The _Shaperate!”_ she gasped, flying to his gaze.. “Orzammar! I've always wanted to go to the Shaperate in Orzammar. It's like their _library,_ they keep every single record back to thousands of years ago. I mean, it's only Dwarven history, but _still!_ That's knowledge I don't have yet.” She was glowing. Alistair hadn’t seen this kind of passion from her yet, _Maker he loved it,_ and a passion he shared as well. _Could she be any more perfect for him?_

He smiled again. “Well, we have a Treaty for Orzammar.” Her brows arched in hope and Alistair’s smile spread.

“Do you realize how much you'll stand out down there?” she asked. He laughed. “You're already tall up _here_. You'll…Maker, I hope they make tall doorways there.”

 _Perfect and adorable._ Alistair stole a kiss with a grin. She gave a sigh and curled in when he pulled back, and he couldn’t help but kiss her again. Sighs matured to muffled moans. Each tender lock tingled him all over again; lips smacking, lightning spreading, his skin pricked in excitement under her touch. He felt _needed. Could_ she be any more perfect?

Hungry lips eventually broke with a quiet apology and declaration of real hunger. “I'll check the steaks in a bit,” he told her. But he didn't move yet. She gave him a playful glare and began to turn away, and he laughed inside; he _loved_ when she wanted to play. _Where was she going?_ He wasn't done with her yet. He grabbed her shoulders, spun her back around and bent, catching her mouth rougher than he meant. Her response forced him to drop his waist below water: she threw her arms around him, grabbed his hair _and his bottom_ and dug her nails in. He held her hips for balance, accidentally aligning their loins; she gasped with her tongue still in his mouth. The buoyancy of his clothes made room in his smalls for his manhood to protrude farther than it allowed dry, and she was _right there_. Her fingers raked up his back when he sank lower in the river. His chest was tight, but that was nothing compared to the ache in his groin. Alistair broke from her mouth when she stepped her legs around his, resting her center on the hardest part of him. “ _Dammit_ , Tess...” it had been hard enough restrain himself last night.

She pulled on his bottom lip with her teeth after a lingering kiss, testing just how far he could stretch his smalls underwater. _Everything_ she did roused him. _“So!”_ she was suddenly cheerful, as if she wasn't straddling the stiff rod uncomfortably pressuring his underwear. “So...you seem to like it _wet_ and _rough_...”

“Maker, Tess, are you doing this on _purpose?”_ he whispered.

“Did you forget _you_ started this?” she smiled, sweet and small. Fingers tender raked his scalp, squeezing his shoulder with her other hand.

“I...suppose I did. I didn't mean to.” He closed his eyes as she brought her lips to his forehead, and laughed breathlessly against her neck. “You caught me by surprise.”

“Mm-hm. Of course I did,” she wasn't convinced.

He leaned into her with a sigh that shivered into his gut. He refused to let go of her hips. Part of him desperately wanted to lose himself to her right then, right there. The other part was aware over a dozen villagers were only hidden by dead bears. It nearly burned though - what had she called it? _That itch._ He itched indeed. He sought her eyes for guidance; his mind didn't want him to do this here. He couldn't even see straight, though. Desire seemed to be winning this battle regardless.

 _He surrendered._ Desire was stronger than his will. With closed eyes _to forget they weren’t alone,_ he rocked his hips. There was no instruction needed; his hips moved on their own, instinct steering the quest for heat and depth. Friction so different than his hand though he wasn’t even _in_ her; a body to move with set the bar, nude or not. He struggled to quell the sound rising from his throat. She wasn't just the only heat of the river, she was hot _for_ him. She didn't speak as he rubbed, _harder_ , dragging himself as he guided her hips into him. Her hand tightened in his hair, adding little shocks to the starving fire in his sex; _she was right, he liked it_ , it made his toes curl into the river bed. Rough wet cloth massaged him with every push and pull, the _need_ to cure this itch insatiable. Rubbing forced more room in his smalls and when he centered his voice broke; hot folds hugged his length. _He belonged here._  

The water sloshed around them as he picked up speed. Heat swelled in his groin with the ferocity of wildfire, the hollow core he could not yet breach just as eager. He raised a leg around him for _deeper_ access and she swayed with a broken moan. She reminded him they had a tent but he begged her not to move. It felt too good, he didn't want to lose it. He felt possessed; he couldn't stop, he didn’t want to. He wrapped himself in her other leg, almost dunking her before he thought to save her. Gripping the back of his neck with his hands taming her hips, she crashed into his swollen piece. He honestly tried to push so hard he’d poke through their clothes; from how she opened, she wanted him to. Rolling _faster,_ jerking, _trying to break through_ , his balls clenched up. In cascades he trembled, his fingers digging in, desperately holding on to her. Stolen breath broke to falsetto as seed rushed through his cock, hips racing to force his overflow. _Heat. Her._ Yes Maker _, her._

Alistair remained in her limbs as the moment waned, his face buried in the crook of her neck. Through rags, her nipples dragged along his skin when she took a deep breath. She held him without words. At first it seemed she was catching her breath, but when she shifted over his lap with a rock and a rub, his gut knotted up. _She didn’t like it._ He raised his head to see her face; the mask of a moment interrupted.

“Oh...Tess, you didn't...” He felt like a dog, no - _worse_ than a dog. What had he done? Out here, where people could see he was treating her like this? Maker, it sounded disrespectful just thinking about it...but he’d _done_ it. No privacy. Just rutting. Like a stupid, wild animal. He'd used her body _in front of people_. _And_ he left her wanting. He could see it in her eyes, _disappointment,_ felt it in her hips, _not there yet_

He held the back of her head and apologized profusely over and over as he kissed her. “Please forgive me!” he breathed. He tried to kiss forgiveness out of her.

She shushed him, kinder than he felt he deserved. “Don't be sorry,” she murmured. Her voice was calm, comforting even.

“I _am_. Maker, I am _so_ sorry!” he told her. “I don't…” he swallowed. What he'd done completely went against his personal moral beliefs on intimacy. _I couldn't stop myself._ “I don't deserve your gentleness right now.”

“I thought you said it's not about what we deserve? It's about what we need.”

“This is _different_ , Tess. I should have saved this. At the _very_ least for the tent. You deserve _privacy_ when I touch you.”

She pressed her lips in deeper. “I guess we need to sit down and talk.” Her eyes flew open, and she glanced back. “After... _shit._ I honestly forgot about all those... _Privacy_. _Right_. That makes sense, now. I thought you were just talking about my dog.”

Alistair’s head hung with a quiet, heavy sigh. “I feel so ashamed right now.”

“We're going to have a _Becoming a Man_ talk, too.”

He huffed in irony. “Oh, no. No, no.”

“Yes, we are.” She arched her back to straighten and move her legs. “But I'll save it for when we're eating.”

“Yes, that's perfect. I can choke and die of embarrassment.”

“It won't be embarrassing. You'll be talking with _me_.” She took his face in her hands and leaned in for a kiss. Tender, kind, sweet; he didn’t deserve this. “Do you feel better, at least?”

He hesitated to answer. “Physically, yes...” Her smile was unmistakably smug. “ _Right_. I'm glad you're happy about it. I still don't think it's safe to stand up yet.” She curled up in convulsive laughter. “Yes, I'm _very_ glad,” he joked wryly, “I'm glad this body amuses you.”

“Your body far from amuses me, little king,” she said as she walked down stream.

“Please don't call me that,” he groaned. She held her arms out high, and the water crashed around her as she dropped straight back. The pike in his pants twitched again when she surfaced, _wet cloth clung like bare skin,_ but he had to rise to stop her from turning back to shore. “You _cannot_ go up there like that.” Another, amused and embarrassed that just the sight of her body could ready him. “You are... _showing_. _Gloriously_ showing...” he muttered. She looked down with a gasp and a giggle. Her nipples were not only hard and protruding, but the strips of sheet around her were completely transparent. She was even rosier from the chill of the river. She might as well have been bare.

“Alistair, are you staring _obviously_ at my breasts in broad daylight?” The corners of her lips pinched into a smirk.

“ _Oh, Maker, of course I am,_ ” he breathed. _“_ I stared when you were naked at Ostagar, too,” he admitted, hiding his blush with a kiss. “I can't help it. You're beautiful,” he murmured, flattening her hands under his; her fingers crawled around the wet hairs of his chest. She curled into him again through another kiss. “Don't move. You can wear my shirt.” another kiss then he left her, sloshing out of the water. The villagers jumped to their feet and began digging again when they saw him ascend the tiny hill.

Alistair made sure his shirt covered Tess even when wet before he let her out of the water. It was thicker enough to hide her color, that’s what mattered. He wasn't sure what he liked more, though, seeing her breasts peek out from her rag dress, or seeing her wear his shirt. While not transparent his shirt fell in streams over her nipples, hiding her belly behind a waterfall of tight cotton, giving the impression of swollen bosoms seeking relief. His shirt bunched in ribbons along the curves of her back and hips, only adding to the beckoning feminine swell.

“You’re staring again,” she whispered. His cheeks strained in embarrassment, and through grateful kisses he murmured he couldn’t help himself, _she was just too perfect._   

Alistair forced himself to let her return to work so he would feel compelled to perform something other than his most determined stare. He checked the roasting steaks again, and eventually they finished harvesting the bears. She saved the livers; said she liked those. Tess stopped him from calling Morrigan for a potion when withdrawal began to jerk. He understood she wanted to hold off, wanted to test limits to wean; Alistair agreed to her wishes, but he kept a close eye on her. They’d hardly been active today, but he’d heard of addicts in Denerim withdrawing after less exertions.

Alistair carved more skewers for the fires, and between the two camps they soon had all the steaks over flame. He carved another set of rough pikes for tanning racks while Tess thinned bear hides in the river. Guilt still riding from his tryst, he tried not to look at her. From the corner of his eye, she was well aware of his lack of attention.

They were flirting with sunset by the time the everything was taken care of. They sat nearly in silence in front of the fire while they ate. It had been a long day; he was tired and figured she was as well...or maybe she was upset with him. He felt she _should_ be upset with him. _He_ didn't talk because he still felt guilty about his episode in the river. They shared a bottle of wine, and Alistair's skin tingled every time their fingers grazed when they passed the bottle. He wanted to apologize again but he’d already over-expressed regret, and the more he thought about _that_ the more ashamed he grew. He honestly didn't know how she put up with him; no one else put up with him. He had been so disrespectful, had treated her like a cheap brothel wench, _his best friend._ He wasn't a very deserving man today.

He tried to take the bottle again, but she kept an iron grip on it. He gave another gentle tug, and looked over when she refused to let go. Tired indeed with dark circles around her eyes, she gazed so kindly, adoring him with every blink. She leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. He frowned. “I don't deserve that, Tess.”

“You're really upset about that?” she asked.

“Of course I am. I treated you no better than a...a _whore_. What kind of man does that make me?”

“You had a moment of lust. You're a grown man. It's natural...you do know that, right?” she searched his face.

He groaned and turned from her. “Really, I don't want a lecture on growing up.”

“ _Do_ you?” she pressed.

He sighed. “No one directly told me anything, but I've picked up on conversations. Templars talk a lot when they're unsupervised.”

“I posed as a recruit once, I'm well aware of idle Templar horse shit.”

He dared to meet her eyes.

“They don't start talking until they take each other - or mages - in the dark,” she said.

“What...are you saying?” he asked.

“I'm _trying_ to say you shouldn't feel ashamed because something turned you on. You've woken up hard, right?”

“I _really_ don't want to talk about this. Not with you.”

“You got off against me today. By Royal Decree and Authorization from the Maker, I think that automatically qualifies me as the _perfect_ person for you to talk to abut this.” Her attempt to make him laugh didn't create a smile. “Look, Alistair.” She tossed the rest of her food to her dog and took a drink of wine.

“May I have that, please?” he meant the wine.

“Look at me, first.” But he didn't want to. She gave him the bottle with a quiet sigh. “All right. I'm too tired to explain the kind, vague, _you’re of age it’s time you learned to pray_ Chantry way. You get the short, embarrassing version now. When boys and girls turn about eleven, twelve, whatever -”

He groaned again. “Please don't.”

“- they're bodies start to change. Girls start to grow breasts, two of them, in fact. Nice, squishy things that jiggle and bounce when we run or frolic -”

“ _Maker's Breath!”_ She was doing this on purpose.

“- very soft, too.”

“Tess!” he whined.

She out ignored him. “Sometimes they’re pink. You may have seen mine on me before, they go everywhere with me.” He tried to take a long drink, but she stole the bottle before he could even smell the alcohol. “The Empress of Orlais, Celene? Hers are more brown. They come in different colors. _Men_ , now. Boys don't grow these fun little things.” She released the wine bottle only to cup her breasts and she squished them up. Alistair's entire face felt on fire. “Boys get a magical power, instead.”

He cursed and dropped his face into his hands.

“Boys can _change. Magically._ Their...well, I've heard many different names, but I'm honestly not quite sure which is the real one. I think I've used them all? Cock, wanker, manhood, prick, staff, trouser snake, scepter, penis, standing soldier, stiff man, I've even heard some call it their _Little Templar_ and _Revered Father_.”

“Wait, what?” he peeked at her. _“You_ call _me_ Little Templar!”

She paused with darting eyes, emeralds that now sparkled as they leeched energy from his embarrassment. “I do, don't I? Damn! That's funny!” she gave a chuckle. “I honestly forgot about that! I'm so sorry!” she said happily.

He groaned and hid his face again.

“Anyway, when boys travel to that magical realm of transitioning, their wankers can transfigure into _great beasts.”_

Alistair tried to hum to himself to keep her voice out. _Damn all her cheek!_

“They grow into monsters on the hunt, and _some_ of them _very large_. Others, not so much.” She was far too cheerful about teasing him this way. “Once these monsters are called forth -” _Maker, she sounded like she were telling a thrilling legend, like of werewolves._ “- they can be tamed. They _yearn_ to be tamed! You have to touch them, you see -”

He wanted to curl up under a blanket and disappear. _Why??????_

“And if you stroke them just right, they start to trust you. They show just a little more of themselves, and they get a little bit...tougher. They start to love you back. But they're also _very timid_ about it. They'll come forth for a hug, and then they're retreat. They'll come in for another hug, and then shy away. It's a bit of a process, almost like milking a cow.”

 _Archdemon's ass, how was he stirred up by all this?_ She was purposely using words she knew would make him buck over in embarrassment. He suspected she knew his smalls were tightening in the memory of motion in the river.

“However, if you keep showing them you're not going anywhere, eventually they trust you enough, and then the fun starts. They turn into _ravaging beasts!_ ” she said, as if this were a grand adventure. “They _pounce_ if you're not careful! Over and over and over again! Even until they get dizzy! But that just makes them _sick,_ and if they don't stay still long enough, they'll spill all over -”

“Maker's Breath, Tess!” he whipped his head up. “I'm _male!_ I already woke up to sticky sheets, nine years ago, in fact!” he hissed. She smirked so hard her dimples showed. Her eyes were wild with... _sweet Maker_ , he couldn't tell if she was amused or aroused. Probably both, just like he was.

“Oh!” she smiled good-naturedly. “So you already know that what happens if they get sick inside you? _Oh!_ Unless the _you_ they get sick in is a _man_. Or the other end.”

“The _other_ -?” He wasn't sure he wanted to look at her anymore.

“ _Both_ other ends, actually.”

“For the love of the Maker, Tess, _please stop!”_ he begged her.

“Not a chance. I will go on and on about you rutting against me like we're a pair of deer in mating season until you're comfortable talking about doing so.” She paused. “ _Remind_ me to save the antlers when we go _hunting_ next. And make some leather straps.” Already distracted, by talk of killing no less.

He buckled completely within his limbs in self-pity. He cursed harshly into his fists. “I take it from the lack of stammering that your adrenaline is high from all this _evil_ talk?” he groaned. “I know you haven't had lyrium since we woke up.”

“Hm. Perhaps. You were _hard_ when you woke up. Do you remember? I could feel you pressed against my ribs.”

“Tess, _please stop!_ ” he whined.

She pulled his head up by his hair and pressed in with a gentle kiss. She twitched while her lips were still on him; just like that, the awkward sex lecture was forgotten. Her frown of disgrace worried him.

“What happens to _me_ is shameful. _Not_ what your body does in reaction to a tempting kiss,” she whispered. Her hand shook at the back of his head as she pulled away. He tried to hold her hand to keep her there, _he wanted to help her through it,_ but she insisted. “I'm just going to try to sleep it off.”

“Are you sure?” He was afraid how she would awake if she let herself withdrawal.

Her head nodded in rough chops. “Er...fair warning, though, I get n-nightmares on this s-sleep..”

He was hesitant to let her go. “I’m _here_ , Tess,” he reminded her, “I’m here if you need help, I _promise_.” With a sigh he watched her disappear into the tent.

Alistair didn’t know what was worse, treating his best friend like a wench, getting lectured by his best friend for treating her like a wench, or knowing she had a painful problem he could not save her from. He took a long drink of wine, the bitter tingle down his throat perfectly summing up his evening. He grabbed the hunting knife and a piece of firewood; he wasn’t sure what he wanted to carve, but he needed something to take his mind off...everything.

The sky blackened around him. Po slept nearby, between the tent and the fire. Alistair had whittled a good deal of the wood away before he realized he’d created nothing and wore shavings all over his pants. He got to his feet to shake off every possible splinter, and Tess gasped hard. Both Alistair and Po perked up, suddenly alert.

“Tess? Are you all right?” He tossed wood debris into the fire; it crackled with sparkling thanks. Po watched the tent with sad eyes - a sign that to Alistair to check on Tess. Two steps into his approach, Tess crawled out. She tripped over Po, who gave a yelp. She shook Alistair off when he tried to help her to her feet.

“Tess, what are you -” he watched her try to go clear around him. Was she sleep-walking? He'd heard of this.

“No.” She dodged his arm as he reached out and tried to go around the fire.

“Tess, where are you going? _What_ are you _doing?_ ” he asked when they danced around each other.

“I need to be alone.” She attempted to snake around him again.

“What? Why? You realize it's _dark_ out? Tess, _stop_!” he tried to order her. She shrugged out of him again, stumbling over her own feet to climb the shot hill between camps. “Dammit! Tess!” He told Po to go after her and then ran around the grassy mound to intercept her at the bridge.

“What is happening?” Morrigan stood as Tess' silhouette melded into the shadows of the bridge before Alistair could arrive.

Alistair stood at the foot of the bridge with a sigh. It was like she _literally_ disappeared. The shadows were too dark to follow her. “I have no idea,” he finally answered Morrigan. Half of him wanted to respect her request of solitude. The other half of him worried something would happen to her in the dark unarmed and withdrawing.

“You have _offended_ her. Why else would she run so?” Morrigan asked.

“Shut up, witch!” he snapped. He spun to return to his camp, and his feet froze as an anguished howl echoed in the night.

  



	11. Trying to Fix Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tesslyn dangerously withdrawals from lyrium, forcing Alistair and Morrigan to team up to heal her. Alistair begins to learn the burden of wanting a relationship without knowing all the facts first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW imagery within.
> 
> NSFW art at end of chapter. 
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [ Bleeding Out, by Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/gJEoxeW7JvQ)

The wail was distant enough. Alistair had heard this sound from Tess before. Anger, fear, pain. It gave him goosebumps. She'd said her withdrawal gave her nightmares; he guessed her family, or maybe Loghain. It was how she screamed in the forest at Ostagar. The mabari howled with her this time, a keening duet.

“Should we not go to her? She is screaming,” Morrigan said as if no one else heard.

“She's mourning,” Alistair said, and the exact same time the Qunari said: “They are mourning.” The two shared a glance.

“That is the sound of grief and pain and loss,” Sten told Morrigan.

“Loss? Loss of what?”

“Real people mourn their dead loved ones, Morrigan, sometimes for years!” Alistair openly expressed his annoyance.

“But we do not have years for her to mourn,” Morrigan pointed out.

“Leave it alone, witch!” he growled at her. “Both of us have lost everything, her even more than me! She deserves to mourn, and you will let her have this time without complaint!” Alistair steamed off to his own side of camp.

The flames were too hot now. The witch's heartless antagonizing boiled his blood. He wished they could be rid of her, wished they didn't need her skills. Unfortunately,Tess' miraculous healing potion was only for physical wounds. Considering they had an Archdemon to fight in their near-future, they were going to need something stronger than a surface heal to help Tess move on from her family. But Maker, he wished Tess didn't like Morrigan so much.

Tess' voice faded from the night. Alistair remembered her shouts just outside Ostagar. He wanted to go to her now, just like then. He wanted to prove he would be there through anything, although he supposed mourning was something she had to do alone. They had just about been side-by-side since they'd met, neither of them owning a luxury of peace to devote memory to their dead. He needed time too, he supposed. He didn't want to think about Duncan in front of her because it made his eyes water. He didn't want her to see him cry. Men just didn't do that. Eamon never had, the Brothers of the Chantry never had, and the Templars definitely never cried. Crying was associated with women – a _feminine_ trait. He didn't want Tess to think he was weak.

Alistair turned the meat over the fire. Camp was too quiet without her there. Something was missing... _she_ missing. It felt odd without her there, like she had taken part of camp - or maybe part of him with her. Alistair sat for a moment, trying to wrap his head around everything though not a single thought came out straight. _Carving_. Carving wood was simple, thoughtless other than the wood itself; this would help ease the sense of _abandon..._ right? He grabbed the wood he'd whittled at earlier, and the knife and wine, and leaned against the wine crate. The wood in his hand reminded him that he still wanted to make pike for Tess, also a bow. Bows reminded him she wanted to hunt deer to collect antlers. Souvenir antlers reminded him he wanted to make her a doll so she had a little Grey Warden of her own. A Grey Warden doll reminded him _he_ was a Grey Warden and had a _massive_ job to do. Having a massive job to reminded him Tess wanted to make Alistair _King._   

He sighed helplessly. There was no way he could focus like this. He tossed the wood and knife aside and brought the bottle to his lips. _This_. He could do this.

Alistair didn’t remember tiring but he jolted awake at a sharp drop of his head. Camp was silent except for the crackling fire. He tried to listen for other sounds, maybe footsteps, but his eyelids were too heavy. The fire was blurry in front of him, a hypnotic dance that sang him back to sleep. He jerked back awake again to find the fire considerably quieter. Po wasn't back yet, either. He spilled the wine when he staggered over to adjust the coals into an even pile, slapped on three more logs including the one he'd been carving. He grabbed a blanket from inside the tent and curled up against the crate again, trying to listen for Tess or Po. It was a cycle he repeated a few times, springing awake only to nod off to the familiar cackle and hiss of flame that had been putting him to sleep since his Joining.

He opened his eyes once more to find the land around him glowing gray still with midnight river fog. The sky was still faint. Morning was spying on him. Po had not returned yet, he could only assume Tess wasn’t back either. Still disoriented from sleep, and sore from sleeping against a crate, he forced himself to his feet and staggered over to the river's edge. Alistair plunged his hands into the water before he could sway himself against the idea; stinging-cold water splashed to his face like he'd been slapped. The wintry water instantly bought a sense of alertness to his eyes. He braved the liquid ice again to scoop leaking handfuls into his mouth. He could feel it trickle down his throat, a thin almost painful stream.

He stoked and added to the fire, turned the meat; it wasn't quite jerky yet. Alistair put on his boots and secured his shield and sword,and he walked around the little hill, through the camp of the Sister, the witch and the Qunari.

“Where are you going?” Morrigan demanded.

“To find my lyrium addict,” he answered without looking back. “ _Stay_ , witch.” He walked up the ramp to the bridge.

It was lonely this early, too quiet for a town overstuffed with people. The bridge hadn't seemed this long when he and Duncan and the other Fereldan Grey Wardens had marched through on the way to Ostagar. _Maker, that seemed like years ago._

Alistair froze at the end of the bridge where it met the dirt road and grass. Overlooking the land reminded him of his walk with Tesslyn that morning in Ostagar. Farmlands gave way to open plains before him, dew drops causing the usually-dull vista to sparkle like diamonds in the orange glow of the peeking sun. Tess would love this image. She would probably say the Maker was here, too.

Tess wasn't in the plains though. He wasn't sure she would have gone off as far as the crops. The unofficial edge of the Korcari Wilds possessed the top of the steep hills south east of the bridge like a cape atop shoulders. The edge of the Wilds was a known hunting ground; also a good place to be alone. Unless she was hiding under the bridge, Alistair figured this was his best bet. He called out for Tess, absolutely no clue what he’d do if he couldn’t find her.

It was the dog who answered. The mabari sounded from the woods to Alistair's left. To far to see, Alistair moved his feet in the direction of the Tess’ hound. It wasn't long before something large and golden-brown came rushing out of the trees. Po barked the entire run to Alistair. “Hey, boy. Where is she?” Alistair asked.

Po barked and leaped away. He ran back toward the woods, then stopped and turned to bark again. He did this a second time before Alistair understood the dog was asking him to follow. Alistair jogged up the hill after Po, and every so often Po made sure Alistair was still behind him. He led Alistair far enough into the woods that Alistair couldn't tell where the forest ended.

Calling for Tess yielded nothing. She must have ventured deeper after she stopped screaming, but how she made it anywhere in the dark was beyond him. Alistair constantly had to dodge fallen trees and branches, weave around living trees, step over brier. _How did she survive out here last night?_ Po led him further and further in; Alistair officially worried. Barely clothed, barefoot, under a whole day of no lyrium; why did he let her go off like that?

Po finally stopped and stood at attention with an affirmative bark. Alistair nearly fell over a tangled patch of branches to hurry past a last tree. Something that didn't belong in the forest was next to the dog, something a mess of colors. Red, muddy clay, dirt, leaves, patches of white. The trees next to it caught his attention. Grooves dug out, around the girth, painted or smeared with something the color of dried bricks.What in the world marks trees like that? He noticed the claw marks were in processes of five, always. It was like someone had reached around the tree and scratched the entire length of an arm, over and over, from all sorts of angles it seemed. His eyes were so busy moving that he didn't even register that the red and white muddy thing next to the tree was moving. Rather, it took him a while to realize it wasn't Po that was moving but the mess of whatever.

Alistair wasn't sure if he should be afraid of the crumpled mess. Po was not afraid, stood firm and alert. Alistair’s eyes slowly found unnatural lines. Straight lines, white lines. Straight lines that curved with whatever they were on. Straight lines with flesh-like contours, littered with bright red and dark red streaked and smeared in any direction. Spasms, in which leaves fell to be replaced by other leaves, smearing dirt and more red, streaming watery red. Blood?

 _Shit! Tess!_ Alistair dropped to his knees. He had to untangle her from her self just to look at her. Chunks of hair were stuck to her hands, and her fingers – _Maker,_ his stomach flipped – half of her fingernails were ripped and still bleeding; _she_ had torn the tree. Raw grooves along her skin, wet wounds so matted with dirt and leaves she looked like abandoned rags. Open wounds separated skin to exposed flesh as if claws had attacked. His gut turned again - _she had tried to dig her addiction out._

She was rickety, like her body had locked up but something sinister was trying to escape. No sound came through her mouth even though her chest heaved to reach air.

Alistair told Po to fetch Morrigan and the hound ran. _What in the name of Andraste do I do?_ Alistair hadn't been trained for this. He'd never seen anyone withdrawal so bad. He'd never even seen battle wounds this bad. Seasoned Templars sometimes ticked as the day closed in on distributing lyrium doses but nothing beyond, all other symptoms had been read about in books. The Templars who had grown absent in their long addictions weren't allowed on grounds. He once heard a story of an old Templar who’d scratched his own eyes out, but no one had actually seen it.

Tess was difficult to pick up. Writhing made him lose balance often. Eventually he pinned her arm under his, gripping the other hand to keep her from scratching. He clutched her hip from under her legs, firmly keeping her bent so he could balance. Walking like this was the hardest thing he'd ever done. To make matters worse, he felt _hollow_ inside - he couldn't process it. Consciously he saw himself pushing apart the correlation of _Tess_ and this bleeding mess. Didn't want to process his refusal to go after her last night and now she would bear scars. Ashamed to admit his naivety and fascination with a _perfect_ woman blinded him to such a fault.

Tess thrashed in his arms. Alistair fell into a tree head first, lights of pain blinding him as he adjusted miraculously still on his feet, squeezing Tess to his body so she wouldn't fall. He cursed and back away from the tree to keep her from hitting her head. His arms never failed him though, and right now he was truly grateful for all those long hours of practice resistance in Templar training. He had no idea how he made it out of the forest. With Tess coiled into his chest, Alistair staggered downhill to meet the mabari and Morrigan.

“Can you heal her?” Alistair's voice cracked. Maker, it sounded like he was crying. Was he crying? He didn't even know.

Morrigan froze when her eyes landed on the bleeding mess in Alistair's arms. The witch's eyes grew larger as they approached her. To say Morrigan looked troubled was an understatement. “What happened?” the apostate's voice was less brave than her expression.

“She's withdrawing. Can you heal her?” Alistair repeated, walking as quick as he could.

“I...can makes salves. She needs lyrium.” Morrigan didn't follow him right away when he passed her.

“It's already passing through her. To give her more now would be cruel. You don't know healing magic?”

“Mother was the healer, not I. Did she do this to herself?” it came out like a scared child asking about monsters in the dark.

“Make a salve, then. Lots of them,” was all Alistair said. “Hurry!” Morrigan hesitated only a moment before running ahead of him without a protest.

Leliana gasped in fright as Alistair carried Tess past their camp. Morrigan wore a frown and refused to glance up, and Sten asked what manner of creature would attack like so but leave the body.

Alistair had no choice but to let Tess scratch herself when he set her down. He had to force her head down just to untie the knot that held her wraps up. He tried not to look when her bleeding fingers pulled open her wounds to expose more blood and the smell of raw flesh. Some of her wounds were stuck to the wrapping, and his hands shook terribly when he separated fibers of cloth from fibers of skin.

He also had no choice but to ignore Morrigan's approach as he undressed to his smalls.

“Now is hardly the time have your way with her! You impudent pervert!” Morrigan disapproved passionately. “What is wrong with you?”

“I'm not having my way with her, Morrigan. I need to wash her so I can bandage her. She said cold water helps with her withdrawals.” Alistair picked up Tess again, this time with more difficulty. She bled all over him, providing herself room to squirm, and he was terrified of accidentally grabbing somewhere she had scratched.

Morrigan frowned. She stammered out that she had a potion. Alistair made sure the potion was red, and with a firm grip on Tess’ arms he told the witch to administer the potion. Morrigan trembled as she touched Tess. She held the addicted noble’s head still, pouring only a little of the potion in at a time. It took far too long with seemingly no affect at all.

Alistair slowly stepped into the water. _Maker's breath, it almost burns!_ Tess had no idea what was going on. He watched her face and tried not to yelp as searing ice water shrouded his ankles, seeped up his legs. He allowed himself to wince, skeptical of his own success here. His entire body warred; he desperately wanted to leave the water, but he couldn't back out of this. If he didn't clean her up, her wounds would fester and infect, worse later on.

The river literally stole his breath when it hit his genitals, completely halting his tracks. Luckily the water only came to his waist but that soon didn't matter. He had to submerge himself to lower Tess in. Forcing her body under liquid ice instantly brought back much of her focus. Her arms flung around his neck like a stuck anchor. She choked on air, raspy gasps at his ear. Careful where he put his hands, he held her to him. Alistair was grateful for the warmth if he was honest, though he felt horrible, like he was punishing her. She wasn't lucid enough to understand what was going on.

“It's all right,” he told her, “I've got you.” It was harder to coax her grip from him now than it had been to carry her downhill. Coaxing was exactly the key; he braced her with one arm, and with the other he lightly caressed her arms one by one. He planted gently kisses along her face and whispered sweet things to her. He told her she was beautiful and that he would make her feel better again. Firm embrace, gentle words, sweet touch.

It was strange, having to regain her trust all over again for such a simple thing like a bath.

He tried singing the Canticles he could remember amid all this chaos, but he could feel the cold inside of him now. It took every ounce of effort to keep his body still so he could care for her. He found singing helped both her and him, so he fought the inclination to shiver as much as he could. She needed him firm and steady.

It felt like it took hours enough trust to lay her down, though the sun hardly moved. Her eyes drifted incoherently up at the brightening sky as he dipped his hand in the freezing water and brought it over her hair. She stuttered in his arm, teeth clanking loudly together. His hands left her head with blood and chunks of lose hair each time he ran his fingers through. It was a heartbreaking, sluggish process; Alistair felt responsible for this, _he could have caught it in time._ Hair matted to her scalp with dried blood, and as he washed red and dirt he felt cuts along her skin. _This should not have happened, Alistair was here, he should helped her. He’d promised he’d help._

Rinsing Tess took far too long though. They would both be bed-ridden if Alistair didn't hurry up. He could barely feel his own toes; he could only imagine where she was losing feeling. He gathered her up in his arms, and she blinked many times in an effort to focus in on him.

Alistair smiled for her. “Hi, love,” he told her as gently as he could. He held her sideways against him, balancing her head in his left hand, his other arm looped around her to brace her back. He tipped her backwards until water crowned her face.

He heard a familiar voice in his head as her hair flowed loose around his weaving fingers: _Look after your charges, Alistair_ the echo of Duncan told him.

“I'm trying,” Alistair answered out loud.

“C-c-c-co-co-co-c-c-c-c-co-oh-c-c-” Tess tried so hard to speak. Vacant emeralds shimmered up at him in the rising sun. He did not believe she recognized him.

“Shhh,” he hushed gently, “I know.” She blinked and stammered _c-c-co-co_ as he wiped her face clean. “It's okay, it's okay. I'm done,” he told her. He gathered her once again, putting his lips to her forehead while he gripped her thighs. With her knees over his arm and her head at his shoulder, Alistair carried her back to dry land.

Morrigan was still sanding there, frozen in the same place, clutching the empty potion bottle. Her expression clearly said she had not been prepared for this.

“Get a blanket,” Alistair said. “ _Please_ ,” he added kindly, trying to acknowledge her help. Morrigan immediately turned and fetched the other blanket from inside Alistair's tent, even held it open. Alistair set his addict on his knee and allowed the witch's help wrapping Tess like a cocoon.

“I have not seen this from her,” Morrigan admitted warily. “Mother had her tied to the bed. She did not scratch.”

“It..will be fine,” he said, unsure if he wasn’t trying to convince himself, “ _eventually_. I've never seen anyone scratch, but I've seen other behavior. Now, _thank you,_ Morrigan, for your help, but I'm still only in my small-clothes. Will you please leave? And make balms?” he added.

“Of course...” Morrigan turned and left without a single snide remark.

Alistair set Tess down in front of the fire, pulling the wine crate over to prop her up. He peeled off his dripping smalls and wrapped himself in the other blanket to feed the fire poking it to encourage the flames to roar so Tess would dry. Cloth dragged along his damp skin as he redressed in his undershirt and trousers.

Tess was limp against the crate. Her lips moved with no sound as she stared at the fire. She didn't seem to notice him crouching at her side. Delirium was the most common side-effect of severe lyrium withdrawal. Alistair had seen a few old men so lost from lyrium abuse they no idea what transpired around them. Alistair was right next to Tess but she was not aware of him at all.

_Maker, this can't be real…it doesn’t last forever...does it?_

He shaded her opposite eye with his hand, then took his hand away and repeated. Her pupils weren't contracting or dilating like they should, although she acknowledged his hand. Under many blinks, her eyes slowly found him.

 _None of this felt real._ This was a fierce, beautiful creature who charged hordes of Darkspawn by herself with only daggers and other enemies completely unarmed. Yet here she was, so helpless in her addiction the withdrawal caused her to behave like an infant.

If there had ever been a chance for Alistair to walk away so he wouldn't have to physically take care of her for the rest of his life, it had passed him by. He wasn't sure when or what that chance ever was, but he was sure he had missed it, probably before they ever left Ostagar.

 _No, not missed it. Walked away from it._ He had _chosen_ to stay with her. It took suffering with her for him to admit her fragility, but this was _his_ choice and he knew now she _truly needed_ him.

Alistair performed a small smile for her, gently closing the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Hi, sweetheart. Morrigan's making balms,” he told her. “We're going to get you fixed up,” he promised. He searched her eyes with the weight that she had no clue who he was. Tess’ lips moved and a very faint noise escaped, but instead of hope his insides knotted up. “I can't understand you, Tess. I'm _so sorry_.” His eyes glossed over and his breath caught in his throat. _Was she hurting? What if she was asking for help? Dammit this was too much!_ Alistair dropped right there and pulled her against him, trying to breathe through the fear leaking out of his eyes. “I'm so, so sorry,” he whispered into her head. He pressed his lips to her wet hair. From what he knew, Templars who lost coherency never regained it. _This isn't happening. This can't be happening. Please no! Not her! Please not her. Please?_ “The one thing you actually need my help with, and I can't even protect you from it.” He hid his eyes in her hair. “I _should_ be able to protect you,” he whispered, “this is an easy one, right? It's not an ogre, not giant spiders. This is supposed to be easy. It can't be this easy to fail you!” he barely recognized his own voice.

Alistair had never felt so defeated. He felt horrid enough for disrespecting her in the river yesterday, now today she almost seemed cursed. Her addiction was a monster far worse than anything he had ever encountered, even his own lust. He couldn't slay it with with his sword, prayer wouldn’t stop it, and his shield was useless against it. How was he worthy of of the one woman he'd vowed himself to if he couldn't protect her from an un-killable enemy?

Morrigan said nothing about his tears when she returned with two more potions and a gooey balm. Alistair unwrapped Tess, keeping her on the blanket. Morrigan had to hold her shoulders to keep her from tipping. While Alistair spread the balm over Tess’ wounds, he caught her trying to speak again. She was focused on Morrigan. Alistair glanced at the witch.

“I do not know what she says,” Morrigan said hesitantly. She looked desperately uncomfortable.

“I'm hoping that will change when the withdrawal wears off,” he muttered.

“You do not know?” Morrigan asked.

“I've never seen anyone withdraw. I _hope_ ; that's all I can do right now.”

Their entire stock of bandage wraps was used up on Tess. Morrigan returned to town to buy more wraps, and clothes for Tess. Thank the Maker Tess had left her Chantry robe in the tent. Alistair dressed her as gently as he could, ensuring bandages stayed put. He carried her into the tent and carefully laid her down, and while she stared blankly up at him, Alistair gave her the sleeping draft Morrigan had made. Leliana wandered over to offer assistance and Alistair gladly accepted; this was hard enough already.

The sleeping potion kicked in while Alistair was tucking Tess in. She didn't move at all when he wrapped her feet in the end of the blanket. Only her chest moved; even breath that seemed wrong, out of place for what was happening to her. Even though she slept and was _hopefully_ not in pain, Alistair was convinced he failed her. He knew it would all return - the scratching, the thrashing, the incoherency; it would likely wake her from the sleeping potion.

But for now, Alistair closed the tent and laid next to her. If anything, he wanted to feel her breath on his skin one last time.

 

 

*** _NSFW***_

_Alistair and Tesslyn, and her withdrawal scars **:**_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next chapter were supposed to be a single long one, but this one turned out long enough. The next part will be all-new work, and will complete the Warden's addictions and the events at Lothering.
> 
> [ Aesthetics ](http://replicajester.tumblr.com/post/142457314726/nsfw-alistair-aesthetic-lyrium-withdrawals) compiled and retouched by me, but actual images courtesy of stock photos via google search.
> 
> Art by me. Tess' scars from scratching during her withdrawal.


	12. Something Wonderful Amongst the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tess continues to recover from withdrawals, Alistair finds a rose when he tries to clear his head from the situation. The Darkspawn attack, allowing the party to save Bodahn and Sandal Feddic; Alistair makes a bargain to keep the dwarves with them. Alistair tries to cope with Tess' PTSD during another attempt to heal her wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Spy: Find the Word Play.

Tess woke Alistair with a sharp elbow into his chest. She had been scratching in her sleep it seemed, the bandages around her fingers were rubbed clear off and she was bleeding from the exposed soft skin where her nails had been. Alistair tried to hold her arms down on to the bedmat, but she was strong; he’d never had to struggle with her like this before. With a grunt her hips thrust up, followed by her knee and he was knocked off balance.

Alistair cursed. This wasn't going to work. _Dammit, he was bigger than this woman. He couldn't restrain her? Really?_ He threw himself over and sunk his full weight upon her thighs, pinning her wrists at her sides. The frantic noises coming from her throat matched the resolve on her face. The disassociation in those emeralds told him she had no idea who he was nor what was going on. Right now Tess was an untamed creature trying to remove a corruption by force, nothing more. He understood.

She bucked him, and a second time. A third time lurched him forward. He cursed himself at the heat rising in his groin. _Dammit! This shouldn't be riling him. She's fighting a poison, Maker's sake!_ The struggle had his adrenaline high even though she was in trouble, in need of help.

He clenched his eyes shut tight. _Bride of my Maker, forgive my trespasses! Forgive my impure thoughts and still my body! Remove this urge! I cannot be a man today, for she is not a woman right now! Calm my flesh! Help me help her, calm my flesh. Forgive my weakness, calm my flesh. Help me help her, help me heal her, help me -_

Tess twisted and kicked and her knee drove right to his groin, completely knocking the wind out of him. He couldn't even curse for lack of breath. He rolled off, cupping his wounded soldier protectively. He supposed in a very sick sense this was an answer to prayer. He would never, though, ever again pray for his flesh to be calmed.

The writhing creature behind him whined through her teeth in desperation but Alistair needed a moment to breathe. He just let her legs swing against his back while he regained his focus. The break swiftly ended when she gave a wet yelp, Alistair had to subdue her arms again. She had re-opened one of her worse wounds; red bled through the thick Chantry dress like spilled ink. He pushed her up and slid in behind her, crossing their arms, lacing his fingers around hers before shoving their hands to their sides. He hooked his legs in between her thighs and firmly locked.

Alistair had seen this hold on an advanced Circle mage bitten by a spider. The fang was deep in the forearm, and the poison had blackened the arm up to the elbow. A Templar, Alistair's immediate mentor in fact, had to hold the mage down like this because regular means of restraint hadn’t sufficed. If the mage had just been an apprentice, he would have just been put out of his misery. Instead the Templar held him still in this clutch, another mage froze the arm and chopped it.

 _Maker_ , Alistair was glad dismemberment wasn't necessary with Tess. He hoped it wasn't anyway; she was miserable and he worried him what his options may come to.

It was like she kept a hidden store of strength. Every jerk surprised him as if Alistair hadn't seen her use force before. Cries eventually fell through with actual tears. She was burning up in his hold. She wriggled, shaking her head to compensate for not being able to thrash elsewhere. He rested his chin in the crook of her neck to avoid being knocked out by her skull. She went through phases of fighting, he quickly realized. She struggled violently, trying to thrust herself out of his grasp until she collapsed into a breathless ragged slop. Alistair sang in her ear during her down times, gently rocking her until breath evened and strength returned...which allowed her to begin thrashing again.

He wasn't sure how long he sat like this with her. He urgently needed to piss now. He'd hoped she'd just fall back asleep though it seemed like a fool's wish. Alistair moved his head back, trying to steer clear of her twisting head. As soon as he opened his mouth to yell for the witch to bring another sleeping potion, Tess swung her head back with the entire force of her shoulders. Sharp, solid pain slammed into the entire right side of his face, nose and eye included.

“Maker, Tess!” he cursed between his teeth. His eyeball stung as if he'd been slapped raw and his nose bled down over his lips. Rougher than he should have been – but very guilty about it - he moved one leg and forced her down on to her belly and sat squarely over the back of her shoulders. _Dammit._ His eye and lid were both puffy already. Alistair ripped off his shirt and crumpled it over his bleeding nose; he might as well have been bashed with a shield. He threw his head back and pinched his nose where the bone ended, yelling for Morrigan to bring a strong sleeping potion.

Dabbing his nose while he pinched the seam, Alistair watched Tess. She kicking behind him but her legs couldn't reach. She rocked, tried to shake him off, but with her arms pinned down between his legs she was stuck. He should have done this in the first place. He felt horrible for flipping her so fiercely but he didn’t know what else to do.

For a moment Alistair just sat; half of him was angry - at her for putting him in the position to _have_ to do this, at himself for soaking in her good sides without making sure she could handle her own bad sides by herself...yet he pitied her. He couldn’t blame her for trying to mask her problems with lyrium; it was an easy temporary fix, and she couldn’t have known Alistair would be the one feeling her repercussions. Alistair reached down and rubbed the back of her neck. Tess responded well to his massage, less heaving and fuller breaths, limbs relaxing. She even rested her head. For a moment, Alistair’s little chaotic blip of a world was still.

Alistair would not do this for anyone else. He wasn't even sure he'd do this for Duncan, wouldn't have carried Duncan back and suffered icy waters for him, wouldn't hold Duncan down to prevent scratching. But Alistair went out of his way for an unpredictable blood-lusting woman? Duncan had tried to warn him not to move so fast. Alistair couldn't help it though. It wasn't as if he'd had a choice how she made him feel. He felt braver, stronger, more confident about himself, he felt _assured_ when she smiled at him, _touched_ him. She made his stress disappear; the expectations past and present, opinions from those he didn’t mean to annoy. This _unpredictable woman who loved to kill_ made Alistair completely forget there was a world beyond the two of them. And...when she suffered, he suffered along with her, hating himself for not being able to stop her pain.

He _hated_ asking the witch for a sleeping potion. Alistair felt like he was shirking his duties but he desperately needed a break. His head throbbed like a hall full of drums controlled his pulse, and if he didn't get up soon he would wet his pants.

“I have the tonic,” Morrigan's voice said.

“Come in. If I get up, she'll just buck into me again,” he told the witch. The flap of the tent lifted and Morrigan immediately frowned. “She head-butted me,” he explained. He released his nose and held Tess' arms firmly at her side until he had her on her back. Bracing her forehead and arms, he had Morrigan crawl in to drizzle the potion in Tess' mouth. “How long will it last?” he asked, watching the last of it disappear from the bottle.

“A couple hours, at least. Half a day at best. You asked for a strong dose.”

“I did.” he sighed. “Maker, this is all wrong,” he muttered. He looked at Morrigan, frowning already at the question not yet out of his throat. “Can you make more?”

Morrigan raised an eyebrow at him. “You wish to _keep_ her sedated? Enlighten me how this is productive?”

“ _Morrigan_ , just -” he took a deep breath. “Until this passes... _yes it is_ a good idea. It’s _safer_ right now, for _both_ of us. I can't hold her down all the time, and she is never going to heal if she keeps scratching.”

The body beneath his hold slowed. Tess' eyes swayed under droopy lids.

“I can do this.” Morrigan paused. “Are you sure 'tis best? It seems _lyrium_ would be more effective at the moment.”

He growled at the apostate. “Do not mention that again, witch!” Alistair kept his voice low but it seemed to add a more threatening element. “You already weaned her once and then brought her addiction back up. She’s worth _more_ than that! Weaning is _her_ wish, and it's what she _needs_ right now. _Lyrium makes her_ into this mindless beast. You will _not_ contribute to her debilitation anymore, or I will Smite you so hard you’ll turn Tranquil! Am I clear?” he demanded. “You’re _not like_ us, you’re _not normal!_ You don’t know what normal people need. You’ll make her sedatives and that’s it!”

Morrigan whirled before he could read her face, leaving before Alistair could talk again. Alistair didn't give a damn how he made the witch feel though, he hoped he scared her. He wasn’t sure he could _actually Smite_ _so hard_ to turn a mage Tranquil, but it was a good threat to have handy; _Maker, threatening anyone else would have made him feel like nug dung._ Insisting Tess remain on lyrium was quickly becoming a good enough reason to _want_ to Smite Morrigan into Tranquility, anyway.

Tess slipped into sleep with a sigh of relief from Alistair, guilt-ridden again when he thought he spied recognition in her eyes right before their last blink. He forced the witch from his mind and focused on his hopeless assassin, stroking her head, trying to appreciate the moment of calm. But it wasn't the same. Maker, if she was _simply_ sleeping he might have even tried to tease her, _especially after that ridiculous becoming-of-age speech last night._ Alistair only wanted Tess back. He missed the girl who hugged him like she was afraid to let him go, whom he’s aroused when they fought together. He missed the giggling and flirting and gazing in the sunrise together. Alistair wanted his best friend back.

He left a light kiss on her lips and crawled out of the tent. He told the mabari to watch her like a hawke and howl for him if she awoke. Alistair hiked around the backside of their private camp site and urinated into the river. His nose still dripped with blood.

 _This was all so wrong._ They should be heading out of Lothering tomorrow, even though he’d agreed to stay as long as Tess had wanted to. Now it seems they were going to stay regardless. He returned to the tent for a peek; she was still sleeping in the same position he'd left her. Alistair attended the fire and checked the meat. He tried to sit and eat with the dog, but Po finished both steaks by himself. Alistair felt guilty and sick to his stomach; he shouldn't be eating if Tess couldn’t. He tried to work the tanning racks like Tess had showed him yesterday, scraping the drying flesh downward from the top of each stretched fur, but it wasn’t _just_ a distraction he needed.

Alistair needed to get away. He had a sense of dread that wouldn't shake. He wasn't sure if it was the witch or Tess' addiction or even the Blight itself, but it bothered him like a headache. That could be the pain from the entire bruised right-side of his face, though. Still, he needed to think. With Tess incapable of leading it inescapably fell to him. Alistair did _not_ want to lead nor was he ready, certainly not comfortable. He checked on Tess and found she was still sleeping, reminded Po to howl if Tess woke, and Alistair left camp.

He let his feet wander. There was nowhere to go but toward town although walking felt better than lingering in camp with chaos he didn’t understand. He found himself in the forgotten wheat field near where they'd killed the bandits and wolves. Alistair moved on, dodged a few just in time, wove around broken crates and a faded scarecrow. He found himself at a dead-end behind the tavern, no hesitation whether to climb the small levy to avoid people. The levy had definitely been the right choice, silent solitude. Alistair heard twigs and leaves crunch beneath his feet, heard the breeze blow through the unattended levy grass and trees; he realized he hadn’t been conscious of nature sounds around for a long time. Well, Tess pointed them out at Ostagar, but without her he couldn’t remember the last time he appreciated the land.

The levy stretched behind the Chantry. _Garden_ wasn’t quite the word Alistair saw in the private grounds. Immediately Alistair spotted the only bit of color in the otherwise lame collection of plants. _The rose Leliana had mentioned._ Her vision hadn't been just a silly dream after all. Alistair jumped down over the fence. The garden was so uncared for here. This surprised him no one seemed interested. Then again, it was the Chantry garden; they were probably accepting death of their private crop in hopes the Maker would give them a sign to resume nurture.

The _rose was alive_ , though. It sounded stupid just thinking of it, yet here it stood: an example of willingness to survive despite the odds. He reached over and poked it. Still soft. Cool and silky, like any other normal fresh rose. Firm little petals, even a green set of leaves beneath. How this managed to keep going in spite of everything was beyond him. No, not in spite; _because._ It carried on _because_ it didn't have a chance relying on others. It was surrounded by death, and yet...here it was. _Proof of life_. Proof that the Maker was still there; touching things as He went along, helping those who strove to endure, making sure _something_ remained. Just like Leliana had said. Just like Tess had said. The Maker wasn't gone, He was just hiding.

It was such a welcome beauty amidst so much darkness. Alistair wanted to pick it... _but wouldn't other people miss its beauty?_ Then again, when the darkspawn came they would just destroy it. The darkspawn wouldn't care that it was beautiful, that it portrayed hope where it seemed hope had died. The petals were soft, silky, delicate. Precious evidence of the Maker's favor. Bold and strong by itself, delicate under his fingers.

_Tess. The rose reminded him of Tess._

As soon as he snapped the rose from its parent stem, a buzz erupted throughout his body. An ear-splitting shriek exploded from near the river. Faint but unmistakable: Darkspawn; Alistair instinctively knew whom the scream belonged to. Clutching the rose so tight he felt little thorns prick his skin, he jumped back over the fence. He yelled for Tess, running as fast as he could, jumping back over each of the traps in the dying wheat field.

Sten, Leliana and Morrigan were running toward the bridge while someone out of sight yelled for help. “On the bridge!” Sten directed Alistair, though Tess drowned out communication. He wasn't sure Sten heard him reply.

Hands to her ears, Tess was on her knees in the tent but unharmed. Alistair told Po to stay to protect Tess, dropped the rose on the wine crate and grabbed his sword and shield, and ran to the bridge barefoot and shirtless.

Six darkspawn led by a hurlock in heavy armor. Morrigan and Leliana attacked from a distance while two dwarves cowered behind them. Alistair charged as if he wasn't unprepared for battle. He and Sten pushed back the darkspawn wielding swords. Alistair ordered the women to take out the archers and Leliana's arrows flew, dangerously skirting between him and Sten. A pillar embraced the hurlock he charged and bashed, not leaving until blood gushed from its mouth. He and Sten took out the last genlock together, Alistair jounced it to the ground where Sten dislodged the head with a spark of his greatsword on stone.

Alistair took a moment to breathe and evaluate. Hopefully this wasn't more than a scouting party, however now the darkspawn trail led right into Lothering; Alistair knew they could not stay, especially since Tess' Taint had kicked in. They would be sensed. The Wardens were now putting the entire town at risk.

He gave Sten a look-over. “How did you have time to put on your armor?” he marveled.

“I sleep in my armor,” the Qunari replied.

Alistair started to ask how that could be comfortable, but considering the situation he only nodded. “That was...smart.”

“Why aren't you in armor?” Sten asked.

“I was...picking flowers,” he admitted, collecting the rest of his breath. Sten clearly disapproved. “ _Right, I know_. How can I _possibly_ call myself a Grey Warden?” he joked sarcastically.

“Correct.”

“I'll let you know when I figure that out.” Alistair turned to the dwarves. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes! Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” the elder dwarf gushed. “Oh! We would have been goners! Sandal, thank the kind man for saving us!”

The other dwarf reminded Alistair of a Tranquil mage. “Thank you, kind man.” Sounded Tranquil too, drawling words, vacant expression. Alistair nodded in acknowledgment, unsure exactly what to say with new dilemma of being a Darkspawn lure on his shoulders.

“Bodahn Feddic, collectioneer enthusiast and traveling entrepreneur, at your service,” the elder dwarf introduced himself. “This is my son Sandal. We are most grateful for your timely rescue!”

“I'm Alistair, I'm a...Grey Warden, even though I don't look it at the moment.” he gestured to the wagon just past the bridge. “Is that yours, then?”

“Ah yes, but I'm afraid it's broken. Two of the wheels were done in. Our mule bolted as soon as it tumbled.”

“Traveling, you say?” Alistair asked. A traveling source of supplies could come in handy.

“Yes, but with a broken wagon and no mule, it looks like we'll be staying for awhile,” Bodahn told him.

“I've got another Grey Warden with me, but she's in no shape to walk and we're in need of a constant supplier. If I fix your wagon and offer protection on the road, will you travel with us?” Alistair bartered.

“Oh, how kind. He does not think to consult with the rest of his party before taking on more mouths to feed,” Morrigan spoke freely.

“Feeding mouths isn't an issue, Morrigan. We cant' stay here. The Darkspawn now have a trail straight to Lothering, and Tess and I can feel them so they can certainly feel us. We won’t be able to stay anywhere anymore. We have to keep moving.” Alistair returned to the dwarves for their answer.

“You can feel the darkspawn?” Bodahn asked.

“Yes, it’s a...Grey Warden thing. If we keep moving, we should be safe. I can feel them from a...decent distance. As long as we all stay together they can't take us by surprise,” he was able to promise this, at least.

“And you're going all around Fereldan, yes?”

Alistair nodded again. “We need to stop in Redcliffe, the mages Tower, Orzammar, and eventually make our way to Denerim.” He watched Sandal. A distant facade, but hidden knowledge behind his eyes. Reminded Alistair of when he first met Tess. He gestured to Sandal. “My...friend-”

“ _Lover_ , you mean,” Morrigan certainly had her attitude back. Alistair felt his face flare up.

“She will be interested in him,” he told Bodahn, trying to ignore the witch. “And when she's well enough to fight again, she is a force to be reckoned with. You will be safe with us. We can take you around, help your trade. I’m more than happy to trade services with you, as well. I can work wood, and Tess...likes to kill things. She's an excellent archer. Plenty to eat. Can we make a deal?” he pressed.

Bodahn looked at Sandal for a moment. “You're sure you can keep us safe?” he asked Alistair.

“I can't promise we won't ever be attacked, but I can promise you'll eat and the Darkspawn can't ever to this-” he gestured to broken carriage “-again. And we've got a mabari with us who can hear other enemies. We'll be fine.”

Bodahn finally nodded. “All right. It sounds like a deal.”

“You can make camp with us tonight. We're just here, at the river.” Alistair pointed beyond the levy.

“If we need to leave, why would you suggest they make camp with us?” Morrigan challenged.

“I've got to cut down a tree to make new wheels, witch. _Don't argue_ with me, all right? Until Tess recovers, I'm unfortunately in charge, and I'm actually doing all of us a favor by making this deal. We will leave tomorrow.” Alistair held his sword and shield out to Leliana. “Would you take this back and check on Tess? Please?” he asked.

“Of course,” Leliana agreed. “Poor dear must be terrified.”

Alistair motioned to the wagon. “Gigantic man, come help me lift this thing?”

“Gigantic man,” Sten echoed as if he wasn't sure how to interpret such a title. “You realize I have no personal obligation to you.”

“I am fully aware no one actually likes me except for Tess, and maybe her dog. But as much as I'd like to see the wagon crush the apostate, we may need some of these supplies. We need to bring them down to camp where we can watch them.” The wagon was harder to carry than Alistair had anticipated. Though the weight was easily handled by both himself and Sten, the shape was awkward. Eventually they set it down and dragged it, but the other hind wheel popped off, issuing a third wheel to be made; _on top of everything else?_ They set the wagon on Alistair and Tess' side of camp, closer to the trees to make room for two more tents. Alistair kicked the last wheel off so the wagon would rest level and provide hind-security for the dwarves; Alistair had a feeling they _would need_ the supplies, he didn’t want to risk what appeared a blessing.

“Mistress Tesslyn!” Bodahn exclaimed.

Alistair turned to see Tess standing outside their personal tent. She watched Alistair, hands open in front of her. She looked a mess; hair tangled, new scabs over the scratches on her face, dried stains on her Chantry dress. “What are you doing? You need to lie down.” Alistair rushed to her.

“Are they here?” she asked with a bit of a slur. She could pass for drunk, every part of her swaying.

“The dwarves? Yes, I've made a deal with them.”

“It burns inside.”

The darkspawn. “It was only a small pack. They're done with.” he looked her over. “Is that what woke you?”

“What happened?” she held up her hands a little higher.

“Did the darkspawn do this to her?” Bodahn approached. “We have potions! Quick, m'boy! Mistress Tesslyn is injured! You remember Mistress Tesslyn, right? Grab a potion, hurry!” Bodahn said to Sandal.

“I-” Alistair didn't know whose question to answer first. “I – no, she's having lyrium withdrawals,” he told the dwarf.

“Why am I...?” she held her hands up toward his face. “Why – your face is dark.” Tess swayed again, and Alistair caught her. He gently set her down just in the tent.

“Don't worry about it, Tess.” he turned his head and yelled for Morrigan to bring sleeping potions.

“Here! Here, a health draught!” Bodahn urged a bottle into Alistair's hand.

“Thank you.” Alistair uncorked the bottle and encouraged Tess to drink. “Erm, help yourself,” he told the dwarves, “some of the meat should be done. Leliana might have some bread.”

“Oh, we've got bread and ale, Messre Warden. But we won't say no to some meat.” Bodahn cheerfully tried to sell Morrigan some lyrium when she came over with an armful of sleeping potions. Alistair accepted the potions and disappeared inside the tent with Tess, leaving Morrigan to deal with the enthusiastic dwarven merchant.

Alistair lay his drowsy Warden down again. “Drink this,” he said gently.

“Why…?” she held up her hands again. He searched her eyes, his brows furrow deep.

“You _scratch_ , Tess,” he told her softly; not an easy thing to tell a person. “A _lot_ , very deep. You ripped some of your nails clean off. I had to wrap you.”

She still looked disoriented, even more so when she frowned. “Your face is black...”

“Black?” he echoed. “Maybe the dwarf has a mirror.”

“Did...I….make the black?”

“Don't worry about it,” he repeated. “I'm perfectly fine, I promise.” He put his lips to her forehead. “Drink this, please.”

“I don't want to sleep.” such a whine made her look like a child

“You need to let your body heal,” he urged. “We have to leave Lothering tomorrow. The darkspawn know we're here now, we can't stay. The dwarves are here, I’ve made a deal, you’ll ride on the wagon. I need you to let yourself heal, Tess.” She didn't say anything else, only frowned. Her eyes shifted like she searched for words. “I'm not going anywhere, I promise. I need to cut down a tree and make some wheels, but I'll be right here, right outside the tent,” he assured.

She let him tip the tiny bottle past her mouth. “Does it stop?” she asked when she had finished the potion.

“Does what stop?” he asked. He caressed her face with the back of his fingers, trying to coax her eyes closed.

“Bad dreams...Oren...father...” she caught her eyelids trying to fall.

“Is that why you ran off?” he asked. “I don't know when those dreams stop. But I'm _here_ , Tess, you don't need to run. Just come to me next time.” He tenderly placed his lips over each eyelid. “I'll hold you until you feel better. I'll kiss you and sing to you, I'll rock you back to sleep,” he planted little kisses around her eyes between words. “I'll tell you ridiculous jokes until you laugh yourself silly if that's what you want. _I'm always here for you_. Always yours.”

When her eyes didn't open again, Alistair pressed one more kiss. He closed the tent flap securely behind him and stretched outside the tent for a moment, until he realized he was still shirtless. He chuckled to himself; he must have been a sight, charging into an outnumbered fight in only his pants, not even his smalls.

Alistair turned the meat, cut a chunk that wasn’t quite jerky yet, and sat near Po to share dinner. He did a double-take at the wine crate as he uncorked a new bottle; something was missing. “There was a rose here. Did you see it?” he asked Bodahn.

“Flower!” Sandal exclaimed. The Tranquil-like dwarf approached extending a rose. It was Alistair’s rose alright, same shape, same curves and folds, but...different. It sparkled in the sunlight. It was still silky -no, smooth, but also solid. It appeared turned to crystal.

“How...what did you do?” Alistair held the rose up against a ray of sun and turned it. Sparkling like a diamond exactly, glittering and shining as if it were full of stars. “Is it a spell?”

“To be honest, I'm not sure how he does these things,” Bodahn said. “I only know he's very gifted. He can enchant just about anything. One of those...Tranquil fellows, I believe, he called my boy a savant.”

“So it's an enchantment?”

“Not enchantment!” Sandal said proudly. Alistair looked at the...young?...dwarf. Sandal wore an innocent smile that stole Alistair's attention. He saw a bit of Tess in the odd dwarf, also himself when Tess had described her admiration of his innocence.

“No? Lyrium, then? How does it sparkle?”

“Pretty rocks.”

“Oh!” Bodahn expressed. “I _do_ know what _that_ means! He...er, blows things up, from time to time-”

Tess would definitely like these dwarves.

“He carries around powdered gems. I'm pretty sure it's diamonds he's blowing up, but how he does that is beyond me. The boy's a genius, is all I know.”

“You can blow up diamonds?” Alistair was genuinely impressed. “Is that what this is? Diamond dust?” Sandal sifted through something in a small chest in the wagon, and then held out a handful of things. Alistair went to the curious dwarf. Distillation agent, sparkly dust – maybe the diamond dust, and a vial of something else. “What is this one?”

“Let's take a look, m'boy.” Bodahn came over. “Oooh, clever lad! That's challum resin. It grows around the mushrooms that sprout in the deep roads where I found Sandal. But only the ones that survive the red lyrium. Very few of them can survive around that. Occasionally you see flowers. I think it might be a side effect of the plant's natural oozes? Who knows? It's like a gel though. It takes a years to harden underground, but up on here on the surface with all this fresh air, it's just a matter of minutes!”

Alistair thought this over. He’d never heard of _red_ lyrium, but he’d already decided to not use the word _lyrium_ around Tess anymore anyway. Blowing up diamonds definitely peaked his interest. “So...you mix the diamond dust and the Distillation agent together and then...what, dip it?”

“Together!” Sandal squealed.

“You mix them together and then dip the rose. That's…Maker, that's amazing! Diamonds are supposed to be indestructible, right?”

“That's what they say,” Bodahn shrugged, “although Sandal manages to blow up _everything_ , so who knows, really.”

Alistair grinned. “This is brilliant! Both things are. We like explosions just as much as we like unbreakable things.” He put the hardened rose carefully in his backpack. He would save it, give it to Tess when she felt better. She would like that.

Alistair grabbed the hatchet – but the dwarves had an actual axe – and he chopped down the tree on the other side of his and Tess' tent. He let Sandal play with the little Grey Warden toys while he carved at the wood. Alistair used the lone intact wheel as his model and the wheel that he broke for spare parts, returning to town only for a chisel; the one thing Bodahn didn't seem to have. Sandal ended up stripping in front of Morrigan when the witch brought more potions for Tesslyn. It didn't seem to phase the dwarf at all, gleefully jumping and splashing in the river with his bare parts lopping about. Morrigan turned bright pink and flustered off mortified, and Alistair laughed so loud he accidentally woke Tess.

Tess protested the tent and Alistair couldn't convince her to take another sleeping draught. She said her head ached; he'd heard that about sleeping potions; so Alistair took a break from his woodworking to settle her in at the fire and feed her. Bodahn had a barrel of mead that wasn't done stewing yet, and Tesslyn drank this up like she'd thirsted for years; if it had been properly aged, she might have passed out again.

Alistair sat back against the wine crate, Tess curled up in his arms while they listened to some of Bodahn's tales about Orlais. Bodahn took a moment between stories to remark that it was nice to see Tess _settled down and taken care_ _of finally_. Bodahn and Sandal had met Tess in Orlais around three years ago, she was a busy handmaiden to the Empress and had hired them to deliver a letter to her family; and sent them off with a bounty of provisions to ensure they would make it to Highever. Bodahn said he'd never forgotten her kindness, and it was _about time someone treated her like the queen._ Alistair silently mused on Tess' little plot to put him on the throne, though more than happy to let people assume she was officially _his_.

When Sandal finally left the river, shivering, teeth chattering with the sunset, reminding Alistair of Tess falling in the morning before. It seemed Tess attracted people who embodied traits she normally kept to herself; Sandal was the carefree side of her that only Alistair had seem.. After Sandal dressed, thawed out and ate, he dumped a bunch of potions in a bowl and sat down next to Tess.

“All better?” Sandal asked.

Tess looked at Sandal. “What is that?” Alistair asked as she held her hand out to Sandal.

“Er...he has Quick Heal,” Bodahn said, looking at an empty bottle.

“And what is that?” He watched Sandal unwrap Tess' hand. She made a noise and hid her face in Alistair's chest, and Alistair cradled her head against him.

“It's a mushroom-based potion. Don’t recall the proper fancy name for it, so I just call it Quick Heal. Cauterizes the skin. It has lyrium, royal elfroot, twice-distilled water, dried-and-revitalized deep mushrooms, and a cap of hard liquor. Mix it with a little bit of whomever you're trying to fix - blood, for instance - and you have a wondrous life-saving potion,” Bodahn spoke like he was advertising merchandise.

Alistair searched his memory for this kind of potion. He'd never heard of it before. Wait, he had. “You used this potion on the soldier at Ostagar,” he recalled to Tess. She nodded. Alistair also remembered it had pained the soldier and left a scar. “What's it going to do her fingers? Her nails need to grow back still.”

“Oh they will. Fingernails are more like bone than skin, and the fleshy parts underneath somehow tend to stay fleshy; best not ask how I know that last part. It will take time but don’t worry, they’ll grow back," Bodahn assured.

Tess jerked when Sandal plunged her hand down in the bowl. From the look on her face and the abrupt angles on her body, Alistair waited for her teeth to sink into his chest, but it never happened. He felt tears though. He kissed her head, tenderly massaging the back of her neck.

Sandal patted her hand dry.“All better!” he announced with a smile. Alistair brought her hand in to look at it. It was like a burn half-healed. No raw flesh left to get infected.

“Thank you, Sandal.” Alistair looked down at Tess. He tipped her head up to meet her eyes. “I think I need to put this on your other wounds, my dear.” His heart ripped in two when her bottom lip quivered, squeezing her eyes to keep tears in. “I'm sorry, love. If it will keep you from getting infected then we have to do it.” She nodded, reluctant to start the session of pain. Alistair assumed - hoped, maybe - Tess was dramatizing the pain; it couldn’t be that bad, could it? “Sandal, may I take this please? She has other wounds in...more private areas. I'd like to attend to those myself.”

“All better!” Sandal offered the bowl out to Alistair, and Alistair smiled for the curious dwarf. He thanked Sandal, then helped Tess to her feet and into the tent. He acquired a small lantern from Bodahn before securing the tent closed behind himself.

Tess was already crying, silent. With a sigh, Alistair set the lantern a safe distance and laid on his side next to Tess. “I'm sorry I have to hurt you for this,” he told her. He held her potion-marked hand to his chest as he pressed in for a kiss. She didn't kiss him back. “Tess...” he kissed her again, and again. She did not return his affections, nor meet his eyes or speak. “Will you talk to me? Please? What's wrong?”

“Why are you touching me?” she whispered.

“I've been touching you just about non-stop since you woke up from your Joining,” he reminded her. His own words stopped him though; when he put it like that, Alistair sounded lecherous...he supposed he _had_ been a bit eager. She didn’t stop him when he let go of her, which only seemed to validate _too much touching_. “Do you want me to stop?” the break in his voice surprised him; he _hoped_ she wouldn’t tell him to leave her alone.

“I wasn't...like _this_ before!” she said softly. He tried to search her eyes, but she refused to look over..

“You think you're ugly?” he asked.

“I'm in _pieces!_ I have – I'm miss- my _fingernails_ are gone! My _hair_ is gone!” she tried to hide her face with her other arm. Her mouth curled down sadly.

“Can I tell you something? What my very first impression of you was?” he offered.

“You wanted to _slap_ me. I saw it all over your face. Jory did, too.” She choke on a deep breath.

He huffed. “Close, actually.”

“This is supposed to make me feel better how?”

“You've used your looks a few times around me. I'm not - _Maker, I’m bad at this, aren’t I?_ I’m _not_ saying you're _not beautiful_ , not by a long shot. What I'm _trying_ to say is that I was first interested in your personality. I kept waiting for you stay more funny things like you did when we first met, but even when you were cranky and impatient with us in the Korcari Wilds, it was how you acted that drew me in. Not how you acted to _us_ I mean, but....It was never _this really cute mean girl is doing cool things with weapons-_ ”

She peeked at him from under his arm. He took her hand again, pushing away his fears of her not wanting him. Carefully folding her freshly burnt fingers around his, he kissed each one, keeping his eyes on her.

“All I ever saw, and I _swear_ this on your life, was how you reacted to everything. You saw a wounded man in the Wilds and you ran to help him. Morrigan's mother was mean to her - _I honestly don’t blame her though_ \- and you yelled at her – you yelled at a _scary Witch of the Wilds._ You tried to convince Jory to go along with his Joining.” Alistair gazed, soaking her in like he did every night in front of the fire. He truly didn’t know how she didn’t like herself. Glossy emeralds ticked side to side as she stared back. “Didn't think I'd caught that, did you? But I did, I saw it. You tried to point him towards the honorable path. And then you tried to jump off a bridge to go save Cailan from an ogre that wasn't anywhere near him yet.”

She covered her face again. “Your taste in women is _horrid_ , Alistair.”

He laughed softly. “I only ever saw your heart, Tess. You could be a dwarf for all I care, and as long as you're _still you_ , I will want you.” She turned away from him, but he pulled her back. “But, for the record, you do have a very, very nice shape.” He pushed her arm from her face and kissed her but she didn't reply to his lips. “Kiss me,” he said without leaving her mouth.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I have _bleeding scars everywhere_ , even on my…"

“All those times you've undressed in front of me, and now you're worried about what I'll think of you naked? You got me...” he lowered his voice, remembering the dwarves outside the tent. “You got me hard in front of Duncan,” he whispered, “the closest thing I had to a father, and I had to stay on the ground because I couldn't stand up without giving it away.” She didn't laugh like he wanted her to though. “You don't have to be naked either. Surely you didn't forget my _river_ incident?” he kissed her slowly. “All right, look, I’m _not proud_ of _that_ , but my point is I've already seen you with these scars, Tess. They bled all over me, and then I nearly froze off my...what were those names you used? Right, _Little Templar_. I nearly froze my Little Templar off just to get you cleaned up. I got undressed in front of _Morrigan_ to take care of you, for Andraste’s sake. I would _not_ take care of _anyone else_ like this.”

“I gave you a black eye. I bruised the entire right side of your face.”

“And I'll probably tell everybody a hurlock gave it to me, or something. The Archdemon.” The corner of her mouth twitched, but she immediately turned away. He laughed and rolled her back over. “Yes, I saw that.” He kissed her harder, and groaned into her mouth. That little smirk and play of _hard to get_ had been just enough to make his _little majesty_ reach out to her. “Maker, this is the steamiest healing I've ever been to.” Her mouth clenched under his lips and he grinned. “Just to remind you, you're _still_ in pieces and you did this to me.” He kissed her again then forced himself up. He sighed her name when she still wouldn't look at him. He’d just have to work with _stubborn,_ he supposed.

Alistair grabbed her dress and hiked it up under her hips; she gasped with a buck of her hips. He grinned at her reaction. “I think _you_ kind of like it rough _as well,_ ” he teased softly. She scoffed; he hoped her tone and grimace of indignation was just irritation from pain. “Sit up. I need to strip you for this.”

She winced. “You're going to have to forgive me for all the nasty things I'm about to say, then.” She hesitated. He could see the anticipation of pain in her eyes, in the way her shoulders rested just enough to enhance the crook of her neck.

“You're already forgiven.” He pulled the dress up over her head as gently as he could. “I'll try to be gentle. But...I suppose it won't really help, will it?” He leaned in for a kiss. “I feel really dirty for wanting to touch you right now,” he murmured. “Wait, would that help? Would it distract you if I touched you?”

“You rut against me in one river and you think you're a professional, now?” she grumbled. He grinned, and she finally kissed him back.

“I'm _your_ professional rutter,” he played.

“You were insanely embarrassed during my talk yesterday. Where is that same little boy?”

“Maybe you knocked my brains loose when you head-butted me earlier,” he teased.

“You couldn’t have told me to do that at Ostagar?” she asked.

“We can go back and try it, if you want.”

“Maker's breath!” she hissed. “Why are you trying to do this to me right now?”

He laughed quietly. “I honestly tried to poke through our clothes in the river,” he admitted. Her whole face squinched up. He smiled through a kiss. “And I honestly wish the dwarves weren't here right now.”

“If you ever have any self-doubt like this, you're going to have to talk yourself out of it. I don't think I could talk like this without straddling you.”

“Oh, please do.” _Shit_. This whole session was scorching him from the inside. He was stiff at the crotch. _Figures, as soon he's willing, there had to be intruders._

He forced himself away from her. “I have to do this before I get carried away.” He unwrapped the gauze from her thighs. Seeing the scratches that pulled her skin apart twanged his heart. He’d forgotten just how bad it was. He sighed again, dropping his head to her knee. He met her eyes, apologetic already. “Tess, I'm so sorry.”

He dipped his fingers in the bowl, instantly drawing them out with a sharp hiss. “ _Maker!”_

“Oh, perfect. It hurts _you_ , and you aren't even wounded!” she groaned.

He glanced at her, holding his hand up to the light. “I'll have you know I happened to acquire a very serious battle wound today,” he joked. “I found a rose, and it didn't like being picked. It bit me when I held it.”

She peeked at him. “A rose?”

“A beautiful rose. The only one in the garden.”

This definitely had her attention. “Like from Leliana's vision?”

“I...yes. But I think she meant that she had seen a real rose,” he said. “That dwarf Sandal did something quite lovely to it.” Alistair settled between her legs, propping her knees up around him. He set the bowl down in reach and dipped his fingers again. Meeting her eyes with a deep breath, held the outside of her thigh. “Ready?” The spoiled-wine coloring dripped off his fingers. She squeezed her eyes tight and shook her head rapidly. He let the potion roll over a gash on her inner thigh; Tess bit her lips together to muffle a scream. “I'm so sorry!” He paused. “Would you rather I do quick? All at once?”

She nodded, keeping her mouth clenched tight. Alistair was almost scared to do it all at once though, he knew she wouldn't forgive him. He didn't want her to pull away from him because of this. But the sooner he got it over with, the sooner he could try to earn her forgiveness back. He stuck his whole hand in the bowl. “All at once,” he echoed. He brought a handful of the foul-looking potion over and pressed it against the inner thigh. She jerked sharp and choked on a yelp. The potion ran down her thigh, right toward her...bare Lady parts. She would _definitely_ not forgive him if he burned her down there. Alistair yanked off his shirt and pressed it over her center to soak up the excess before... _she_ could. He looked at her face and immediately lurched forward to pull her arm out of her mouth. “Please stop making more holes in your body!” he pleaded. Luckily she hadn't broken skin yet.

“It burns!” she whimpered.

“I know. I know, I'm so sorry.” He pressed his body to hers when he leaned in to kiss her. He instantly felt guilty for his twitch of his manhood when her bare nipples grazed his own bare chest. “And I'm _really sorry about that_.” He had honestly just tried to put pressure somewhere other than where it stung, to redirect her focus.

“Will you just please hurry?” she begged. She looked absolutely miserable. _How could he be genuinely aroused while she suffered?_

He nodded. He put his headrest in her hands. “Bite this if you have to, not yourself.” She gasped deep and hollow, and pressed the headrest over her mouth. This was harder than holding her under frosty water. He wasn't doing anything remotely close to relieving pain. Every time he pressed a handful of that horrid concoction to her open wounds, she cried out. The headrest didn't muffle her pain when he attacked - _that's what it felt like he was doing_ \- the ripped flesh at her sides. Her neck was the worst of it. She tried to scratch the potion off as soon as he let it drop; he had to throw himself over her to pin her arms down. Tess screamed and sobbed beneath him. Morrigan even came over to accuse him; Alistair heard Bodahn explain the potion.

Alistair's arms trembled as he held Tess' wrists. He had to drip on another coating on her neck because she'd shaken and scraped off the first. He pressed his face into her shoulder to hide his tears from her. This was an evil thing to do her. This was cruel, heartless, and _he_ had inflicted this pain. He had not protected but inflicted.

Amidst the struggling Alistair nearly forgot about her other hand. He sat next to her and unwrapped as gently and slowly as he could. She refused to look at him again, this time her face read _loathing_. He _hated_ himself for this. It had to be done, it was now the very best option since they couldn't stay to let her heal through sleep, but claiming it a necessity didn't make him feel any better. He felt like he was taking the weak option, like he was cheating her. He utterly hated himself. She watched his hands as he carefully extended her three torn fingers. She twisted and buried her face into her headrest with another sob. He pulled her hand out after he counted to three, dabbed her hand dry, and let her retreat from him. _Maker, he hated himself now more than he ever hated anything._

Alistair shook uncontrollably as he pulled the Chantry dress back over her head. He had to dare himself just to look at her. Her cheeks were shiny and red, her lips and under her eyes swollen from her tears. He tried to lean in to kiss her - just her cheek, to let her know he still cared - but she pulled away. His heart felt like it was smashed by a hammer the size of a mountain. He barely made a sound when he said her name. He wanted to say he was sorry, but everything was caught in his throat. He watched her fix her gown and curl up with her back to him.

Alistair sat to compose himself the best he could. When he thought he had finally stopped the tears, he wiped his face on his shirt and set the lantern and the bowl just outside the tent. But as soon as he opened his mouth to thank the dwarves, he choked up. He apologized for his poor hospitality, but he needed to retire for the night. He gave the dog a pat on the head, and he closed himself up in the blackened tent with Tess.

He laid down next to her though was afraid to touch her. “Tess?” She pulled her shoulder away as soon as his fingers landed. “Tess, I'm _sorry_ ,” he insisted. She remained silent. “ _Believe_ me, I _never_ wanted to hurt you.” He reached around until he found her hand, and he refused to let her pull away until her fingertips found the wet beads on his eyelashes; this she stilled for. “I did _not_ enjoy _any_ of that, I _promise_ you.”

“It reminded me of Loghain...”

He raised his head and tried to see her in the dark.”What?”

“When he had me...flushed...he had me tied down. It burned, everywhere,” she whispered.

“ _Shit_ , Tess! How come you didn't say something? I would have stopped!” he told her. He rested at her shoulder, his pulse quickening. “I'm going to _kill_ that son of a bitch!”

“ _I_ am.”

“No, _you_ are going to keep a safe distance, because I am going to swing wide enough to take whoever stands with him out all at once,” he vowed. “ _Nobody_ hurts what is mine. _Nobody hurts you_.” Just thinking about it made him want to punch something. Kill something. But he couldn't do that now.

He sat up and moved between her legs. “What are you doing?” she sounded panicked as he lifted her gown.

“I'm _not_ going to hurt you, Tess,” he told her gently. He felt around her inner thigh.

“What are you doing?”

He found a knot of scar tissue. “Correcting my mistakes,” he said. He blindly brought his face down to his hand, and she gasped at his breath on her thigh. As gently as he could, he put his lips to the scar he'd created. “I'm so sorry I hurt you, Tess.” He felt around tenderly, and brought his mouth to the other scar on the same leg. He kissed the third scar while he felt  her other thigh for more.

 _He smelled her_. He could smell her center; his cock swelled in his pants. _Maker, her scent was powerful._ He fought the urge to bury his face in her curls. They already drove him wild as it was; he wanted to know her perfectly from there - _What would she feel like around him?_ \- this had to be the Maker testing him.

He brought his face to the other thigh. “I never want to hurt you again,” he whispered into her skin. He planted a single kiss, then trailed his lips across to another scar higher up her thigh; her hips gave a tremble as she she gasped.

_Thank goodness he wasn't the only one aroused._

He sat up and pushed her dress up past her navel. _He could still smell the perfume of her core, Maker help him_. He struggled to keep his hips far enough away from hers, reminding his own body he was there to make amends, not enjoy her.

She gave a wiggle under his fingertips as he searched in the dark by her navel. “Did that hurt?” though he knew it tickled.

“Could you have said that with a louder grin?” she huffed. He allowed himself a little laugh, his hands still on their journey. _There_. He replaced his fingers with his lips. “Alistair...”

“I will listen to you next time. I'll stop when you ask me to,” he promised.

“I nev-ever asked you to stop,” she gasped under his traveling fingers.

True. She hadn't outright asked him to stop applying the potion. He brought his kiss down over another scar he'd created. “I will listen for when your body asks me to stop,” he elaborated. He kissed the third scar on her side. She made a noise, but not one he'd come to associate with her laugh. She gave a sniffle; he sat up and tried to find her silhouette in the dark. “Tess?” he asked.

“It's nothing.”

“Did that hurt?”

“No. I'm just...raining again.”

“In a...good way?” he asked. He didn't want to keep going if it hurt her. He was _done_ hurting her, _never again_.

“Yes. Good tears.”

He hesitated, but continued his search in the dark. He found the scar on her other side. He had to turn her for this one, it was practically on her back. She gave a full-body wiggle when he pressed his lips in. He laughed into her skin when she cursed the Maker, and kissed that same spot again before moving on.

He pushed her dress up more, cautious of how far his fingers went. He'd set a scar just under her left breast. He was nervous about this one; he couldn't hide the quake in his hands as he came down over her. To make it worse, his erection grazed her thigh and pressed dangerously into her curls – _he felt them through his pants_ – when his lips found the scar. His arms embarrassingly gave out beneath him in prophetic pleasure when her center arced up and cradled his length; maybe reaction to his kiss? - still not helping any. He froze over her longer than he should have, trying to clear his mind in probably the worst place ever to try to push sex out of his thoughts. She was being so patient with him.

“It's your call,” he whispered. “Every time is your call. I'm sorry about the river.” Her chest heaved deeply beneath his head. He forced himself back up, pulling his hips away from her. He fixed her dress with shaking hands, fully covering her everywhere, then laid on his side next to her. He still couldn't see her at all, but he was sort of glad, actually. Here he was, trying to be tender and caring, and his body was embarrassing him because he hadn't thought through feeling her up in the dark.

His fingers trembled all over again when he found the collar of her dress. He loosened the clasp in back for better access; she gasped when his mouth closed over a scar. “I promise to be gentle _always_.” She turned her head with another sniffle. He moved his mouth just a finger over, pressed down tenderly again. “I will never let you cry yourself to sleep.”

She gave a shaky breath. “It might be too late for that,” she breathed. “Not all tears are bad. I think.”

He trailed his nose to the last scar on her neck. “I will never let you go to bed scared, _especially of me_. I _promise_ _I will always protect you..._ even if I have to protect you from myself.” He dropped another kiss over the last scar, then refastened the clasp in back. He reached in until his nose found her cheek and he kissed her again while he sought the three fingers he'd treated last. He kissed the corrupted flesh at each broken nail. “And I will kill _anyone_ who hurts you,” he vowed, holding her palm to his chest. His fingers found her face in the dark; cool tears pooled between the corner of her eye and the bridge of her nose.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked.

“ _You_ didn't even do anything wrong.”

“But you’re upset with me. I _hurt_ you. I've...” he gave a shamed sigh and a quiet curse. “I've blasted turned myself on trying to make it up to you,” he breathed. She shook with a deep breath. “ _Do you forgive me,_ Tess?”

“Yes.” she nodded against his fingers. “Yes.” She turned into his face until their lips crashed together. “Even though you hurt me and...and smelled me -”

“Oh, Maker!” he muttered. He wedged his face under hers in shame. “I’m _sorry,_ Tess! I don't have a _clue_ how to lo- how to love anyone. I'm sorry!” He cradled her tight. “ _I'm so sorry I hurt you.”_

“It’s...thank you...really.”

Alistair turned his head; gratitude bloomed as she finally kissed him back. “I _never_ want to be unworthy of you again.” he kissed her again. “Maker, that was the worst hour of my life!” he lamely joked. He jumped inside when a faint giggle broke against his mouth, it even glossed his eyes. For a while, he truly thought she would never laugh for him again, and now that she was, he thought he might burst; _not all tears are sad,_ she'd said.  

The whole day and night before had been long and frightening and lonely. He wished the darkspawn hadn't needed to be involved, but maybe it worked out for the better. Alistair felt he and Tess had overcome a huge obstacle in their relationship, he felt she trusted him more, he vowed to do more. He had made a deal with a merchant to ensure he always had a way to keep Tess safe. He had a good feeling about leaving tomorrow. And Alistair learned that he could turn a horrible day into a beautiful night for the person who meant the world to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played DA2 first, and from the moment I saw Sandal, I knew there was something very deep about his character. I love him for the fact that we can practically see the cogs turning like mad behind his eyes, but he refuses to show that he knows more than he does. I'm really trying to incorporate that into this story, and I hope I do him justice.
> 
> The mention of red lyrium is just me playing off the fact Bodahn found Sandal wandering the Deep Roads. None of us know where exactly, but Bodahn is definitely not the guy to sit by when there is business opportunity to be had, and Sandal clearly has a nifty talent for survival on his own. It's true we, the gamers, did not learn of red lyrium until Hawke and Varric did - but it doesnt mean that was when Bodahn first discivered it. I assume he first saw red lyroum when he found Sandal, but only learned about its significance when Hawke and Varric did. But, and sort of reiterating, since he found Sandal in the Deep Roads and since Hawke and Varric find Sandal way down in the Deep Roads (where there was red lyrium), I also assume where Bodahn found Sandal was deep enough down to encounter red lyrium. Call it a storyteller's run of the imagination :)


	13. Redcliffe Can Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, then Smut. The troupe finally leaves Lothering and heads for Redcliffe. Alistair seduces Tess when they camp for the night after a long day of banter and flirting - and being reminded of her plan to make him king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. Slow-touch erotica. Seduction. I actually really like the idea of Alistair enjoying sexual sensation by common public body parts, like ears, hands, etc.
> 
> NSFW aesthetic images within.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> On the Road: [Tiptoe, by Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/ajjj4pLnjz8)  
> Alistair's First Time: [ Unconditionally, by Katy Perry ](https://youtu.be/XjwZAa2EjKA)

Alistair slept consciously. He kept waking up to check for daylight, partly out of fear the Darkspawn would launch another attack now that he and Tess had been met as Grey Wardens, partly out of worry for Tess. She woke up a couple times as well, once thirsty and in pain, of which Alistair could do nothing but just hold her and lull her back to sleep, and the second time to pee. Alistair tended the fire while the dwarves slept soundly close by. A thud, then a curse. When Alistair inquired into the darkness behind the tent, Tess replied that _her tree_ was gone. He explained through a giggle he'd cut down that very tree to make a wheel. She made a few light splashes in the river and then crept back to the tent fully naked.

“Where is your gown?” he mused. She hesitated to answer, but finally told him she would have to wash it in the morning. He nearly fell over laughing so hard, having to brace himself and muffle his laugh on Tess. Luckily the dwarves snored right through his voice.

It took awhile for Alistair to get back to sleep. Tess slept just fine, but she was _bare_ and she _perfectly against_ him, even with the way they curled up. When he woke up again, he found he'd been groping a breast in his sleep. Her thigh hiked over his hip, Alistair was rested stiff against her bum like a prop to keep her from rolling over. He moved his whole body to get out of the awkward position before she awoke and found him trying to prod through his clothes. But trying to re-position himself moved her as well, before he had time to pretend like he was just snuggling closer. Eyes still in sleep, her leg slid down his thigh in a stiff stretch. His erection caught perfectly between her thighs, and with a hushed moan his hips gave an involuntary shudder; _Maker help him, why couldn’t he just stop how she made him feel?_ Her legs locked up and eyes flew opened. Half of him desperately wanted out such an embarrassing situation, especially for something the Chantry taught him was controllable. The other half desperately wanted her to welcome him in.

When Tess didn’t move Alistair exhaled heavily. “I think this is proof the Maker has a sense of humor,” he whispered. She pulled her hips away from him; the release tugged a moan from him.

“Sorry,” she said.

He shook his head. “How...how do you feel?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“Right now?” she teased.

He laughed to hide a groan of embarrassment. “ _No,_ no, that’s not...talking about right now is not going to help me walk out there...without _waving_ to the dwarves.” She giggled, dimples and all, and he groaned again, _why did she have to do this to him?,_ and sat up. He needed out of this tent. “I need to finish the wheels.” The sooner he got to the wheels the better.

“I should help.”

“ _You_...should finish resting. I can do this. Wheels aren't hard. This dwarf's actually got a good supply.” He grabbed the water-skin and took a drink, then handed it back to Tess. He rubbed the sleep from his face. “Can Po track down a horse?” he asked, remembering the wagon had no lead. “A mule, actually.”

“It depends on how far it went. I can just steal a horse from the stables.”

“I...was sort of wanting to leave diplomatically,” he admitted.

“I was also going to steal a chicken.”

“ _Tess_.” he looked back at her.

“What? _You_ stole a _rose_.”

“That's different. The Darkspawn will just come and destroy it.” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he sighed. “Don't tell me about it first, please,” he gave in. He paused in thought; he _hated_ the idea of stealing, _especially from refugees_ , but Alistair and Tess would need to eat too and with the Blight they couldn’t rely on wild game. “Better get two chickens. And a cage. And _I_ want to _name_ one.”

She giggled. “All right.” He looked back. Lying there in dull yellow light of the morning sun that bled through the leather tarp, arm over her belly accenting swollen breasts and nipples soft from the tent’s warmth. Even with all the scars he set, she was so beautiful, and the sleep still around her eyes made her perfectly sweet. _Maker, why is this woman so adorable?_

Fingers collapsed on his back with a small tug of his shirt; he leaned down and kissed her before she could ask.“You can’t go anywhere like this, though,” he murmured, “I'll see if Bodahn has any clothes.”

“I'll be more likely to get away with stealing a horse in broad daylight if I'm naked, though,” she said.

“It's tempting,” he joked. “But as of last night, I honestly don’t know how I feel about other people seeing you naked.” She searched his eyes for a moment; the sound of Po shuffling about brought Alistair back to the present. He kissed Tess again. “I really need to get started. We should be gone by midday at the latest.” He sat back up. “Are you hungry? It should be fully smoked by now.”

“A little.”

He stole another kiss. “I'll be right back.”

The day started out slower than Alistair had hoped, but by the time everyone else was up, he had all the spokes carved and the furs scraped another layer down. Bodahn had mages' robes to sell, only, so that is what Tess wore. Alistair and Leliana had a bit of a dispute when Tess asked her to help _purloin_ a horse and chickens; rather, Leliana scoffed in disbelief and scolded Alistair for allowing such things, to which Alistair just shrugged and said _Tess was the boss_. Morrigan volunteered to help Tess obtain the resources they needed, adding she could be quite persuasive when she needed to be; Leliana grumbled in disapproval about _stealing from the needy_.

Unfortunately Sten and Alistair were the only ones built for heavy lifting and carpentry. Alistair secured the wheels together, and Sten hoisted the wagon so Alistair could hitch the wheels up. Tess and Morrigan returned after some time with a small horse, and three chickens in a flimsy wire cage. Tess looked worn out; she must have exerted herself.

“Bok Bok!” Sandal clapped excitedly when Tess brought the cage over.

“Yes, for eggs,” Tess smiled at the dwarf.

“Do I want to know how the town let two women dressed like apostates just walk out with a horse and three chickens?" Alistair teased. He tied leather strips around the wheel to tighten it to the spoke, then stood.

“You do not.” Morrigan stated in triumph as she tied the horse's reigns to Po's tree.

“Okay, and...do I need to know why you look so spent?” he asked Tess.

“I...did a little roguery.”

“Are you all right? Maybe you should sleep until it's time to leave.”

“I actually do want to sleep,” Tess agreed. “Maric and Cailan.”

“What?” Alistair said curiously.

“Maric and Cailan are the chickens. You can name the other one.”

“You named hens after...my father and brother?” skepticism rang thick in his voice.

“I'm hoping I don't forget why I came back to Ferelden in the first place,” she said.

“And...I suppose you want the third to be called Alistair. Little Al for short, right?” he guessed flatly.

“It's settled, then. Maric, Cailan and Alistair. The Theirin Three.”

Alistair groaned. “It sounds like an Antivan Novelty Act.”

“The best of the best from Rivain to Orlais. Remind me to decorate their cage with glitter and tinsel when I wake up.”

He laughed softly and kissed her. “Bloody chickens will reflect the sun and give us away. The Darkspawn will come at us wave after wave in broad daylight, I bet they’re already assuring each other how the mighty Grey Wardens are easy targets.” Tess giggled and he kissed her again just a little harder. “But it _would_ be _pretty_ , I admit that. I'll _consider_ it,” he teased. “But for now, try to rest. I’ll try to keep noise to a minimum for you.” one last kiss, _Maker her lips were so soft._ “I'll wake you up when we leave.”

Alistair and Sten secured the other wheels on while Bodahn re-organized the inside of the wagon to fit the Wardens' party's gear in. Alistair packed up around Tess; she slept hard, probably the remainder of her withdrawal playing out. He had Morrigan and Leliana wrap up all the meat, and they flung the furs and all the wet clothes over the side of the wagon to dry. They took the crate of wine, and filled the empty bottles and empty skins with water. Sten piled up the leftover firewood from both sides of camp, Morrigan hitched the horse up to the wagon, and Leliana dowsed the fires. Tess had a hard time waking; Alistair ended up clearing a length of room in the wagon, and he literally moved her and the bedmat under her right on to the wagon.

It was probably early afternoon when they finally headed out of Lothering. “Where to, Messeres?” Bodahn asked as he and Sandal sat in front of the wagon. Bodahn kept a tight grip on the reigns.

“Redcliffe,” Alistair said.

“What is in Redcliffe?” Sten asked.

“Arl Eamon. He's the one who can properly rally the country to fight this Blight,” Alistair said.

“I thought that was your job? The job of the Grey Wardens?”

“We have treaties for the dwarves and mages and elves. But they aren't enough during a Blight. Unfortunately, Ferelden thinks Tess and I are traitors and we are wanted. Arl Eamon can call a Landsmeet to fix things and bring the provinces within Ferelden together.”

“Did you not hear the rumors?” Bodahn asked. “There's word the Arl of Redcliffe is gravely ill. Strange things have been happening at the castle.”

“I did hear he was ill, yes,” Alistair said.

“What strange things?” Tess asked from the wagon.

“You are supposed to be sleeping.” Alistair walked right next to where he'd laid her, reaching over to grab her hand.

“We don't know what strange things, Miss. We just heard it was bad. Residents have fled, others gone missing. Heard it's more of a ghost town now. Trade has all but stopped there,” Bodahn informed them.

Tess groaned. “Remind me to kill Teagan.”

“I thought you wanted to marry Teagan?” Alistair teased.

“I was eight!” she protested. “If he's been shirking his duties and let Redcliffe fall, he's going over the edge for sure.”

Po barked in long succession as if was lecturing Tess.

“I don't care! He's obviously lost his balls if Redcliffe has fallen, and if he's lost his balls, he knows I'm taking his head!” she grumbled.

“Go back to sleep,” Alistair chuckled.

“Piss off. I need to plot my family's death.”

He laughed loudly. “You know, I only have good memories of Teagan,” he recalled.

“I have only tolerated him.”

“But you wanted to marry him!” he loved when she was in these moods.

“I don't believe my relatives are capable of making respectable decisions, with the exception of my brother and my...parents.”

“Why do you say that? I think Eamon did all right by me.”

Tess groaned and sat up just to shoot him a glare of doubt. “You don't really believe that, do you? Does the name _Isolde_ ring a bell?”

He grimaced. “She's not Eamon.”

She sighed. “I honestly hope she's alive. I can't wait to kill her.”

“Makes perfect sense.”

“You are exceptionally quiet, Sten,” Morrigan observed aloud.

“Only compared to some,” the Qunari spoke.

“You're both lucky Alistair hasn't given my bow back yet,” Tess called up.

“It's right behind your head,” Alistair laughed.

“You're both lucky you're out of my line of sight,” Tess corrected herself.

“I don't understand how either of you areGrey Wardens,” Sten stated.

“I don't either,” Alistair joked.

“ _I_ was in shock of seeing my father bleed out before my eyes right after I saw my dead nephew, so Duncan was able to literally drag me off to Ostagar, where I accidentally survived my Joining. _That's_ how _I'm_ a Grey Warden. _Believe_ me, it was never intended.”

“And if you hadn't been in shock?” Morrigan asked.

“I...would have left with Duncan like my father requested, and I would have ended up slaughtering everyone at Ostagar starting with Cailan and Loghain.” she said so casually.

“Even me?” Alistair teased.

“If I was not in shock, no. You have always been the priority since your brother put that silly hat on his head,” she - _the woman he couldn’t kiss enough_ \- reminded him he was still part of an operation. Alistair groaned; he’d _almost_ forgotten about the _king_ thing.

“So it's true then, Alistair? You are heir to the throne?” Leliana asked.

Alistair sighed and shot a glace to Tess. She raised her eyebrows at him, as if daring him to challenge the claim. “Talk to Tess about that,” he answered.

“Why not you?” Leliana seemed far too interested in this sort of gossip.

“Because I don't want to think about it.”

“Kings don't actually have to think Alistair. That is what Royal Advisers are for,” Tess said.

“Right, that's you,” he said dully.

“So it _is_ true,” Leliana concluded.

“It is.” Tess affirmed.

“I'm going to pretend I can't hear any of this.” Alistair looked out at the scenery with a sigh.

“Why would you lie about this, Alistair?” Morrigan asked. “We could _use_ this to our _advantage_. Head straight to Denerim, _then_ rally the other races.”

“Kings also need Royal Mages,” Tess said.

Alistair glared at her. “ _Absolutely not!”_

“You will be required to marry, you know,” Morrigan said.

“Forget it, Morrigan. Mages can't be royalty. It's sort of a rule that magic is considered a _spoiled_ trait.”

“I meant Tesslyn,” Morrigan said slyly.

“Why do I not trust how you say that?” he wondered aloud. “If I have to do this, I know exactly who I'm marrying. _If_. I'd much rather remain a Grey Warden, believe me.”

“And who exactly _are_ you marrying?” Tess smirked.

“Wouldn't you like to know?” he sassed, squeezing her hand.

“If you say Anora, Alistair, I will cut your head off right here!”

He laughed loudly. “Maker, no! Cailan already had her...along with how many other women. I can't help but thinking that they're all sort...of _connected_ now...”

She gave a snarl of disgust, and he grinned. “Exactly what are your thoughts on that? _I've_ had other men...and women.”

“How long is it to this Redcliffe?” Sten asked. Alistair laughed softly.

“Four very long days,” Morrigan answered.

"Terrific," the qunari's sarcasm ran thick.

“Just wait until we camp again next,” Alistair joked. “Tess isn't withdrawing anymore.” Tess’ brows shot up, and Morrigan groaned.

“I refuse to sleep anywhere near you.”

“I second that,” Sten agreed with the witch.

“What is wrong with them being romantic?” Leliana asked as if she truly didn't understand the concern.

“Ferelden versus Orlais,” Tess whispered, resting her chin on the side of the wagon. Their hands rested in a tangle at her chest.

“Templar versus apostate,” Alistair joked softly, as the conversation carried on without them. “Smitten Alistair versus disgusted witch-lady. Wait. Can I even win that one? Would you let me win against your witch friend?” he looked at his woman.

“Smitten Alistair?” she echoed.

“Smitten Alistair,” he confirmed. He leaned in for a kiss, moving sideways to keep up with the wagon. The look on her face when he stepped back swelled his heart. He'd never imagined anyone ever looking at him like she was. Adoring, trusting, even a little frightened. Vulnerable. He wondered if he looked at her the same way.

The tail of Lake Calenhad came into view near sundown. They stopped off between the lake and the road as the sun disappeared behind the Frostback Mountains. As Alistair set up their tent, Tess stood watching the faint outline of Redcliffe castle - not even visible from this far at night without the few lights high upon the cliff. As the imperial highway curved with the lake, they still about four days walk; it was taking longer than expected at the wagon’s pace.

“Something's wrong.” Tess was frozen, craned toward the dark view.

“Bodahn did say something strange was going on,” Alistair recalled.

“Where are all the lights?” she asked. Alistair glanced over.

“There's one light.”

“That's main hall,” she pointed, “it’s mandatory the main hall stays lit,” she said. “But the other lights should be lit as well, it's an _Arl's_ home. _Where_ are the _tower_ lights? We should see the light in Eamon's study from here. Where are the kitchen lights? Where are the _town_ lights? There should be wandering torches even this far, and road lamps. They've abandoned the highway completely. It's like everyone died.”

Alistair looked at her. “You were talking about killing Isolde and Teagan earlier. Would you really be so upset if they were?”

“Connor is in there.”

Connor? Oh, right. Eamon's son. Still a child. “He was just a baby when I left.”

“He's twelve this year.”

“So, we storm the castle and kill everyone except the child,” he joked. He glanced over when she didn't respond. A smirk played on her lips.

“You think you know me so well already?” she played.

“Let's see...I've seen you naked. I've navigated your naked body in the dark,” he reminded her, glad they were out of earshot of the group. She watched him with a challenging smirk. “You remember all the Canticles and you share Leliana's belief that the Maker hasn't actually left. You believe in Fate and Destiny. You...despise your family that isn't your brother or parents or nephew. You love children. You constantly put yourself right up in the face of dangers, but you're extremely distracted by literally everything even in the heat of battle...I'm guessing that has something to do with your brother...how am I doing so far?” he teased.

“Keep going...”

“You have an extremely large pain threshold, and now looking back at everything that happened at Ostagar, I think I would have screamed like a little girl, if I'd taken the hits you did. You also love being a noble. You love the power that come with it.” He paused. “You're _sure_ you don't want the throne by yourself?”

“I don't want Ferelden,” she said, walking over to him. “I want Orlais.”

He felt his brows raise. “Really?”

She gave a precise nod. “Orlais indeed.”

“Is that why you got close to the Empress, then?”

She hesitated. “Actually, no. That was honestly to get support. I first need her alive so you can have Orlais' allegiance.”

“First?”

“Best way to eliminate the enemy is to make a friend.”

“That is...frighteningly brilliant. You plan on killing the Empress, then. After you...make me sit on a stupid chair with a ridiculous hat.”

She gave a giggle. “It will look good on you.”

“Right. Did you see what it did to Cailan's hair? I don't think so.”

She grinned. “Why is the tent so tall?”

“I'd like to be able to sit up without having to duck,” he said. She laughed, truly laughed, with a smile that reached her eyes. “Would you do me a really big favor?” he asked her.

“Of course.”

“Would you grab the stakes behind you please?”

“And after I grab them?” she made a point of bending over...slowly. Alistair allowed himself the luxury of watching her hips curve; round, shadows falling as the dress clung then hung _too_ loose, shadows that followed her leg not the fabric. He bet he could reach out and uncover her in an instant, if he wanted. _Could he? Was it that easy?_

Alistair blinked. He was supposed to be doing something. Wasn’t he? “And...something...” he trailed off, far too distracted by her little display. She giggled, surprisingly with a shy smile, as she turned to him. Instantly meeting her eyes he felt his face flush. “Right, sorry. Er, and...bring them back over here…right over here. As close as you can bring them.” She placed one foot in front of the other delicately, almost like she was dancing. Her hips careened in a way that summoned heat to his groin. He fell for it again too quick, pulling her in by the waist. Immediately he sought her mouth, feeling his own desire seep out through his lips. Tess brought her hand up to his face...and pulled away when her eyes flickered to her fingers between kisses. She pressed the tent steaks into his hand as she stepped back, ashamed all over again.

“You are also still under the impression I can't possibly want you if you're not spotless,” Alistair added with a silent sigh.

She slumped down in front of the fire, and her dog curled up with its head on her lap. “This _isn't natural_. How can something so... _distorted_ and _broken_ be lovable and beautiful?”

He grunted as he drove a steak down into the ground with the heel of his boot. “You realize you're the exact same woman who just bent down in front of me a moment ago and waggled her bum to tease me?” he said. “You seemed pretty confident doing all that.”

“I forget what I've let myself become – what I've turned myself into when my scars aren't directly in front of my face.”

“So don't look at your scars.” He drove the other steak in ground. “I don't see imperfect, Tess. I never have. I'm actually quite convinced you're capable of doing everything amazingly. That sounds pretty perfect to me.”

“You and I have different opinions on what perfect actually means.”

“Good. I'll stick with my version.” He gave a tug on the corners of the tent to make sure they were steady, then he sat down next to her and took off his boots. Then he wiggled backwards into her until she gave in and put an arm around him. “If Teagan is involved with what's going on at the castle, are you really going to kill him? I mean, _really kill him?”_ he asked.

“You've brought him up few times since we left Lothering. Are you _asking_ me to kill him?”

He grinned. “That depends on if you still want to marry him when we find him.”

“I was _eight_.”

“I'm sure you've grown up _quite_ a bit since then,” he teased.

“That sounds pretty definite. Off the cliff, or a boring stab to the neck?” she offered.

He laughed. “I'm honestly more concerned with how angry you'll be if we find survivors who had something to do with Redcliffe.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay, I have to be honest.”

“Uh-oh.”

“This is serious, Alistair.”

“All right. I'm listening.”

“I have no respect for Eamon. He never took you to Denerim to keep you out of trouble, he took you there because Maric and Cailan wanted to see you, so you living at Redcliffe meant you were supposed to be cared for. Not thrown outside like a stray cat.”

This was the part of his life he didn't want to talk about with her.

“He let that Orleasian cunt just walk all over the son of the king. He didn't trust her enough to tell her who you were, but he let her run your restrictions. Even if you weren't the son of Maric, I'd still be upset with him. _Who does that?_ How is that honorable? He's nearly forty years older than me. He knew better!”

He listened to the escalation in her voice. Her fingers balled into a fist at his chest.

“And he knew you were a prince. That's _treason_ , Alistair. You don't treat royalty like a peasant. Bastard or no, if something had happened to Cailan - like at Ostagar - _bastard son_ would have sought out to ensure the line continues. The Theirin line is _too important_ to Ferelden.”

“I don't blame him for how I grew up,” he told her.

“That's such bullshit, Alistair. There are other ways to be inconspicuous. I _knew_ you when you were here, _even if you don't remember it_ , _even if I never actually spent direct time with you_. Royalty isn't even allowed to brush their own horse, or secure their own saddle. He used you as for slave labor! You were a _child_ and he had you shoveling _horse shit!_ ”

He couldn’t help a giggle. “It never gets old, hearing you curse at everything.”

“Believe me, you'll hear _more_ when we find Isolde and Eamon, and the apparently skivvying Teagan.”

“As long as you don't still want to marry Teagan, I think I'll overlook anything you do.”

“You don't believe me.”

“I believe you'll kill anyone who pisses you off.”

“You may want to hide if you see me start to kill my noble family.”

“Nonsense. If you attack, I've got your back.”

“That is adorably clever, Alistair.”

He giggled. “Then I won't mention it was accidental.” He turned his head up and kissed her jaw. “Can I tell you something I don't like about myself?” he said.

“I find it hard to believe you don't like something about yourself.”

“See, I actually think the same thing about you,” he countered. He paused. “I'm really quite embarrassed about how I grew up. Well, not so much how, but...it’s embarrassing _you_ know how I grew up.” He stared at the fire. “Everything I know about...making camp is from figuring it all out on my own...when I was cold, or getting rained on...the cook always felt sorry me, always let me sneak in and play under the counters when she was busy. And...I compare myself to how you grew up; your father hired someone to teach you everything you know. I am...by all standards, very unworthy of you. I suspect your parents would disapprove of me. _Dirty little stable boy_ ,” he said. He squeezed her hand hoping she’d squeeze it back or lace her arms around him. Remembering his past always made him feel like he need a strong drink.

“So...we're both...perfectly imperfect?” she said. “Or imperfectly perfect?”

He tipped his head to look at her. “And perfect for each other,” he finished. “No matter what happens down the road. Or, maybe no matter what happens in Redcliffe. Or in Denerim. But...I like being able to take care of you. I _want_ to take care of you, and I _like_ to do it. So in a way, I'm very grateful I grew up figuring all this out on my own. Having you to use my skills on makes all that feel like it was worth it.”

She studied him and his words with a frown. He could practically see cogs and wheels turning behind her eyes as she thought.

Bodahn brought them over bowls of stew that he'd whipped up, and scraps for Po. “Hare and potato and wild pea stew, Messeres!” the dwarf announced. Alistair sat up.

“Hot stew?” his stomach pinched and grumbled at the idea.

“That it is!” Bodahn chuckled. “It's the least we could do. M'boy and I are glad for the company.”

“Thank you very much, Bodahn,” Tess said, sounding as grateful as Alistair felt.

“We'll kill a deer tomorrow, or something. Maybe another bear?” Alistair offered.

“Or a turt.”

Alistair nearly spilled his soup. “Yes! A turt!” he laughed. “Yes, after we settle in town, we'll go hunting, and have a proper feast.”

“I'm dying for some fish!” Tess said.

Bodahn gave a chuckle. “A feast does sound mighty good. I'll have m'boy bring over some bread and ale.” Alistair thanked the dwarf again.

“You like fish? Really?” Alistair asked Tess.

“I love it. I haven't had any in awhile. But when we get to Redcliffe, I'm setting the biggest forsaken net I can find, and I'm going to stay awake all night eating!” she declared. Alistair giggled and leaned over for a kiss.

“I guess I'll be enjoying fish from now on, too.”

“You don't _have_ to like it.”

“Somebody's got to stay up to monitor your strange hobbies,” he teased. “I might as well try to enjoy it.”

“Mmmm! Fish fried in bear fat!” she groaned.

“Stop it. I'm about to eat the bowl, too.” He could barely blow on his stew.

“I need to make a new bow," distracted already.

“Like that snap one? _Oh! No!_ I was going to make you one.” He took a bite of his stew. “Damn. I want another bowl.”

“You've barely touched that one.”

“But I already want more.” Sandal approached with a loaf of bread and two bottles of ale, and Alistair curiously thanked the boy, who backed away just as diffidently as he'd arrived. “Do you get the feeling there's more to Sandal than he or Bodahn lead on?”

“There is absolutely more to Sandal than is led on, but Bodahn doesn't understand the extent of it.”

“Then how do you know?” Alistair broke the bread in thirds, tossed one part to Po, and gave Tess the largest piece.

“Thank you. Er, I can feel the presence of lyrium in things. It sort of...sings…? Maybe that's the wrong word. It has a...vibration to it. I can smell it on Templars. Templars and mages are bad for me to be around. Chantries reek of it. Erm, but Sandal has that same sort of..lyrium... _song_...to him, I guess.”

“He reminds me of a Tranquil mage.”

“I think something like that happened to him. He's a brilliant enchanter, and lyrium for enchanting responds better to Tranquil mages because of their lyrium branding. I aim to find out those secrets one day.”

“How do you feel, speaking of lyrium?” he asked with a mouthful of bread. She hesitated to answer. “Tess...” he said. “I _need_ you to _talk_ to me about this. I want to help you get through this.”

She stalled again by taking a very large bite of stew. So Alistair waited patiently, even opened the ale for her so she could wash down her bread. Finally: “It hurts.”

“Hurts? Like how?”

“Like a headache, but all over. Inside my bones, even.”

“How come you didn't say anything? Morrigan can fix that, can't she?”

“No. It's just something that has to be.” She paused. “Well, I suppose maybe with blood magic it can be done with.”

“I'd rather not consider that.”

“Neither do I. I'm not really a big fan of magic in general.”

“How did you survive as a Templar recruit?” he mused.

“Lots of lyrium. Lots of it. There was this one fellow, he caught on to me. Eventually he smuggled out some extra lyrium, and we'd sneak down to the basement, where they kept the phylacteries. He was infatuated with one of the mages since he began there. We sort had this unspoken pact; he'd bring me lyrium and keep my secret, and I would keep his secret and protect the girl...”

“You have all the interesting stories, Tess.”

“That's a very nice way to put it.”

“ _This Circle_ \- as in that one?” he pointed north, but the fog over the lake blocked the view of the tower.

“Yes.”

“So they're going to love to see you again!” he laughed.

She grinned crookedly. “I'll probably get a lecture.”

“Did you know Wynne then? I never got around to introducing you at Ostagar.”

“I do. I was trying to avoid the mages, there.”

“I have the feeling we missed a lot of fun at Ostagar by trying to keep you away from people.”

“Hm. Yes, murder, betrayal, confession...”

He giggled through the soup around his tongue. “I don't think it counts as confession if you murder them first.”

“It does if you confess in the Canticles.” Alistair choked on his stew, and she just laughed at him as he had to clean up the dribble from his chin and shirt.

When they finished eating, they curled up together and shared a bottle of wine by the fire, facing the ghostly town beyond them. Alistair loved how her head fit perfectly into the crook of his neck, how she practically melted into his shape when they cuddled.

“Does Arl Eamon know about your little plan to become Empress of Orlais,” he teased, “and make me King of Ferelden and unite the countries?”

“When...you say it like that, I sound just like Cailan. That's exactly what he was planning to do.”

“Don't change the subject,” he joked.

“You're not king _yet_ , Messere Cheek,” she murmured, nestling deeper into him. He laughed loudly.

“Messere Cheek,” he echoed. “I think I like that.”

“No, Eamon does not know. But he will want you on the throne anyway. He will not take it himself.”

“He's actually a _better_ candidate for the throne than I am.”

“He's too old, his wife is Orleasian, and he's not high enough in title. And apparently he can't even run his own county.”

“Why tell Teagan but not Eamon?”

“Teagan has more balls than Eamon. He's the younger brother. Never married, never domesticated, more vain, not afraid to call people names when they do something stupid.” She wrapped her fingers around his hand to bring the bottle to her lips. “I was honestly going to kill Eamon and give Teagan Redcliffe. He has a very loyal following in the Bannorn.”

“You know, only a royal can change Arlship of other living people.”

“You will be king.”

“I'm talking about _you_ , not me.”

She groaned with a grimace.

“That's the exact same reaction I have whenever you bring up my birthright,” he told her. “How can you want to rule Orlais but not Ferelden?”

“Have you _been_ to Orlais? They have color, and public dancing, and a never-ending supply of fine wines and delicate cheese!”

“Why can't we just run away to Orlais, then?” he asked, but honestly thought he wouldn't mind it. “I would be a very happy man if I could die surrounded by cheese and fine wine. And you, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed. “I'm beginning to see where your priorities lie.”

He giggled. “I mean it.”

“Right. So if I stood naked, and a huge wheel of fresh, soft yellow cheese lie across from me on a bed of crackers, garnished with dill and parsley -”

“I really like where you're going with this,” he interrupted with a grin more devious than he knew he could feel.

“- with a side of sweet dessert blush, which would you pick?”

He laughed again. “Oh, wow! Okay, that was not at all where my mind went!” He admitted. He took another drink with a goofy grin stuck to his face.

“Oh?” she laughed playfully. “And just where did your mind go?”

He giggled, and nuzzled her hair. “I thought you were going to suggest I could have you and the cheese together. Put _you_ on the bed of crackers. Garnish _you_ with dill...and cheese...”

“When you mix your alcohol, you really get to the point, don't you?” she teased. He wedged his head under hers so he could kiss her skin.

“I can't help it if your naughty talk excites me,” he told her. “Especially with your legs wrapped around mine like this.”

“The first night in Lothering, you said you weren't ready to take off your clothes. Now you're talking about licking cheese off me.”

He giggled again. “It sounds amazing, doesn't it?” She tilted her head up to raise a brow at him, and he kissed her lips, sloppy and lingering. “It's actually not the...sex part that makes me nervous,” he whispered.

“Then what is?”

“I actually can't wait to get as close to you as I possibly can.” He slid his lips down to her neck. “I'm...worried I'll keep you waiting. Like what happened in the river.”

“Pleasure is a process.”

“That sounds utterly boring.” He gave her neck a very wet kiss.

“Only if it's done wrong.”

He released her neck with a loud slurp and looked at her face. “Are you trying to say I'm doing it wrong?”

“I never said that.”

He put the bottle to her lips. And then he took a big drink himself. “Then will you show me how to do it right?” he asked.

She froze. “Right now? Tonight?”

“I am ready right now,” he told her, kissing below where her jaw met her ear.

“Ready, or drunk?”

“I'm not drunk yet,” he said. “But...I can wait...if you don't want to scare Morrigan with my sounds of utter romance just yet.” She giggled hard, worming at his mouth pecking her neck. He giggled too. “Yes, I said _my_ sounds.”

“You're not usually so eager. Are you sure you're not drunk?”

“Of course I'm not. The ground only spins when I close my eyes.”

“Oh, wow!” she laughed.

“I’m joking, I’m joking!” Alistair giggled. “We’ve each only had one small bottle of ale and-” he held up the wine bottle against the firelight. “We’ve maybe had a glass and half-worth each. That’s hardly drunk. I mean, I don’t suggest letting me steer the wagon or anything,” he joked; she buried her giggle into his chest. “I wonder what Cailan would say if he know I was begging the woman _he_ always wanted to end my virginity?”

“You have a strange habit of thinking of people's brothers during moments of intimacy,” she said. Alistair laughed loudly, remembering the night before they reached Lothering.

“I'm very grateful neither of our brothers are here right now. I can't imagine it's appropriate to try to coax a nobleman's sister to bed,” he giggled.

“My brother would just laugh and call me a minx and promise not to hurt you unless you weren't worth my time.”

“Oh, no pressure then!” he laughed. He set the bottle aside and wound his arms around her, squeezing her into him. “Is that a yes, then?”

“I'm sort of surprised you're being so patient. Did you _plan_ this?”

“I did _not_ plan to _beg_ you to...is it still considered de-flowering if it's about a man?” he asked. Her eyes squinched with another laugh. “The point is,” he laughed with her, “that _no_ , I never planned this. I made you a promise last night. Do you remember what that was? I made you lots of promises, actually but one is particularly important right now.” He watched her face as he brushed his fingers down the back of her arm. His grinned in pride as she shuddered right into him; he knew that spot aroused her.

“You promised not to put that horrid stuff on me again?” she was playing, _testing_. Her hips and bosoms turned in more, her thighs widening to cover his whole lap.

“ _Hey_ , now,” he played back. “It's not horrid. It's just my slobbery tongue.” He gave a very sloppy lick up her neck, and she cringed around his face in another giggle. “Try again,” he said with a smile.

She made a noise as she closed her eyes. She swayed a little, relying on her arms around his neck. “You...said you were going to take a very wide swing and kill everybody at once.”

He laughed loud. “I suppose I could incorporate that into trying to seduce my noble pirate Lady.”

“ _Aye_ , Cap'n,” she drawled with a sexy snarl to her top lip. She made another noise as he took her by the hips and slid her over on to his lap. The good thing about small-clothes is that they kept things pretty much constrained. The bad part was they grew snug too quick and threatened to strangle him. “You said you made yourself hot trying to beg…” her eyes opened. “You're sort of doing the same thing now, aren't you?”

He just grinned at her. He ran his hands down up and down her hips in a tight squeeze. “It is definitely ringing a bell. What else?”

“Is it really my call if you seduce me?” she wondered, leaning in for a kiss.

“So it's working, then?” he sounded more hopeful than he intended. She crumpled against him in a fit of giggles. He held the back of her head and brought her back up to his lips.

“It sounds like a fairy tale. The Assassin and the Virgin.”

“That's one's a comedy, right?” he joked.

“The plot twist is amazing.” She gave another shudder when he whispered his touch at the back of her neck.

“The Virgin turns out to be _quite the lover_ , doesn't he?” he played his tongue at the seam of her mouth.

“He makes her scream so loud it frightens witches and Qunari away.”

His laugh was breathless, throaty. “That might just be my favorite story ever.” He just held her for a while, just a normal hug, warm and whole. With every breath of her rosy scent, he grew hotter, harder under her lap. “May I, Tess? Will you show me how to...make love to you?”

She trembled a little with a deep breath. She swallowed and nodded. “Yes,” she breathed. He slid his mouth up her neck, kissing her jaw, her chin before settling on her lips.

“I really need to get out of my smalls,” he told her. She giggled sheepishly; he couldn't help a matching smile. “The curse of being a man.” He kissed her again. “Would you grab a candle from the dwarf?” he asked. “Maybe two...or three...depending on how late you'll let me keep you up...” Her brows arched, and he grunted as his smalls tightened again. The idea of staying up all night to be romantic was daring indeed.

“I suppose this means Redcliffe will have to fend for itself, then,”she breathed quickly. He laughed.

“I think I can live with that,” he agreed. His hands slid down her backside, buttocks, thighs, calves, as she stood.

“Five candles?” she asked, watching him stand. His grin stretched so far it almost hurt.

“No pressure, right?” he joked. She gave a sly, yet shy smirk as she left him.

_Maker. He was doing this._

_Damn right he was doing this._

Alistair crouched into the tent. Part of him really wanted to let Tess take off his clothes, though undergarments be damned - he didn't want to rush this, but he couldn't take his time and enjoy her if his smalls were cutting off circulation. He unlaced his leather armor pants and yanked them off, and unhooked his chest armor. When he leaned out to toss them just outside the tent, Tess was returning. “Oh good, you're back. I need help.”

She gave a crooked smile of question. She carefully crawled into the tent with a single lit candle, stuck on a steel star-shaped base. “He only had four candles.”

“I _suppose_ that will have to do...” he pretended to mope. He closed the tent securely after she was in. “Now, back to what's important.” He set the lit candle where it would hopefully be out of the way. “I think my smalls work for the Chantry,” he said. He started untying his trousers.

“What?” she gave a little laugh. “Why do you say that?”

He took her hand to help him untie the strings. “They're trying to strangle me for having naughty thoughts.” She giggled hard, causing her to fumble at his pants. He dug his fingers between the laces when she got the knot loose, and pulled the weaves apart. She was very careful when she slid his pants down his hips, careful of his suffocating erection.

“You're exceptionally calm right now for a virgin raised by the Chantry,” she said as she untied the strings of his small-clothes.

“And you are exceptionally nervous for a woman who's had the Empress of Orlais and how many others. But that doesn't mean I want to know exactly how many, just to clear that up.” He stopped her shaking hands. “Was that yes real?” he asked. “Maker, _I_ should be this nervous, not you.”

“It's different. Everything is different with you.” She slid her fingers out of his hand and finished untying his smalls. He gave a groan of relief as the pain from the strings faded. She was quiet, staring at the part of him that he wanted to give her.

“What are you thinking? Why are you so quiet? Say something, please!” he begged quietly. “The suspense is killing me. Too big? Too small? Is something _wrong_?”

“I think you're beautiful.” She met his eyes with a very different gaze than she'd given him before. Vulnerable still, but conclusive. Assured. That look was a good enough answer for all of his questions.

He sat up and kissed her. He grabbed at her mages' gown and tugged until he had it up over her hips. He gave a little giggle when he freed her from the stretchy dress. “You stole chickens today without any underclothes on!” She laughed into her hands, turning a little pink as she nodded. He pulled her hands down and kissed her.

Alistair’s heart was pounding already. Every kiss rippled through his body, everywhere she touched spread warmth in little zaps. This felt so _natural_ \- _why did the Chantry ban this stuff?_ \- this felt _right_.

He broke from her only to yank his shirt up over his head, and then they just sat there. Both of them exposed, both of them powerlessly at the mercy of the other. Satisfaction would depend on pure honesty now, but Alistair would blindly pleasure. He wanted to know her inside-out, and he wanted to know what every possible graze and kiss felt like, what _everything_ felt like.

“You're trembling,” she whispered. Her breath teased his skin like a cool breeze, and only then did it register that he was so nervous he was starting to sweat.

“I don't want to mess this up,” he said. He looked all over her body. _Maker, she was so beautiful._ Even though he'd seen her naked before, even though he'd seen her colors and shapes, even though he'd seen her like this...

But Alistair _hadn't_ seen her like _this_. He had not been about to do what it took to melt her into a mess of love around his body. “Where do I start?” he asked. “What...what do you like first? Where…?”

She gave another sheepish smile. “I have a...weird thing...”

“A weird thing?” he asked.

“I...my ear. In my ear,” she elaborated.

“Your ear makes you…?”

“Can I show you? Only one person's gotten it right. It's how I knew I liked it. Most people get the wrong spot...”

“Sh-show me?” he nodded. The suspense was intense. She hesitated; he was glad she was anxious too. She straddled his thighs and slid; the head of his cock pressed between her curls and poked her in the belly.

She tilted his head; hot breath on the hollow of his ear made his groin clench with a  shiver down his spine. _He loved it already._ Her tongue was flat at first, then a small suckle of his earlobe. _Wet heat_ that magically triggered his limbs, his toes to curl. She trailed her tongue sluggishly up the edge of his ear, and struck at the top corner. Hidden fuses within his body went off successively with each new stretch of skin she conquered. He'd never imagined his _ear_ , of all things, could affect his body so. Her tongue circled the conch of his ear once, twice, a third sent another shiver down to his hips, then a single strike inside his canal. His whole body cinched up toward his erection. It was as if there was a straight line of gunpowder from his ear to his groin. Just the very tip of her tongue, flickering about like a lit wick inside sent flames right to his cock. Heat pulsed within his balls as if preparing for escalation. With her first two fingers, she took his earlobe and kneaded; a moan broke from his throat. Between the tugging, her knuckles grazing where his jaw met his ear, and the constant pecking of her tongue, Alistair was trembling. She tested how far she prod her tongue, while at the other ear she rubbed along the rim, pulling the top, then massaging the little flap over the canal. _Constant building warmth; he was ready, so ready for release._ The flickering brought out noises he didn't even know he could make. It was intense, a fast passion, growing stronger every moment. He was falsetto by her ear, and his _Little Templar_ lurched forward on his own for somewhere bury itself; his loins certainly thought he was in the act. Hot pressure climbed the length of his shaft. _Oh Maker, he was going to come!_ She pulled her tongue back to re-wet, but he pressed her tight against him. The plea from his throat was desperate; _the touch of another had never done this to him before._ The instant she danced her tongue back in, his sack flared and pumped. Seed rushed up his shaft, _a breathless curse as it pushed past the crown,_ and he erupted between their bellies. Hot, hard, _gushing,_ locked together by his hoarding arms. A falsetto grunt of gratitude.

Alistair recovered with his mouth hitched over her shoulder. He groaned when his entire body softened, allowing him a needed deep breath. “Maker's breath! You didn't even touch me down there!” he looked at the mess between their fronts. “Holy...” he met her eyes. “How did you learn this?”

“Par Vollen...” she bit her lip, almost looking guilty.

“Where the Qunari are?”

“I was...caught. They use foreplay to torture people. Spies, anyway, and I honestly don’t know if _they_ consider it foreplay. It didn't really go as they planned. I guess it works on Qunari well enough though. Apparently their skin is super-sensitive, so after awhile, they start begging, and they'll talk about anything. It's not common for the men to have silk fetishes. But...it didn't quite work on me the way they wanted. It just aroused me.”

He took another deep breath. “That's a messy way to torture people.” She laughed softly. He grabbed his shirt and wiped his spilt seed. “And what about the part you don't like?” he asked, relishing the feel of his spent cock against her soft middle.

“I don't dislike any part of it, but only inside...gets me off.”

“Does it make you...what...” he breathed hard. “er... _come?”_

“Yes. If it goes on long enough.”

“Longer than just now?” He reached up with both hands and gently pinched her tiny earlobes.

“I don't know. I just know I like the flicking.” Alistair took his thumbs and slid them up the rims of her ears. Instantly a shudder overpowered her from head to toe, curling her toward him at the shoulder and him with a moan like music to his ears. “Wait, wait, wait!” she breathed. He smiled, proud of himself for finding something she didn't know she liked.

“So you _do_ like that?” he marveled.

“I think it's just you.” Her eyes closed. Airy noises left barely parted lips. Alistair could see serenity spread through her face, a mix between yearning and contentment. _She enjoyed his touch._ The realization that a woman was sexually enjoying _his touch_ was incredible, and encouraging. _He wanted to do it more, do it better_. He brought his mouth to her neck and she gasped. His tongue tapered up toward her ear and her shoulders curled in deeper, her bottom clenching with a lift of her hips. _She radiated heat from her core;_ he twitched between their bellies with a groan. _This was going to be a long night_.

He closed his mouth over her earlobe and sucked with his tongue. The desire to do more, make her tremble again drove him to try something new. Alistair wanted to _taste her,_ feel her skin under his tongue, he wanted to swallow her scent. She hissed when he bit down. “Too rough?” he breathed. She shook her head with a tremble in her laugh. _Not at all_ , she said; he slid a hand around and tickled the base of her neck. She gripped his back as soon as his breath glazed over the core of her ear, and the last of her nails dug in when he dipped his tongue. _Flickering_. Her thighs gave a shudder and tightened around him, emanating even hotter against his erection. Breath left him in a moan; _is this what she had felt like when she did this?_ All this power in just a few strokes, without ever laying a finger on her intimacies. Breathing, tasting, _whispering right into her skin._ He wondered what other ordinary parts of her could be enticed with the right touch.

Alistair dropped his other hand from her ear and trailed it down the crook of her neck. Two fingers drew across her collar bone, still scouring her ear with his tongue. She curled in deeper still with a sigh as his fingertips spiraled around her shoulder; a whimper and a tremble as he kept tracing. Arms outstretched to their side, fingers grazing down past the spot that made her shudder, and shudder again just above her elbow, causing her to draw her wrist in toward him. Alistair left her ear for only a moment, meeting her eyes before planting a single kiss on the inside of her elbow.

She gasped his name, eyes flying to his; _pleasure she did not expect_ , there was no mistaking that look. Swiftly their lips locked, and while she kissed him hard, he remained slow. _No need to rush, not tonight, not this_. He dropped airy kisses around to her other ear, and she cradled his head with hers. Alistair continued his survey on her skin, traveling the underside of her forearm. She gasped again when he found the low side of her wrist; caressing small circles summoned another gasp and whine. He feathered the veins at the center of her wrist, drawing the creases that countered the path of her blood, finally following her veins up into her palm. His own fingers tingled when theirs matched and aligned. The arm over Alistair’s shoulder trembled when he turned his hand and traced between her knuckles; he retraced his path, glossing over and over, spending the next moment memorizing this little stretch of skin under his fingertips. She hung her head at his shoulder, the tip of his tongue still lashing in her ear. Her hips ground against him, and his responded in kind, his erection brushing up through plush lips and thick curls, pushing against her the soft pouch of her belly. He flickered his tongue a little faster, trying to mimic a candle flame dancing in a breeze. She whimpered for him, her need for more calling his fingers from the back of her neck down her spine.

Alistair’s head was spinning. _Maker, this was intense_. He could hear nothing but the song of their breath; hers stormy, steaming up his collar; his catching, tying to listen to hers. Her entire skin had been made for his touch. One hand on the back of her arm, the other at her back, he capered the very tips of his fingers as far apart as he could reach. Snaking, dizzying circles, raking back up to press in and drag back down. He spun his caress from her arm to the very center her chest and traced the bone between her breasts, then pressed on her back to draw her up and open to him. They both gasped when Alistair found a nipple.

 _He’d never done this before._ Staring at her breasts was so different than _touching_ , than _feeling them in his hands._ As if Alistair wasn’t already fascinated by the shapes of her body, the curve of her breasts - _the silk beneath his fingers_ , _the way her breath quickened when his nail grazed over and between the tiny mounds of her nipple, the whimper when he pinched -_ Alistair was completely enraptured. They weren’t just for babies or for looking pretty. _Touching them made her feel good._ He would never get over this.

He pursed his mouth and gave her tragus a suck, then a nibble, swallowed to wet his tongue and tickled it back into the canal. His fingers worked on their own, kneading, pinching, _as if his hand were made for her body._ Her hips rocked faster, a steady pace that hugged his desire; she was wet down there, and she painted him with every rise and fall.

He needed more hands. _Maker,_ he did. He wanted to touch _everywhere, everything._ Alistair wanted time to freeze right here right now. could spend all night tracing and plucking, tripping over his own fingers to grab as much as he could at once; his own nipples and areolae didn’t feel this inviting, this soft. His other fingers brushed up and down at the small of her back to the rhythm of her hips; up when she arched in, down when she pushed out. He ran his tongue down the seam of her ear and along her jaw, and when his stubble grazed her neck her whole body shivered in his hands. His breath caught in his throat when realization sunk in; _he did this to her_. She was unraveling in _his_ hands, _simply his hands_. _Maker, he wanted all of her_.

Alistair tasted her neck once more. He took his hand from her breast and held the back of her head, bracing the small of her back at the same time. He held a kiss to the hook of her collar as he lowered her, spreading his legs to lay her perfectly between his limbs. His lips skipped down her chest as he set her in place, her fingers cradling his head. He stole a glance at the candle; down to a third of what it had been. _Alistair_ trembled on her lips as he leaned over to replace it. Alistair smiled when he turned back to her; she was nearly down to a third of what she had been, as well.

“Was that too much?” he asked. She shook her head. Her breasts rose and stuttered back down dramatically with each breath. She was completely at his will. So vulnerable she almost looked afraid. _Afraid was not how this should be though._ “Are you _scared?_ Did I do something wrong?”

She shook her head, then nodded, then tried both looking utterly conflicted. “How-”

“How...did a Chantry boy melt an assassin?” he hoped was her question. He massaged his hands downward, his hips bucking as he pressed over her breasts, over her soft middle. “Or...how did a dirty little stable boy become worthy of a beautiful noble woman?”

Her lips quivered, and tears pressed out the corners of her eyes, rolling down her temples into her hair. “No one has ever wanted to know so much of me before,” she whispered. “It's...”

“A little scary,” he finished for her. She nodded. “I know.” She was trembling everywhere. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

She wiped her palms across her eyes. “No. It’s just new. All of it.”

Alistair felt the scars he'd set yesterday. “Do they hurt?” She shook her head. He watched her face while he traced her navel. She closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to correct her breathing. He moved just his fingertips down past her belly button, and she gave a squirm and a breathless giggle as he neared her curls. “ _Oooh_ , did you _feel_ that?” he teased. She giggled again, harder when he played with that whole stretch of skin.Then she whined in frustration, and he understood; it was an arousing tickle, a torturous tickle. Every brush of his fingers drew a mewl from her. When he didn't stop, she reached down and in frustration pushed his hand south past her curls.

Hot moisture took him by surprise. _Alistair_ was the one catching air now. No one had told him about this part, he’d never eavesdropped about this. _Slick, creamy, opening at his touch_. He watched her face while he felt around, tangling his fingers in curls of rough silk, pressing and rolling around plush folds. Her scent rose up from his tumbling fingers and _stretched_ him; _the scent of her sex excited him_. Breath escaped him when he found a hole - _the_ hole; _Maker, he found it, this is where he belonged_ \- and they both held breath when he slipped a finger inside of her; her walls closed _tight_ with a pulse of her hips. Alistair held her thigh as he prodded around inside, her hips squirming around him. She reached down and moved his lubricious fingers to a little nub beneath her curls. With closed eyes and breath uneven, she motioned to _push,_ then made a circle with her forefinger. He obeyed her silent command, laying pressure until her thighs shuddered violently around him. _Sweet Maker! She came with direct access to pleasure,_ like a... _shortcut_ button; it _was_ a pleasure button, right? _Why didn’t the Maker give these to men?_ He pushed harder; his nail accidentally caught but instead of yelping in pain like he expected, she cringed toward him and whined - _good sounds, pleasure sounds. Andraste guide him, he hoped he was doing this right_. He rubbed in tiny circles, plucking - _rough seemed to be better here_ \- shining the little mound, the harder he pushed the more unrestrained her moans and whimpers. When his fingers caught on drying skin, he re-wet them inside of her and circled again. The same motions he'd used on her wrist, her shoulder, her breast.

Alistair strayed from her thigh to push back her curls, tangling his fingers while he tried to peek in. “Why don't _I_ have one of these?” he joked quietly. She burst into a breathless ripple of laughter, mewling between giggles as he worked his thumb. He found...the head of it, he supposed; caressing it, skimming with his nail made her hips jerk and tug in all directions, even leaving the bedmat away from him. _She was eager._ It was amazing to know she could be unmade enough for instinct to take complete control over her body, _that he could un-make her._ He pushed on her hip where her thigh met, wet his thumb, and massaged again. _That one little spot was incredible!_ He had her entire life in his hands right now.

Her thighs stuttered and jerked like the ground itself was opening. She muttered _please_ and a string of _no_ and tried to hide her face from him. Alistair’s breath fled him; _Holy Maker, she was coming._ _Her whole body shook._ Why did she try to hide? “Look at me,” he pleaded. He wanted to see her. _Maker_ , he wanted to see the look in her eyes when he set her on fire. “ _Please_ look at me?” She shook her head so he grabbed her arm away; his cock throbbed at the desperation on her face. But she still didn’t look at him. He slid his fingers down her arm to the back of her hand, and while he wet his thumb again he lightly brushed between her knuckles and over the dips between each finger. She looked at their hands, and finally met his gaze. He pressed on the sensitive little knot; her jaw quivered with her thighs. He thumbed, strummed her _harder, quicker_ until she howled a whimper and _leaked_ around his hand; trickling, a surge of heat glossing the fingers tangled in her curls. He gasped, the veins in his shaft throbbing almost painfully to join her climax. Alistair had made her orgasm. _He_ did this.

Awe and affection surged in him and he trembled with her as he pulled her up into his arms. She was limp, spent like an old doll. He took her head in one hand and kissed her, slowly sliding his hand along her jaw toward her chin. She was a hot mess of melted beauty, and _he_ had made her that way. _He’d never known he could do this someone; finally something Alistair the stable boy - Alistair the lousy Templar had done right. He hadn’t known he could make someone feel like this, and he hadn’t expected to feel like this about someone._

While they kissed, her hand found his erection; Alistair bit back a hiss of desire. _Warmth, stroking, feeling his shape -_ she wanted _him._ Her fingers circled his crown – circling, all over again – and it bucked him. He cursed under his breath between kisses but was cut short. Her hand enclosed him, _firm, controlling,_ and she rose above his lap. Alistair froze and met her eyes. She was fluid, both in movement and around him, _hot, slick, smothering,_ stealing his breath in a sheath of incomparable pleasure.In that single moment, _he became absolutely hers_.

He felt drunk, dizzy in sensation. She rocked in his lap, arms draped over his shoulders. She was _heat_ and accepted all of him without question, arching her hips in while she rose, each fall creating sounds of yearning and raw love from them both. Alistair found his rhythm within hers, kissing with gaping lips. He forced himself to continue his trail of touch, grazing his fingertips down her back while she pressed into him from every angle. She shivered as he coursed his open mouth past her jaw, down her neck, _breathing_ on her to the pattern of his heart; or maybe it was _her_ heart he heard. Rocking faster brought his hands to her hips, his own hips responding with the same enthusiasm, _pulling, shoving, whimpers through bit lips -_ and for a moment Alistair hoped his seed would plant, give her a reason to stay with him forever. He nipped at her collar with a moan, nudging her back with his face, retreating just to push back through her folds - _to push back home_. He gathered a breast and tasted her, almost forgetting to wet her before closing over her areola, grazing his teeth as he suckled. She gasped and his shoulders as she filled his mouth, _as he filled her_ , cupping with his tongue around silk, _plush perfection everywhere_. He held her hips firmly and took control, realizing his desire had been greater than he'd played it off in his state of wonder. Her other breast, unbound, bounced next to his face as he drove into her. Beautifully smothering himself in one pert bosom, he reached for the other and kneaded. Pressure surged in his groin; the faster he thrust the harder she milked him, the harder she squeezed faster, _deeper_ he needed to push. He balanced her against him with a push between her lilac crests. His voice broke against her breast in loud slurps as he grunted, forgetting all about suckling when she tightened again.

He reached around and grabbed the back of her shoulders, bringing her farther down around him each time he jerked his hips up. She was trying to quiet herself, but he didn't want her to. Alistair didn't care who heard; he hoped all of Ferelden could hear what the _stable boy_ was doing to her. _Growling_ , _stretching, growing heat in his balls;_ his head fell between her bosoms as he concentrated on release. _This was incredible. Why had he waited for this?_ His mind was blank save for _passion, elevation, primal pleasure._ She grew louder and certainly crushed him, but she wasn't quivering yet. He sneaked his hand in between their bodies; _they were sopping wet_. His tongue slopped around her breasts while dripping skin slopped at their cores. She stretched and pulled to welcome him, _greedy, sucking, breath in huffs as she bounced on his lap_ , every motion and sound further waxing his approaching tide. His thumb kept pace with his hips and he buckled with stolen breath when she squeezed him again, _tighter_ , _hotter_. Alistair felt his sack ready, constrict, _rising heat on the verge of eruption_. She broke in a wail, frozen like an arch and pleasure that stole in gasps and he pushed _harder_. Hot pressure fired up through his cock and exploded within. His own hips stuttered as he spilled out; a whining grunt loud enough to be explanation itself. _Yes, her. Absolutely her. Maker, thank You._ He kept her locked in while his balls finished thrumming.

Neither of them moved for a while. Alistair didn’t know what to do besides hug her. He wanted to keep her there, where they locked in love. Otherwise his mind was blank. Nothing in life had ever come close to this, to what she did for him just now. He pressed his lips to her sweaty shoulder, grateful for _everything,_ grateful for _her._ Tess tried to sit back but swayed with drooping eyes, and Alistair caught her before she could slide from his arms; _a content sigh as he slid from her hearth_. He dropped to his back, cradling her to him as he lie still. Her breath at his neck matched his, her heart thundered against his own. _Most incredible night of his life._ Alistair was glad he'd waited; he couldn't imagine it feeling quite the same with some random tavern girl. Her fingers played with the hair on his chest, and he moaned and kissed her forehead. _If only he could stay like this forever._ He tickled his fingertips down her back, her arm, smiling in pride to himself that he could still make her wiggle after she was spent thrice over.

Tess reached over with her other arm. Alistair peeked when he didn't feel anything. She was dragging three fingers between her own knuckles, but apparently she didn't get the results she wanted; she made a noise of discontent and rubbed frantically. A laugh flowed from Alistair with a weightlessness he'd never known before. “Not the same?” he teased.

She scoffed. “How -?” Alistair laughed again when she gave up. He pulled her in closer and fleeced his fingertips along he same path he'd taken before, in the canyons between her knuckles and fingers. A silent sigh heated his collar.

“You really like that?” he asked.

She nodded with a little noise. Her breath was evening out against him. “Do you know how many times I've done that to myself? Rubbed off dirt, or tried to massage away the pain when I've hit something too hard?” she asked. Alistair gave a giggle, and brought her hand up to kiss her palm. “It never feels like this when I do it.”

“Speak for yourself. Your tongue in my ear made me spill all over us,” he recalled with a lopsided grin.

“That was very exciting.”

Alistair laughed softly. “Yes, it was. I can't wait to see what else we can do to each other.” He turned his body over to face her, pressing in for a kiss. She melted into him all over again; _pride, completion, together._ He skimmed the back of his fingers down her side, squeezing the curves of her hip as he trailed past. The feeling of her thigh in his hand sent a surge through his _Little Templar_ ; calling it that just made him giggle, now.

Her mouth hitched in a gasp when he grazed the underside of her knee. Alistair couldn't help the grin spreading on his face, and she laughed breathlessly in the same realization. His teeth found her lip, feeling rather devilish knowing he'd found more of her to play with.

_It was going to be a long night indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intimacy inspired by: [ Unconditionally, by Katy Perry](https://youtu.be/XjwZAa2EjKA) and by: [this Grey Warden Alistair image ](http://67.media.tumblr.com/b8527667cf7e189629ed0189a53a37b3/tumblr_nqx9vtVzpA1qizglmo1_1280.png) (by [kerflufflecat](http://kerfufflecat.tumblr.com) via [this screenshot post](http://kerfufflecat.tumblr.com/post/123129851164) ) and also [ this DAO screenshot](http://replicajester.tumblr.com/post/131940094031/i-cant-stop-loving-him-3-3-3)
> 
> [ Aesthetics ](http://replicajester.tumblr.com/post/142345216251/alistairs-first-night-aesthetics-etaeternum-my) compiled by me, images courtesy of [ Katy Perry's "Unconditionally" video](https://youtu.be/XjwZAa2EjKA) and random tumblr stock images.


	14. Jealistair returns to Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Tess acquire a golem-control rod. The party arrives in Redcliffe and Alistair gets a little excited over cheese. Even though Tess begins to show her true nature when they meet Teagan, Alistair marks his territory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW imagery within.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> Tess: [Mz Hyde, by Halestorm](https://youtu.be/j2OD-dV7j_I)

The candles held out until the early gray of sunrise. Tess had fallen asleep long before, but it took Alistair what seemed like ages before he realized his pulse just wasn't going to slow. Not anymore. Not around her. He decided to treat his pounding heart like a song, her breathing the singer, only then was he able to fall asleep. Within their song.

He wasn't sure how long he'd actually slept, but before he was ready to wake, Morrigan's voice disturbed them both. Alistair vaguely remembered threatening something about being a Templar and knowing how to banish mages.

Alistair certainly didn't want to start his day yet though he knew they had to; still the forsaken Blight to deal with. He closed his eyes again but caressed the bare woman next to him in places that had made her squirm the most. It didn't take long for her to slide up over him, waking him in her own perfect way. With everyone clearly up and moving around, the struggle to keep quiet was perspiring, especially when they grew frantic for completion. The peak of climax was the hardest noise to quell, but Alistair found he didn't really care. They wasted even more time after while their skin cooled beneath clumsy morning hands.

The party was awkwardly silent while Alistair and Tess ate and gathered up their part of camp. Tess apologized to everyone for any _disturbances_ they may have caused during the night. Leliana was the only one who approved, saying it was good to know some Fereldens didn't hold back when it came to lovemaking. Morrigan scoffed and complained, _inappropriate_ and  _sounds that belong in a brothel_. Sten disapproved regarding the proximity, but also commented it was odd that humans weren't louder; apparently Qunari intimacy was rough and very loud. Alistair refused to look at anyone but Tess for a very long time.

Late summer was always hardest to travel in. Alistair and Tess, along with Po, led the wagon party. Mornings were easiest, cooler air and sweet breezes carrying scents of waking summer blossoms and dewy grass. By evening the air had grown unbearably hot, and though Sten was used to warm weather they were all grateful they had the lake to camp along. Days ended with dips in cool lake water and plenty of mead around the fire.

Alistair and Tess kept their own campfire away from the others - much farther actually, _out of earshot_ of the others. Alistair could never wait to set up camp, time for privacy with Tess never came quick enough. Sometimes he felt  _too_ eager but she seemed to enjoy his touch. Long nights -  _Alistair blamed it on Grey Warden stamina_ \- usually left them rising after the others, but Alistair had no regrets. His whole life he'd been ignored and rejected, but not with Tess. Knowing he  _didn't_ annoy her _and_ she genuinely like his company was awe-inspiring in itself. Peaking off with her in a sweaty mess of love and passion because she craved his affections left him breathless in wonder every time. Alistair never knew life could be like this. It was a little frightening to just _give_ himself so freely to someone, but _she made him feel whole_ , her hands on his bare skin warmed his whole body, her mewls filling the air around him like the sweetest song as he crashed his way way home between her legs.  He felt  _needed_ and  _loved_ for the first time in his life; the things he'd always wanted.

Nights were a tangle of limbs and love, and daytime always left them a mess of giggles. Alistair and Tess never had enough to talk about; he didn't mind, of course, she wanted to talk to _him_ all day, that's what mattered. Alistair finished carving another polearm for Tess as they walked, and by the time they all stopped to share lunch under shade trees one day, she was comfortable enough to test her leniency. She rapped Alistair's ankles and challenged his reflexes, forcing him to hurry his meal and stow his shield and sword on the wagon so he could keep up with her. Alistair  _loved_ this, she was more fun to play with than any toy or imaginative childhood friend. 

The sun was hot above them. Late-afternoon the fifth day, they spied a turned-over wagon beyond the turn towards Redcliffe. Tess stopped to stare off in the distance at the wagon. After while, Alistair sighed at her. He told Bodahn and the party to stop and wait for them. As soon as Alistair agreed to go check out the downed wagon with her, she bolted. She ran like she hadn't been immobile just days before with severe withdrawal. Po kept pace with her like it was no trouble at all. With the polearm in her hands, she looked like a predator on the hunt. Alistair ran his fastest to keep up, having to remind himself that she was indeed a predator, a hunter at heart.

“ _Maker's breath! I'm unarmed!”_ a very frightened man yelled out when they arrived so suddenly.

Alistair read the sign at the clearing; Sulcher's Pass. Two narrow roads met here, along with the narrow one they'd followed here. As far as he knew, Sulcher's Pass wasn't close to anything, more of a high road that traveled north along the eastern pass upon the Frostbacks.

“Are you going to kill me?” the man asked.

“That depends on if you're going to pay me to do it.” Tess bartered.

“What?” Alistair and the man asked at the same time.

“I'm joking. It was a joke. A...” she took a deep breath. _“An assassin joke.”_

Alistair hesitated, then laughed. “I get it.”

“Who are you?” Tess asked the man. “What are you doing out here?”

“I'm – a merchant. Felix de Groisbois. I'm...have you seen an elf?”

“An elf? No. We were on our way to Redcliffe. We only now just came off the road.” Alistair looked around. “How did your wagon turn?”

“Something spooked our mule. I sent the elf to go find it.”

“Where do did you come from?” Tess asked.

“We just come from Honnleath. _Hey_ , you wouldn't happen to know anyone interested in a control rod would you?”

“A control rod?” Alistair echoed. Tess perked up.

“Like for a golem?” she pipped. Alistair gave her curious glance over.

“Sort of an out-the-blue question,” Alistair said.

“Yes, for a golem. I bought this control rod off this lady, but it doesn't work. The golem's in Honnleath, just standing there. The blimey phrase to activate it doesn't work.”

“Why are you offering to just _give_  a golem away?” Alistair asked.

“Don't complain! I _want_ one!” Tess hissed.

“Of course you want one,” Alistair said. “Would you like a Paragon, too, while we're at it? Or a dragon?” he asked. “ _Wait! Don't_ answer that. Of _course_ you also want a dragon.”

She beamed at him. He failed to hide a smile. He sighed, and turned to the man. “Before I accept this thing -” Tess nearly squealed beside him “- why were you sold a golem's control rod in the first place?”

“The owner's wife sold it. Supposedly killed the owner, a mage.”

“Maybe it was a _Templar_ -Golem,” Tess joked. Alistair stared at her.

“As cool as that sounds,” Alistair agreed, “golem's are supposedly huge. If this one really killed its owner, do we really want to take the chance of it turning on _us_?”

“I'm sure we'll be fine. You have quite a knack for calming dangerous things,” she meant herself.

“Right. Of course I do. _Wait!_ I didn't agree to this yet!” Alistair stopped the man from handing Tess a long brass scepter. “ _Why_ are you just giving it away?”

“Because I can't get anyone to buy the blasted thing!” the Felix fellow said. Tess was practically bouncing in anticipation. Again, Alistair sighed. He held his hand out, and the man quickly parted with it. He gushed out something about an activation phrase and gushed a strange word, and then he ran off.

Alistair stared speechless after the man. “Did you catch that?” he asked Tess.

“Nope.” she said as if a missing activation phrase wasn't really an issue.

He looked at the rod in his hand. Might almost pass for a mages' staff. He looked at his woman, and reluctantly held it out.

This woman, this threatening prowler with the battle arms of a tornado and a fascination with blood and bones and stabbing – _his_ woman – jumped up and down with a bursting grin and a squeal that echoed around them. She snatched it and bounced and jumped high enough on him to wrap her legs around his waist. _“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”_ she squeaked, hugging him tight.

He couldn't help but laugh, and despite the potential future dangers, he was glad that silly brass staff made her happy. It was good to see the carefree, laughing girl he knew was in there. He locked his hands under her bottom as a seat. “So, with this wonderful new surprise present, you're going to share my bed when we get to Redcliffe, right?” he teased.

She leaned back, keeping her arms around him. “What happened to the blushing boy from Ostagar?” she fought a smile. He grinned and stole a kiss.

“A foul-mouthed noble Lady happened.”

“Hm," her lips pursed, "I may have to have a word with this suspicious wench.” He laughed again and she smiled sweetly. She pressed in for a kiss, sweet and lingering. “Thank you, even though you don't really want a golem with us.”

“If it makes you happy, then I believe that's in the best interest for all of Thedas. But I think I'm going to draw the line at dragons, though.”

“But _Alistair_ ,” she pouted. He laughed.

“No! You're not using that one one me!” he stole a glance at their caravan, keeping his grip steady beneath her.

“But dragons might be cute.”

“Nope. Because next it will be _Oh, Alistair, look! A rabid halla!_ and then _Alistair! A whole litter of stray werewolves!_ and _Oh, Alistair, look at this adorable malefecar!”_ he joked falsetto. She giggled sheepishly. “See?” he grinned. “I know your motivations _exactly_. It's why you like _Morrigan_ so much. The more dangerous, the better.”

“How did you know I want a dragon?”

“Speculation,” he shrugged, “based on that night in Ostagar. You mentioned _time-travel magic_ and _gryphons_. You seemed genuinely sad you couldn't have one. You were _really_ drunk off Cailan's rainbow-juice.”

She stifled a laugh so hard she snorted, and he stopped moving to hug her tight into him. There was no way he could adore her more. He kept her up off the ground, not wanting to let her go. He honestly wanted to stay there and just hug her forever. He pressed his lips to the pinch of her ear, and she gave a sweet moan. “Can we hurry up and get to Redcliffe so we can commandeer a bed for two?” she murmured.

He grinned. “As my Lady commands,” he agreed.

She groaned. “With a hot bath!” she added.

He dropped her with a quick kiss. “Last one there has to explain to the Arl what we're doing in his private chambers!” he took off running.

“What?!” she yelled with a laugh. “I happen to have my own permanent quarters there, you know!”

He immediately turned around. “Do really?” He twirled his pike while he waited for her catch up.

“I do. I happen to be quite known amongst the nobles, you know.”

“I don't believe that for a second,” he teased.

“I even have my own Cousland wing of the royal palace. I'm quite famous through Thedas. _Infamous_ in Ferelden.”

“A darling little thing such as yourself?” he smirked.

“Is that _cheek?_ From the _King_ of _Ferelden?”_ she flirted.

He couldn't hide his smile. “You only get my cheeks if I get yours.” His face burned though, probably redder than hers. She grabbed his armor and pulled him in to hide her face in his neck. He laughed quietly as he held her.

Morrigan yelled over about a situation, and Alistair looked back to see a man approach their party. “I hate it when she's right,” he complained.

“She has her uses,” Tess said. Alistair held her pike with his, so he could grab her hand.

“Like what?” he challenged.

“Like scaring Templars.”

“Very funny,” he grinned. He leaned down to kiss her temple.

“This man says Redcliffe is in danger,” Morrigan greeted them.

“What?” Alistair looked from the witch to the man.

“I'm guessing you're not the reinforcements we asked Denerim for,” the man said.

Tess frowned as she looked the man up and down. “You're of the western bannorn.”

“Yes, I am one of Bann Teagan's guards. We came here from a Landsmeet -”

“A _what!”_ Tess screeched, dropping Alistair's hand to step forward. “That son of a bitch called a _Landsmeet_?!”

“Teyrn Loghain did Indeed. Bann Teagan was most unhappy. He was the only one to speak up against it.”

“Who are you?”

“Tomas -”

“Is Teagan here?” she interrupted.

“He is in the Chantry, with the rest of the townsfolk,” Tomas said.

“He's a dead man.” Tess immediately switched the control rod for her bow and daggers, and she took off running. Alistair called after her, hesitating only to toss the pikes in the wagon and grab his sword and shield. “I'm going to kill him, Alistair!” she yelled as she ran.

“What? Wait. Who is she?” Tomas asked.

“She's a Cousland. They're family. Or maybe enemies. I'm not really sure!” Alistair ran after Tess. He called back for the wagon party to keep up.

Tess remembered the village and rocks better than Alistair did. She practically flew down each steep walkway as if she knew the descent inflexibly. Po side-tracked from Alistair to urinate happily on a tree.

Alistair caught up to Tess as she slowed to a stubborn march up the Chantry steps. She pushed the heavy doors open like she was about to punish somebody. _“Teagan!”_ Her voice echoed throughout the hall like an angry war horn. _“Outside! Now!”_ she ordered.

Alistair recognized the brown-haired, crooked-nosed man who came toward them. The Bann seemed like the sort of man women would flock to. Teagan carried himself with confidence, and blue eyes flashed curiously toward Tess. “What are you going to do?” Alistair asked quietly.

“Slap my cousin. Maybe break his nose.”

“I take it you're here on your own, considering you're mundane choice of armor,” Teagan greeted Tess. He didn't give Alistair more than a passing glance.

Tess was not amused. She grabbed Teagan's leather-reinforced noble attire and jerked the man, about as tall as Alistair – a good deal taller than Tess – outside. She let the Chantry doors slam behind her.

“Good to see you too, cousin. I was starting to worry. You don't send me postcards anymore.” Teagan said smugly. Alistair immediately saw where Tess got her attitude about her own nobility from.

“You had _one job_ , you _idiot!”_ she cried.

“One of us had to stay in Ferelden while the other was off tromping off in silk and glitter, drunk off Orleasian champagne,” Teagan said. “In case you aren't aware, Cailan is dead, and Loghain has claimed himself King of Ferelden.”

“And where the blazes have _you_ been that Redcliffe _and_ Cailan fell?” she retorted.

The two of them had suspicious interactive behavior. Neither was afraid of the other. Alistair had enough sexual tension with Tess to understand what he was seeing, but the tension between her and Teagan was bitter, unloving. Teagan didn't look away from her eyes, nor her his. Alistair didn't like this one bit.

“I wasn't at Ostagar. I couldn't have prevented Cailan's death. He didn't even listen to his father when Maric was still alive. Why would he listen to me?”

“What about Highever?” she demanded. “Almost two months ago, _I_ woke up to my home in _flames_ , Teagan! How could _you_ not have done something?”

“I'm only one person, Tesslyn. I can't be everywhere, and when I travel I only hear things after the fact.” Teagan paused and looked her up and down; Alistair frowned. “Highever burned nine weeks ago. If you were there, where have you been since?”

“I was _conscripted!_ My dying father gave me to the Grey Wardens, and _I_ was lucky enough to hear Cailan's long-professed love after he said he told _me_ to fix his mistakes! I have been through a _fire_ like you can't even imagine, Teagan! Now I repeat: you had _one job! What happened?”_

Teagan didn't flinch. It appeared the two were used to treating each other in such way. “I've been in Denerim until ten days ago, I only arrived here yesterday,” he finally softened his voice. “The Grey Warden compound was turned over, every reserve was turned over. I rode straight there when I heard about the stir at the border. Loghain turned away the Orleasian Grey Wardens.”

“Wait a moment, what do you mean _turned over?”_ Alistair asked.

Teagan finally looked at him, and then did a double-take with an obvious look of recognition and surprise. “Alistair?”

“Yes.” Alistair was a little annoyed, though. Teagan's reactions so far to Tess made him feel very defensive, like he ought to be protecting his territory. “I remember you, Bann Teagan. Though it's been awhile. I was a lot younger, then. And covered with mud.”

Teagan gave a little laugh. “Yes, I remember. That was a very long time ago.” Teagan studied him. “You look remarkably like your father and brother now.” His attitude toward Alistair was much different, friendly even. For a split moment, Alistair wondered if taking Tesslyn's side this time was wrong.

“So Tess tells me.”

“Tess?” Teagan echoed in interest, looking over to Tess. She was staring at nothing. “So the plan changes, then? Have you told him?” he asked Tess.

“That she plans to put me on the throne? Yes.”

“There's only one person she freely allows to address her so uncommonly.”

Alistair whipped right back to disapproval. “Her family, yes. She told me.”

Teagan gave a laugh, empty this time. “The only person Tesslyn truly considers to be her family is her brother.”

“Then let it be a clear indication of where the boundaries lie,” Alistair indirectly claimed Tess.

“Indeed.” Teagan agreed coolly. “And how long has _this_ been going on?”

“We didn't come here to discuss her unavailability. You said the Grey Warden compound had been turned over? What did you mean?” Alistair stood with his arms crossed.

“Am I to take this as _you're_ a Grey Warden, then?” Teagan asked.

“We both are,” Alistair confirmed.

“Maric would be pleased. He had great respect for the Grey Wardens," Teagan praised.

“So I'm told. What happened in Denerim?” he pressed.

“Just as stubborn as Cailan, I see.”

“Is going to happen the rest of my life? Is my _death_ going be compared to Cailan's, as well?” he asked. “This is ridiculous.”

“Just tell us, Teagan,” Tess insisted.

“I don't know where the Grey Warden headquarters is exactly. Only Grey Wardens know.”

“Then how was it overturned?" Alistair asked.  

“It's only a rumor but I believe it.  I heard something about documents and a potion, word of Loghain ranting about Wardens the whole time. But _other_ things were overturned as well, things I _do_ have access to. The treasury has been lightened and Loghain and his men newly refitted, large allowances permitted to the mysterious new Arl of Denerim. And Anora just stands there and dismisses any suspicions why her father returned without a scratch while reporting the King was mauled.”

Alistair met Tess' gaze. “Maybe we need to go to Denerim first.”

“If Eamon were well, that might actually be wise. I could potentially receive a hefty bounty for both of you right now.” Teagan smirked, clearly joking but in poor timing and poor subject.

Tess frowned and shoved Teagan in the chest, drawing a dagger. Alistair didn't flinch, and neither did Teagan. “You don't want to do that.”

“I _do_ want to, _yes,”_ he even laughed a little.

“But you  _won't_ because you _need_ me.”

“How unfortunate we're late to the party,” a familiar voice said. Alistair grimaced, glancing over to see Morrigan, Leliana and Sten.

“Where are the dwarves?” Alistair asked.

“They stayed up by the windmill,” Leliana said. “The path was too steep for the wagon, and they don not wish to leave their belongings unattended.”

Teagan didn't seem surprised to see Tess with such a diverse party. “Well, I hope you've come to help.”

“You never answered me. Your job was to watch Redcliffe. What happened here?”

“I am unsure,” Teagan said. “Many of the citizens are missing. Waves of undead have been attacking the town, apparently. Something strange is going on in the castle.”

“Undead?” Morrigan came over. “Magic is surely at work, and not the respectable kind.”

“There are no mages here, though,” Teagan said.

“I'm quite certain Morrigan knows what she's talking about.” Tess finally sheathed her dagger. She and Alistair shared a silent conversation, long enough for Teagan to repeatedly look between the two of them in expectation.

“We need to see him first, if that's what you really want,” Alistair told Tess gently. “He can help at least with the bounty.”

“What do you mean _first_?” Teagan looked from Alistair to Tess, and Alistair returned the look in just as much interest.

“There's a part of the plan she hasn't told you?” This was proof enough she didn't trust Teagan.

“And you think you know her well enough to know her plans?” Teagan shot back.

“I'm confident I know her better than you do.”

“Better than the Empress does?” Teagan was trying to get under his skin.

“I'm positive of that. Are you going to help us get in the castle or not?”

“Does this happen _all_ the time, Tesslyn?” Morrigan asked curiously.

“No. Usually when people start to mouth off, I quickly make them unable to," Tess told the witch.

“And yet _Alistair_ still lives.”

“Indeed,” Teagan agreed.

“Alistair doesn't resemble the less-respectable side of my bloodline.” Tess shot a glare to Teagan. “You know what? Just go back to cowering. I'll figure this all out by myself, just like I have everything else in the past.” She started to walk off, and Alistair immediately followed.

“That's what you always wanted, isn't it Tesslyn? Your very own king wrapped around your finger.” Teagan said after them.

Tess turned and walked backwards. She looked remorseful, however. “That future passed us both by long ago, Teagan. Even if you married a Queen, we'd still try to strangle each other every night. You are always going to be the angst of Ferelden, and I will go where the Maker urges me to, just as I always have done. It is no coincidence it is Alistair instead of someone else. I truly believe that.” She turned around again, and Alistair took her hand. He caught glimpse of Teagan rolling his eyes before letting Tess lead him away.

“The castle actually happens to be up the hill, cousin,” Teagan called.

“Priorities first! I want a damned fish!”

“Yes, of course. Whatever devilry is going on at the castle can wait.”

“Welcome to my domestic life, Alistair.” Tess said unexcitedly.

Alistair smiled. “I suppose as long I only have to see them every holiday, I can manage.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes, I am talking about the King thing. And the Queen thing.”

“You were very assertive with him.” She led him up the docks.

“I don't like the way he reacts to you. Isn't this the old store?” he asked as they approached a door. They hesitated when she pushed the door open. It was a wreck, as if it had been scavenged.

“It used to be...”

“So...Redcliffe has been down for awhile...” Alistair concluded. “Is it possible Teagan was involved in this?”

“I doubt it. He was going to get Redcliffe anyway. How would it benefit him to destroy the town he's about to inherit?”

“ _You're_ going to be Empress-Queen anyway; how would it benefit _you_ to overthrow Cailan and kill Celene?” he teased.

She shot him a glare, trying to hide a smirk. “Whose side are you on?”

He laughed. “I am _always_ on _your_ side.” He went to a stock of barrels and pried a lid off. “Oil.”

“The lick-able kind?” she veered over in interest. He grinned.

“Smells flammable.”

“I wonder why they weren't taken.”

“It wouldn't do well to have the Chantry go up in flames, would it?” he said.

“That is true, I suppose. Maker, I forgot how boring this town was.” He giggled, replacing the lid. The other barrels all had oil in them, too, they found as they both looked under each lid. “Alistair...” she froze over the barrel she peered into. He shoved the lid back over the barrel he stood at, and immediately he smelled something rich and familiar. He swung over to peek in. Wheels of cheese, glossy with the grease used to cure them. Their eyes met.

“Weren't we just talking about this last night?” he asked.

She fought a hard smile. “Me and more cheese than we could ask for?”

He huffed in the irony. The thought alone was straining his smalls. With a grin, he turned about and shoved down the double-hatch on the door. Alistair made sure the door couldn't open, then turned back around as he tossed his shield and sword on the floor. They stared at each other while he practically ripped the straps of his armor loose; her eyes flying all over him in anticipation. He shrugged his arms out, dropped his coat of plates behind him and pulled off his undershirt. Tess crossed the room and took over at his waist, and their mouths met, hot and frantic. Her daggers made a noise as he ripped them from her belt, tossing them wherever, moving right on to her belt hooks.

She untied his small-clothes and they groaned together as he spilled into her hand. His knees buckled as she fumbled his balls, though he needed no encouragement to ready for her. Their eyes met as he regained balance at the wall. She hissed when he bit her lip and yanked her armor off her hips, their tongues dancing in a sloppy tangle, breath choppy from need. She gasped when he sunk his fingers into her bottom, pulling her up, pressing her hips to his. He raised her against the wall, gaze locked on hers, trying to loosen one boot; all he needed was leg free. Her fingers struggled at her leather armor, whining without breath when she couldn't manage. Shoving his open mouth to hers, he grabbed the straps at her front, and with tongues crashing past teeth Alistair pulled hard. The buckles fell between their bellies; Alistair glanced down with a curse, and she giggled breathlessly with another wet kiss.

He threw the broken buckles aside and wove his fingers through to loosen laces, pinning her to the wall with this hips to jerk armor up over her head. He latched his mouth to the crook of her neck while he struggled to free her arms; whimpers vibrated against him as his tongue spiraled to her jaw. Unable to pull the armor off – _damn buckles –_ he looped her arms over his head and returned to her boot, his groin in a mind of its own the entire time. Her own hips rocked to meet his, and when his teeth took in the soft of her ear as he shoved her boot off, he summoned a wince from her. He raked his fingers down her skin as he tore blackened leather from her leg.

His breath matched hers, just as heavy, just as hot. Dragging his fingers back up her leg, Alistair re-positioned her at his groin. Their eyes searched, the anticipation almost painful. He wiggled his hips until the crown of his erection found her core, and then falsetto. _Breaching_ , _grunting,_  pushing his way home; she cinched witha cry, melting into a pule as she adjusted to his girth. He slid his hands toward her knees and braced the wall; her legs, with pants dangling from one foot, buoyed over his arms as he grounded himself inside her. She was _hot_ , _slick_ , not wanting to let him retract even knowing he'd always return.

This angle he penetrated from demanded wails and moans of her, insisting she lie stuck in pleading. He let his own voice sing appreciation with her. When he wet her ear with his tongue she gasped;when he dropped to lick she curled in tighter. He felt her breath skip beneath her bones. Her cries turned to choppy whimpers and body wavered around him as he flicked his tongue, thrusting his hips to match the quickened pace of his tongue. She constricted around him, a pulsing heat that juiced him with impatience. He wasn't sure if he could wait for her to come. He drove her with hard ambition, selfishly wanting her to orgasm so she would siphon his release. A rough nip at her ear, plunging his tongue deeper, again. Wet skin slapping loudly together, he wedged his tongue and cock further in, grinding both between thrusts until she locked up with a stolen cry. She strangled him within, flooding heat to his warring groin, stretching him until he erupted. Body locked, shaft throbbing, testicles stuttering, he emptied seed inside of her. His voice trailed to a sigh of relief. 

“So...cheese?” she whispered, her chest moving his head with her deep breaths.

He laughed gaspingly into the side of her head. “The thought of eating cheese off your body,” he told her. He felt their nectar leak out as he slit out of her, and he groaned. “I really want to do that.” He started to release her, but she was like soup as she began to drop. He pressed her into the wall again to let her catch her breath and recover. She still spasm-ed a little. “Are you all right?” he asked. He rested his head on hers, propping her with his hips. He trickled the flat of his fingernails slowly down her arms. She made a small noise with a tiny nod. “Did it hurt like this?” he asked, curious why she was so spent when she hadn't been this tossed after hours the night before.

She gave a huff. “No. That is definitely not the word.” She shuddered with a panting giggle.

“Oh? Do you like it better like this?” he asked.

She didn't answer for a moment. “I don't…better?”

“I'm sure we could do this on the ground,” he suggested.

“Yes, I loved it.” He put his lips to her sweaty skin. “But I loved it slow, too. I've never had that before you.” She groaned. “I'm still hungry.”

He laughed a little. “Me, too.” He rubbed his hands up her hips and waist. “Can you stand yet?”

She giggled again. “If not, it's going to be a long night.”

He pressed a kiss into her cheek, grinning. He held her steady as he pulled his hips back and lowered her to the dusty wood floor. He took her head in his hands and kissed her tenderly. “If...I never say this, or...express it right, I love doing this with you.” he breathed. “And not just...the sex part. I love being this close to you. I love that being this close to you makes _you_ feel good.” He tilted his head for another lingering kiss. “I feel whole when we're like this. I feel like I was born to be this close to you. I've never felt like I was born to do anything before.” Their eyes slow-danced a gaze that he could hold all day. “Even though you want to put me on the throne and thus suffer your snarky family every holiday,” he joked. She cascaded into laughter, making him giggle when she couldn't stop.

It took them a lot longer to recover and re-dress than it should have. They were giddy, her especially, and everything little thing made her start giggling all over again. Finally dressed, Alistair dug into the top cheese wheel and cut two slices out, and they searched the rest of the ransacked shop for a fishing net or fishing hooks. They found nothing to help catch fish, but they now had a barrel of cheese. Alistair hoisted this over his shoulder, and together they walked back across the docks.

Teagan stared at the two of them suspiciously. “Is it wrong of me to sort of wish he'd heard us?” Alistair asked Tess quietly.

“This is my _family_ you're talking about. He'd just get off on it.” Alistair snorted a laugh.

“Stop staring and go collect those oil drums for defensive fire, Bann of Rainesfere,” Tess announced as she and Alistair headed up the steep walkway.

“You and Teagan are remarkably alike,” Alistair told her.

She sighed. “I know,” she said as if disappointed.

“Isn't that usually a good match? I'm not saying I want you with him, but I'm trying to figure out how you two just didn't rebel together and get married.” He glanced back. “He didn't flinch when you drew your dagger.”

“It's not the first time I've threatened to cut him.”

“How often do you do that?” he asked.

“At least twice each time I see him. We really are too much alike.”

“Did you tell your new Prince that you were once intended to me?” Teagan was suddenly caught up to them, on the other side of Tess.

Alistair frowned. “In the tale I heard, you broke the engagement before she even became of age.”

“Do you honestly tell him everything?” Teagan asked Tess.

“Do you _want_ something, Bann Teagan?” Alistair addressed properly.

“There's an elf up in the tavern.”

“Poor fellow. Hopefully he's staying drunk though all this,” Tess joked.

“He's been spying on the castle. He's suspicious of everyone who lives here, and even the barmaid can't coax him enough,” Teagan said, serious. “Talk to him, Tesslyn. Use your figure, if you must.”

“What? No!” Alistair cried.

“He's watching the castle, and I suspect for Loghain. Tesslyn can be very persuasive, Alistair, if you haven't already figured that out.”

“I have seen it. I'm scared of it.” He smirked when Tess giggled.

“What's in the barrel?” Teagan asked.

“Cheese. You can't have any,” Tess immediately said.

“What she said.”

“And do you always do as my cousin wishes, Alistair?”

“It's pretty clear I'm not the only younger brother in Ferelden who does what Tess wishes,” Alistair retorted.

“I _don't_ do everything she wishes,” Teagan insisted.

“Yet you knew I was talking about you.”

“She's a hard woman to turn down.”

“I do agree on that. Any man with any sort of sense knows not to deny a woman who loves to kill.”Alistair said.

“How long have you known her?”

“Roughly three weeks, or so. No, _four,_ actually.”

“Do you remember when she used to come for holiday here? The Couslands would always stop in for a few days after leaving Denerim.” Teagan said. Alistair caught Tess looking from him to Teagan uncertainly, her eyes large.

“I don't remember, no. But _she_ remembers.”

“And how long have you been a Grey Warden?” Teagan was surprisingly pleasant as long as Tess wasn't challenging him, and perhaps as long as he wasn't challenging Tess.

“About seven months.”

“I remember Duncan, from years ago. The Grey Wardens seems like a good bunch.”

“They were. Unfortunately I think Tess and me are the only Grey Wardens left in the country,” as far as Alistair knew.

“You were stationed where?”

“Oh, I was in Denerim. We all were, until the Blight started.”

“Are you aware she has a lyrium problem?” Teagain's brows raised in concern.

“I am. She had a very hard time the other day. I'm fully aware of what it does to her.”

“ _Maker's breath, you two! Am I not here?”_ Tess cried out from between them.

“What's wrong?” Teagan chuckled. “Alistair's nearly family. I'm just getting to know my sort-of nephew.”

“I have a sort-of uncle?” Alistair joked back. Tess scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“I need to get drunk!” she groaned.

“Sounds good. Can I buy you a pint, Alistair?” Teagan offered.

“ _Alone_! I am drinking _alone_! You two can go do your...awkward bonding thing without me.”

“I'm not leaving you.” Alistair held her hand.

“Three pints, then?” Teagan teased.

“You have _no_ idea how _odd_ this is!” Tess breathed with wide eyes.

“All right, all right! I'm sorry!” Alistair laughed. “I'll go back to being Territorial Alistair.”

“As long as you don't pee on me,” she grumbled. He grinned at her and pulled her close by her hand so he could kiss her.

“ _How_ did _Cailan_ respond to you both?” Teagan asked.

“Cailan's dead. What does it matter?” Tess said sourly.

“He was still family, Tesslyn. The boy was mad about you his whole life.”

“Now it's getting awkward.” Alistair said.

“She didn't tell you this part?”

“She didn't need to. I was present for part of it.”

“A dead man's last words don't change how he treated me his entire life. I'm not talking about Cailan, end of story,” Tess stated.

Morrigan, Leliana and Sten were waiting at the wagon with Bodahn and Sandal. “I hope you like cheese,” Alistair said as he set the barrel standing in the wagon. He pulled a bottle of wine from the crate.

“Cheese?” Sten asked.

Alistair grinned. “Help yourself. We still need to catch some fish.” He took a drink, then brought the wine to Tess' mouth. She made a sound of appreciation before swallowing a few times, her eyes on Alistair.

“Shall we use this at the Landsmeet? Maric's heir holds her drink and all?” Teagan sounded bitter again.

“Oh, I definitely do more than hold her drink. I'll tell the Landsmeet that myself.”

“I think that finalizes your acceptance of the crown,” Tess teased softly.

“You know the conditions for that,” he teased back.

“There is more than one, now?”

“Oh, yes. We live happily ever after,” he said. “With no more of your jealous relatives interrupting.” Her lips stretched in a sweet, dreamy smile.

“It's almost disgusting to see you like this, cousin.”

“Piss off and let me enjoy the sunset with my Prince,” she said as she folded herself up against Alistair.

“Sunset is still hours away,” Teagan said dully.

“Exactly. That means _go away, for hours_.”

“I'm suddenly reminded of someone telling Cailan it _wasn't_ _eve_ ,” Alistair whispered, lightly massaging the back of her neck.

“Will you stop taking sides?” she mumbled. He giggled as he pushed his mouth to forehead.

“Bann Teagan! There's movement outside the castle!” the Tomas fellow ran up.

Tess immediately switched gears. She turned away from Alistair and headed toward up the hill. “Someone care to lend a sword? Or bashing material?” she said.

“You can't storm the castle, Tesslyn,” Teagan said.

“Somebody has to.”

Teagan gave a flat glare to Alistair. “She's _your_ problem, now.”

“Yes, but I like solving her!” he said as he jogged after Tess.

“That was sweet, Alistair.” She smirked.

“We're not storming the castle, Tess. Not with just the two of us.” He gently, but firmly, held her arm.

“I don't want to stay here, Alistair. Movement is a good sign. It means something either lives...or doesn't, both of which can be remedied.”

“With the two of us?”

“I took out our entire scouting mission with those other dead people all by myself, at Ostagar. I can take a small castle I know by heart!” she said.

“It's not your ability I doubt, Tess.”

“So what do we do?” she searched his face. “I only know how to do these things one way. If it's not already planned, I don't know how to deal with it.”

“No one's asking you to figure this out on your own,” he told her.

“But when someone in charge doesn't pull their weight -”

“ _I_ am here,” he reminded her. “And we have a witch and a Qunari, and a violent Chantry Sister, and your dog, who seems to have run off. Let's see if we talk to this elf in the tavern. Maybe he knows something.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, and her eyes closed slowly. “We'll get a couple pints, maybe something stronger.”

She mused with a small smile. “And then storm the castle drunk?”

“Absolutely. They'll never see it coming.” He bent, secured his mouth to hers. “And you are tired. I see it around your eyes.” Her lips pulled her face up toward his for another kiss, and he wished they had the rest of the day to themselves. She lingered on his every kiss. “I kept you up very late last night.”

“It was worth it,” she answered softly.

“ _I_ certainly enjoyed our night together.” He pulled her body in close. “Do you want to try to sleep? I'll take care of the elf, and the oil drums. And find a safe spot to hide the dwarves.”

She frowned and pulled away a bit. “You're trying to make me sleepy on purpose. Stop it.”

He smiled. “We'll curl up in the wagon after we hide it.”

She hesitated. “All right. You convinced me. A pint and then a nap.”

“Maker, that sounds amazing, doesn't it?”

“I'm pretty sure that's a sign we're passing our prime.”

“That's ridiculous. What was all that against the wall, then?” he joked softly. She giggled.

“Cheese. That was you thinking about cheese.”

He grinned. “ _You_ and cheese,” he clarified. He laughed when she made a sound of wanting with a dreamy smile.

They retraced their steps back down the narrow path next to the waterfall. Tess said as a child, she'd tried to tie a rope from herself to the corner of the bride, but her brother had caught her before she could actually leap. Alistair told her he used to stand under the waterfall in summer, and he remembered Eamon finding him stark naked and giggling there more than once.

The short hike up to the tavern was steep and tiring. Alistair braved the edge of a ridiculously placed porch so Tess could admire the view with him; she snuggled into him and murmured that this was one of her favorite spots in Redcliffe.

The tavern was nearly packed. Redcliffe militiamen getting drunk in one corner, male townsfolk drinking at another end of the tavern, a pudgy barkeep barking orders to a single barmaid. They stepped into the open of the tavern, and Alistair silently gestured to a lone elf sitting with his back to the chaos of the saloon. This wouldn't have been too suspicious, except for the elf was sitting at the window, completely turned.

“How do you want to handle this?” he asked.

“How much coin do we have?” she looked around.

“Maybe three sovereigns left. I think. Two, if we're lucky. What are you thinking?”

“Would you get four shots of something hard, please?” she stood on her toes for a kiss.

“Four?” he let his eyes drift to the lone elf, and he understood she was going to make the elf want to cooperate. “Rum?”

“That, or brandy. I like both. Of if there's something else you like, that works, too.” Alistair watched her slide right in next to the elf, and she gave a rather dark smirk when the elf spun around to face her.

Alistair ordered four shots of rum; he thought that tasted better than brandy. He watched Tess sit with that devious smile on her face. He paid the large barkeep, and carefully brought all four shots to the table. Setting the drinks down first, he slid in next to Tess. “Scoot in, love, will you?” he pressed into her, causing to her press toward the elf, who had nowhere left to go but a tiny corner. Tess kindly thanked Alistair and braced the rim of two shots. She slid them right over to the elf with a friendly _drink, I insist_ , and a hard face.

The elf was nervous, now. “I'm not drinking that. It might be poisoned.”

“Why should you be worried about it being poisoned?” she asked. “You and I are just two random visitors to Redcliffe, after all. Aren't we?”

“There are no visitors to Redcliffe these days,” the elf said.

“Why is that?” Alistair asked.

“There just aren't,” the elf sassed.

Alistair slipped one of Tess' daggers out of her belt under the table. “Dear, I think you forgot this,” he said.

“Oh! Yes! Thank you, darling.” They exchanged sweet smiles as she flipped the dagger around. Tess wedged the tip of her dagger at the elf's crotch. “Don't bother screaming, this is my cousin's castle. I have every right to interrogate suspicious activity,” she said quietly. “What are you expecting to happen at the castle?” she asked.

“N-nothing, I swear.”

“These windows are hard to see out of. Not here for the view, it seems,” Alistair noted out loud. He frowned a little. “There's no way you could see anything other than some sort of magical catastrophe from here. You're waiting for a _mage's_ signal, _aren't_ you?” he asked the elf. 

“No-”

“Don't even bother. Just give me a name and a reason,” Tess said.

“I can't. He's an important man in Ferelden -”

“The two of us are the only important enough people in Ferelden right now,” she told the elf, leaning closer. Alistair brought a shot glass to his lips and tossed his head back, as if no silent threats were being made.

“He's...the father of the Queen -”

Tess' wrist flicked and the elf locked up with a wince. “Let me set something straight, _elf_. The man who hired you drove King Cailan in to a death trap and reveled over every single body that bled out trying to defend the King as was their dying duty,” she said darkly. “Unless you want your guts all over your feet, you're going to tell me _why_ you're watching the castle, _who_ is inside about to signal you, and then you're going to spend the rest of your days a loyal Redcliffe resident and help my cousin rebuild the town you helped a Traitor destroy. Am I clear?”

“Okay, okay!” the elf nodded. Tears dotted the long pale eyelashes through squinched eyes. “I was part of a small platoon. We intercepted a group of Templars transporting a blood mage, and we met up with Loghain outside Lothering. The Arlessa was looking to secretly hire a mage, so I acted as a broker. I don't remember the mage's name! I was told not to, so nothing would come back on me!” he whispered quietly, trembling, eyes still closed.

“How long have you and the mage been here?” Alistair asked.

“A little over a week.”

“Why did the Arlessa want to secretly hire a mage?”

“Isolde has always been a greedy woman. I wouldn't be surprised if she was behind Eamon going ill,” Tess said.

“Loghain used the Arlessa's desire for a mage to sneak someone in to poison the Arl,” the elf admitted. With a stiff jaw and tight lips, Tess sheathed her dagger and downed her shot of rum.

“Name, elf,” she demanded. Alistair slid over and stood as Tess started scooting.

“B-Berwick,” the elf still trembled.

“Drink up, Berwick. Consider this your contract of redemption.” She gestured to the two shots. She looked at the elf for a moment longer, and he hesitantly tossed a shot back. “Are you aware of the strange things in the castle?”

The elf shook his head. “I've heard the other villagers talk, though. They think it's undead.”

“Which would have only happened from your mage,” she speculated. Berwick nodded, still frightened. “You will honor this contract, or I come for your guts.” Alistair followed his sharp-tongued woman out of the tavern.

“So I guess this means no nap?” Alistair asked as they walked down the steep path.

She sighed. “I sincerely hope you decide to hate Isolde by the time we reach the gates.”

“A simple _no_ would have sufficed,” he joked. “Why would Isolde need a mage?” he asked.

“No clue. The only thing I can think of is so she can summon a demon of some kind. That would _also_ explain the undead.”

“She thought my presence here threatened Connor's birthright, though. Would she really risk a demon?”

“She's Orleasian, don't forget.”

“You speak horribly of Orlais for wanting to conquer it,” he teased.

“For the aesthetics, my dear, the aesthetics,”she smiled.

“I'm starting to question your reasons for wanting _me_ on the throne.” He grinned when she shot him a little glare. “Right, I know. I need to pick a side, and quick,” he chuckled.

When they arrived back at the windmill and their party, the Tomas fellow and a few of the Redcliffe Templars were setting up barrels of oil where paths connected castle and town.

“Teagan, what's going on?” Tess asked.

“I tried to sneak in through the basement, My Lady,” Tomas reported, “there are inhuman noises coming from the ground-level inside. We did not linger, for we did not know if we could take them. But there are grotesque noises and smells. There are no human sounds at all. Even the dogs have gone silent.”

“Round up your smith, have him ready weapons, then set defense posts." Tess was very much in charge, now. "How many able bodies are there?” 

“Your party, a few Templars, and us, Lady Cousland. Or perhaps I should address you as Teryna, now? Either way, it is good to see you again. We stand a much better chance with your skill," another face said.

“Ser Perth,” Tess acknowledged. Alistair also recognized the aging knight.

“And little Master Alistair. Though you are hardly little anymore,” Ser Perth smiled.

“This is almost like coming home,” Alistair joked, “Except with more monsters.” Tess looked at him. “I might even show you around my old bedroom later,” he drawled with a shrug of his eyebrows. Tess immediately looked away in a blush and a smirk, and he grinned.

“Oh, for the love of the Maker!” Teagan muttered. Alistair let out a little laugh.

“Er...what are our orders, Your Ladyship?” Ser Perth asked, his face showing how awkward he felt around such promiscuity. _Ah, Chantry influence._

“Right. Inappropriate. Sorry!” Alistair giggled. Tess dared to glance at him before turning to Ser Perth.

She ordered Ser Perth's men to build a barricade around the barrels of oil and to gather every able-bodied man in town. Ser Perth and his small band of Redcliffe soldiers immediately set off to do her bidding. Bodahn asked how his wagon and goods would be protected from this battle, and when she ordered the Templars to unload the wagon into the windmill, they obliged right away. Alistair had never seen anyone respect a person's word so much that they obeyed without hesitation or question. This noble side of her was intriguing, and apparently useful.

 _And_ under the obvious attention of Bann Teagan. Alistair watched Teagan gaze at Tess in great interest. It seemed Teagan liked Tess' noble, commanding side very much. Alistair severely disapproved of this.

Teagan did a double-take at Alistair, and returned a curious stare. “By all rights, I happen to be the elder, Alistair.”

“Bullshit! As _King_ , _I_ will have the right!” Alistair laid down his boundaries.

“You're not king yet, boy.” Teagan chuckled. But Alistair refused to surrender.

“Oh, no, not this again!” Tess muttered.

“I still happen to be Prince, therefore, the right is mine.”

“Not until the Landsmeet acknowledges you,” Teagan reminded snidely.

“I am _not a right!”_ Tess called over from Morrigan's side.

“She is fully spoken for, I assure you,” Alistair told Teagan.

“She has been spoken for since she was eight,” Teagan said.

“Rights don't have heartbeats! Or toes!” she insisted. “Or ears!”

“You turned her down when she was eight. That's not the same thing. In fact, she's _always_ been destined for a future King of Ferelden.”

“Just because you took her in an abandoned building doesn't mean she's yours, Alistair.”

“This isn't up for negotiation, _Bann of Rainesfere._ ” Alistair didn't break eye-contact. “I've nearly fought to the death just to get her _here,_ and I will fight even harder to make sure she remains at my side.”

“ _Maker's Breath!_ I think I preferred you two being friends!” Tess said in exasperation. “All right! Er, Alistair, Sten, take the empty wagon down behind the boat in the shelter!. Now! Please! Teagan, go back into the chapel. _Now_!” she ordered. “Po!” The dog barked. “You're on chaperone-duty. Don't let Alistair out of your sight.” Po barked proudly.

“What?” Alistair cried. Teagan sniggered.

“Don't get cocky, Teagan. It's not for _his_ protection, it's for _yours_.” Tess turned with a sigh. “Morrigan, let's get drunk.”

“As long as it drowns out this childish jealousy,” Morrigan agreed.

“It had better,” Tess said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ NSFW Cheesistair wall-sex aesthetic by me. ](http://replicajester.tumblr.com/post/142348718956/another-nsfw-alistair-aesthetic-cheese-fetish) Images containted within aesthetic courtesy of internet stock photos.


	15. One Problem After Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens' party prepares for battle, and aids in the fight. Tesslyn pushes Morrigan's talents. Alistair is still jealous of Teagan. Seeing Isolde brings up unpleasant memories for Alistair; the hardening begins. The party fights their way into the castle from the basement and catch Teagan in a very compromising, limber state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music:  
> [ Ready Aim Fire, by Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/yOSYr0jM-aY)  
> Tess and Morrigan in battle: [ Daughters of Darkness, by Halestorm](https://youtu.be/3XQ1FB3Rz0g?list=RD3XQ1FB3Rz0g)  
> Tess: [Mz Hyde, by Halestorm](https://youtu.be/j2OD-dV7j_I)

Rounding up the town was a _chore._ Their party fought more amongst themselves than they did with the scared, reluctant townsfolk. Sten and Morrigan didn't want to help the town even if there would be an attack, despite such an attack meant maleficars. Ser Perth's men lost morale as the day drove on, and Leliana heatedly disapproved of Tess and Alistair pressuring the Revered Mother to trick the knights with false hope.

The town blacksmith was so drunk the entire smithy smelled a spark away from combustion. Alistair tried to nonchalantly sing somebody had been drinking, but the fumes of hard liquor and burning coals made him choke. Leliana was surprised the building wasn't up in flames. The drunken smith was stubborn, refusing to help with battle preparations until Tess promised to save his daughter from the castle. Morrigan and Sten also disapproved without compassion; Alistair and Leliana bickered with them to consider it payment. Leliana called it a good faith compromise; Alistair was more blunt, _It's this or our gold._

Bodahn and Sandal were unnerved by the frightened people in the Chantry, so they waited up in the tavern; Tess threatened the barkeep to keep the dwarves hidden _or else_. The party found another dwarf, more stubborn than the drunk smith; Tess broke into his house on the docks just to toss him a single sovereign in exchange for fighting whatever emerged from the castle. Morrigan also disapproved this use of their funds, and for the first time, Leliana agreed with her; no one should ask for payment to protect his own home. Sten shunned the dwarf, saying no Qunari would hide like a coward while women went to fight, so why should a dwarf? As if that wasnt frustrating enough, they ended up on a manhunt; they found him in his home in a wardrobe, a scared townsboy hiding in his wardrobe, and despite his lack of years, he earned threats from Morrigan and Sten. Alistair in particular was irked by them, for it resufaced a brief memory of being screamed at for being scared ss a child. By the time the party was even able to report the town was ready as it could be, they were upset with each other and refused to meet eyes, save for Alistair and Tess.

When sunset descended, Tess told the party to eat, and she and Alistair took jerky and water, and some apples from the Chantry's reserves, and they sat with Tomas and his scouts; Alistair tolerated Teagan joining them only because he was tired of arguing. Tomas watched the castle doors with his spyglass.

When he and Tess finished eating, Alistair took her a few paces back, sitting her right in front of him, their legs both folded like pretzels. “We should have pressed for a nap,” he told her softly. He reached up and took her jaw his hands, and tenderly massaged her.

“I'm sure we'll be fine. The thought of undead scares me, so I know _I_ won't be falling asleep during battle. And there's a few Templars for you to show off to.” Her eyes closed under his touch.

He smiled for her. “Right. They're a little more advanced than I am.”

“I wouldn't have you any different,” she murmured. His heart swelled.

“Is that so?”

“Mm. If you were a full Templar, I never would have met you,” she said. He didn't hesitate to kiss his appreciation into her. She gave a small moan and leaned into him, and she opened her legs to scoot in closer.

“I'm sorry I've been such a pain today,” he told her.

“You haven't been a pain.”

“You threatened to string me and Teagan up in the Chantry,” he reminded her.

She giggled and looked at him, and he kissed her again. He unfolded his legs and pulled her in closer. “You are very cute when you're jealous,” she said softly.

“Hm. I don't think _cute_ is how a jealous person is supposed to look,” he joked.

“Well, that's not my fault. You could try practicing in front of a mirror.”

He smiled and leaned in for another kiss. Her eyelids stayed closed even after he pulled back. “How do you feel? Do you still ache everywhere?” He slowly circled his finger on her face, wanting to help her relax as much as possible for whatever lie ahead of them in the night.

“Yes, but it's been...tolerable,” she said. “It sort of feels like I've been training heavy all day.”

He wanted to ask what she wished to do about the castle since now the town was prepared, but when he drew a circle on her face, her mouth stopped him. Open in search like a hungry babe, her mouth tried to catch his finger as he circled. Alistair's mind drifted into blurs. All he did was draw circles on her cheek with his fingertip, and each time he looped near her mouth, her head turned a little and her lips psrted. It was like she was reacting to his touch without thinking. Her breath had deepened, and her shoulders and knees curled in toward him. It was just like nights in the tent when his touch sent her hips rocking into him in search for his sex. And as if on cue, her hips opened to him when he let his finger graze the edge of her top lip. His smalls responded by growing a bit snug.

 _Maker._ “This turns you on?” he whispered only to her. Her hips rocked his way again, and from the corner of his eye he caught Teagan staring at them. Alistair dropped his hands from her face; it was probably best to stop arousing her – both of them – in front of people. Her eyes fluttered open. _Oh Maker, yes, she was turned on._ Her pupils were larger than they should be in the sunset glow. She silently searched his eyes. “I am definitely remembering this one,” he murmured as he pressed his lips into hers.

She sighed deep and slow. “I love how you touch me,” she breathed. She curled in to be held, and he gladly gave in. Her breath was hot and even on his skin.

“Are you going to fall asleep?” still he massaged the back of her neck, cradling her head to his neck. She hesitated with a tiny noise, then she pulled away.

“I think I need to walk around.” She widened her eyes as if trying to force them open.

He smiled, but also grimaced. “Morrigan may have something to help,” he suggested.

“I think I'm delirious. What did you say?” she teased. He laughed on purpose yet he was also amused.

“I'm not going to say it again,” he chuckled, pulling her to her feet.

“But it was a grand, unique moment,” she said. He laughed out _no_ , and she giggled almost deliriously indeed. Yes, she needed a potion, or a spell. They headed down the hill and found the witch sitting relatively near Leliana and Sten, all of them still silent.

“Morrigan, do you have some thing to wake us up a little? She especially needs something,” Alistair asked.

“You are only in luck because I have already been preparing such potions,” Morrigan stated from the ground, and only then did Alistair notice she had vials and mushrooms and something else out. “'Tis most fortunate I already had ingredients to remedy  _long_ _nights_.”

“Just wait till we all tuck in for the night,” Alistair sort of threatened her. Tess scolded him softly, and he laughed to her that he would make no promises how the next actual time for rest would turn out. Morrigan handed them up a vial each, and Tess thanked her. Before they could wash the bitter aftertaste down with Bodahn's mead, Teagan and Tomas and the rest of Teagan's guard came back down the hill.

“There is movement, cousin,” Teagan announced. “Gangly creatures.”

“ _'Tis_ the undead, then?” Morrigan rather stated, standing.

“Truth be told, I'm not sure what they are,” Tomas said. “They are decayed, but Redcliffe keeps no dead. They are all sent off to sea. Whatever they are, they are many.”

“Good.” Tesslyn's eyes went wide, and Alistair felt a rush within him like an overdose of sweets. “Maker's breath, Morrigan!”

“You are most welcome,” the witch smirked.

“Will I ever be able to sleep again? What do you want to bet I can make it to Orzammar before sunrise? When does this wear off? Where are my daggers? Did I leave – oh, they're right here!” Tess spoke extremely fast. They all looked at her, and Alistair and Leliana let slip a few giggles, which made Tess giggle. “You should give some to Teagan!” she managed through laughter.

“I'll pass.” Teagan said.

“My Lord, you should get inside to safety with the townsfolk,” Tomas said.

Tess stopped laughing only to grab on to Teagan's collar as he tried to walk by. “That's not happening. If you want Redcliffe, you will fight for it. You will not make your King do all your hard work,” she said in her Commander voice.

Alistair looked from her to Teagan. “Nor your Queen.” Tess shot Alistair a look of dare, and he matched it for her.

“You two are going to be very disappointed come the Landsmeet,” Teagan commented.

“Just grab a weapon and get ready,” Alistair told him.

Leliana and Tess secured their bows and arrows, and Alistair and Sten readied their swords. Po waited happily, tongue wagging and saliva dripping. Teagan finally threw a shield over his left arm and took up a sword.

“Where is your armor?” Sten asked Teagan.

“This is my travel attire, it is reinforced with leather armor,” Teagan said.

“It looks like pajamas.”

Tess, Alistair and even Morrigan stifled laughter.

Teagan rolled his eyes. “It suffices in battle.”

Sten looked at Tess. “ _This_ is the one you want to rule a town?”

Tess bit down her lips, though it poorly hid her grin and the laughter that shook her whole body. “If he manages to survive the night,” she pushed herself to say.

“I'm beginning to doubt about our chances of success,” Sten said.

“Nonsense. Realistically, Teagan will just hide behind everyone else. I've never actually seen him in battle. _We'll_ do all the work, Sten.”

“Cousin, I'm starting to dislike this new side of you,” Teagan said.

“What, the side that melts all over Redcliffe's old dirty stable boy?” Alistair challenged.

“There is something coming,” Morrigan announced.

“Oh, thank the Maker!” Tess breathed in relief. She walked closer to the barrels. “Everyone stay back. Templars, guard the Chantry – _elf_ , go with them. Teagan, if you don't try to kill something, I'll let Alistair push you over the edge.”

“I don't suppose _Alistair_ is something I'm allowed to try to kill?” Teagan inquired casually.

“Morrigan, have you ever wanted to be an Arlessa over your own hold?” Tess asked.

“I had not considered it, but should the offer arise, I would not decline,” Morrigan replied.

“Very funny, ladies,” Teagan said.

“I think I actually agree with him on this,” Alistair spoke up. “Mages aren't allowed to be nobles, and I especially don't trust Morrigan in charge of an important part of Fereldan.”

“I thought you were going to make me Queen?” Tess asked, still peering from just behind the barrels.

“That's the plan, Tess. I'm not spending the rest of my life suffering over silly noble problems – no _offense_ , Teagan-”

“None taken,” the Bann said.

“-without some sort of payback.”

“The Queen is allowed to make up rules, as well,” Tess said. She readied her bow.

“Can we just get on with the fighting already?” Sten complained.

“Leliana.” Tess still stood ready.

“Yes, I am ready.” Leliana stood in line with Tess. Alistair could see the creatures up ahead. Tess told her to take them down before the gangly creatures could make it to the barricade.

Though she and Leliana fired arrow after arrow, the decayed bodies didn't stop. Alistair told Morrigan to help and Tess and Leliana started shooting at legs instead. Even though a few arrows pinned some to the ground, it seemed the things were immune to pain. Alistair, Po, Sten and Ser Perth's men were there ready to relieve the women as soon as their arrows were spent. Up close, they came apart easy. As handfuls poured down the hill, Alistair understood they were cannon fodder. He didn't even have time to shout to Tess over the ruckus that they were probably in store for something stronger later on.

Alistair left his flank open blocking Tess and discovered the blasted devils had sharp claws. Teagan turned out to be a better warrior than Alistair expected, and though he didn't have as wide a swing as Alistair, the Bann was quick, and could spin from one enemy to the next almost as fast as Tess could. Noticing the similarities in the two as they fought side-by-side inflamed Alistair from the inside. It only made sense for Tess and Teagan to have trained together, but they way they practically danced while they attacked made Alistair want to “accidentally” strike Teagan.

Sten and the dwarf Dwynn and Dwynn's guards gravitated toward helping each other. Morrigan and Leliana stayed at a distance, though Alistair had no idea how Leliana had recovered more arrows. Po bounced between protecting Tess, protecting the other women, and fighting between Alistair and Ser Perth. Tess used her bow to slap again, but the creatures weren't even affected. It was like pain didn't trigger the need for caution, but instead a drive to push harder.

It didn't stop. The things just kept trickling in. Normally the mabari could howl in a pitch that sent shivers down spines and stunned people, but this wasn't working on these undead. The creatures kept pushing, and while Alistair and Tess and their party were panting and starting to wear down, their team pushed on. Alistair wasn't sure how long they'd been fighting, but he desperately needed water.

Another wave descended over the top of the hill. Alistair croaked out Tess' name, his mouth almost too dry for sound.

“Freeze the oil,” Teagan panted from somewhere along side Alistair.

“What?” Alistair asked.

Tess turned to the Bann's men. “On my word, ignite the barrels!” She immediately whirled to Morrigan. “As soon as the barrels are lit, freeze the oil!”

“What?” Morrigan asked like she hadn't heard that was possible. “I can't -”

The wave of undead were almost at the oil barrel barricade.“NOW!” Tess ordered the archers. A small volley of flaming arrows flew over their head and exploded the barrels on contact. “Morrigan!” she barked. But the witch hesitated.

“ _FREEZE THE OIL!”_ Tess and Teagan roared together. Morrigan looked never looks so troubled as she sent ice out into the flaming pit. Alistair could still see bodies moving around. “Freeze it, Morrigan!” She bellowed.

Alistair almost felt sorry for Morrigan. He could see her straining with what little mana and strength she had left. Tess screamed at Morrigan, her face hard and far from lenient. She was not leaving room for _half as good_ or _close enough_. Morrigan was actually in tears when Tess and Teagan yelled at her again. But Alistair saw the need to push. He heard the oil crackle as the last of it hardened. Morrigan had frozen the oil which was feeding the flame; the flame had suffocated under the ice, and now it all stood in a frozen, smoking mess of ice shaped like angry flames clawing to define their very existence. More importantly, it had almost all the undead minions trapped within.

It was singularly the most awe-inspiring thing Alistair had ever seen, let alone heard of, in his entire life.

“Teagan, shield!” Tess commanded vaguely, backing up with her daggers out. Teagan spun to one knee facing Tess as she backed toward the cliff of the windmill, his shield steadied at an angle a couple feet off the ground. Teagan pressed forward with a solid expression of determination, his back leg lunged as if ready to lift off.

Before Alistair could even ask what was going on, Tess sprinted and jumped up on to the shield. In a single moment of silken reflexes, Teagan's empty sword-hand clenched palm-out and struck the bottom of the shield, simultaneously as he stood, jolting the shield to fully face the night sky and send Tess in the same direction. Alistair nearly struck Teagan down right there, but concern for the assassin won over Alistair's fight-instinct. Leliana cried out as Tess soared into the rage of frozen flames. Tess' legs scrambled for something to hold on to until she broke enough ice with her dagger. Through outcries and grunts, Tess hacked with her daggers, arms moving too fast for anyone to even snake in and help her destroy. She seemed frantic to carve her way though, and didn't stop until she had everything in the frozen fire pit either sliced or shattered, resorting to kicking the glaciated undead after her daggers created paths.

Tess staggered out of the pile of frosty shards and looked at her left arm as she held it up. She unbuckled her wrist and pulled off her glove. She was bleeding down the side of her pinky and side of her hand, maybe even down her arm.

“Maker, Tess!” Alistair started toward her, but she completely side-stepped him when she did a double-take at Morrigan. Alistair sighed inside, feeling unneeded; first Teagan, now the witch. He looked at Morrigan to see Tess holding the witch by the face.

“I am _so_ sorry I yelled at you, Morrigan,” Tess said. Morrigan was shaking all over with wide eyes staring at nothing, her face still stained with tears; Alistair had seen this in other mages who over-exerted their mana. “Do you hear me? I am so sorry. I never meant to scare you. I was trying to push you to do your best.” Morrigan nodded with choppy movements, and she flinched when Tess pulled her in and hugged her tight. Morrigan blinked many times, as if she had been expecting violence; suspicion of that old hag mother of hers whipping Morrigan for failing spells entertained Alistair more than he would admit aloud. She brought two trembling hands to Tess' sides. “You did something wonderful, just remember that, all right? You saw what you did, right?”

“Y-ye-yes,” Morrigan stammered. Part of Alistair greatly enjoyed seeing the witch cowering, even if straining her mana was the cause. 

“Good. _You_ did that. Don't let anyone ever tell you can't do something, understand? You just _froze fire_.” Tess pulled back to look Morrigan in the eyes. “ _You_ just _froze fire.”_ Morrigan nodded again.

“You're bleeding,” Morrigan managed, “all over me.”

Tess laughed and put her lips loudly to Morrigan's cheek. “That I am.” She stepped back with a grin. She met Teagan's eye with a nod before she even acknowledged Alistair. Alistair was really starting to regret ever coming back to Redcliffe. He didn't even know if he should say anything about her using Teagan's shield skills instead of himself.

Without speaking, Alistair took her left hand and held it up to see the damage. It wasn't very deep. He unlaced the rest of her arm leathers and folded it up backwards. “You're angry,” she said softly. He only briefly met her eyes.

“Upset, yes. Not angry.” He took his personal water-skin from his belt sack and poured it over her arm and hand. “Well...maybe upset isn't the right word either.” He pressed the skin into her other hand. “You should drink that while we have time to breathe.” He pulled out the bandage wrap and started winding it around her hand tightly. She took a drink, though she stared at him the whole time. After only one sip, she brought the water-skin up to his mouth and tipped it, forcing him to drink.

“Why are you upset?” she whispered. He frowned as he wrapped her. “Alistair?” she asked.

“This isn't a good time to talk about this, Tess,” he said. He wrapped a second layer back up her arm, tight as the first, and then wrapped a third and tied it. As he was lacing up her armguard, Berwick the elf came running up yelling that the undead were coming up out of the lake. Alistair cursed and hurried to finish buckling Tess' glove on to her armguard, hitching it tight to keep the wound together.

He told Sten and Leliana to stay to hold the mill, and he pointed at Teagan with his readied sword. “You stay put!” he ordered the Bann sternly, and he ran off with Po and Tess and Morrigan after the Templar.

“Is that what you're upset about?” Tess asked asked they ran over the bridge?”

“This really isn't the time, Tess!” he told her. She suddenly jumped up on him and pressed her face into his for a kiss. Alistair almost fell trying to accommodate her weight without actually having any free hands to hold her with. “Maker! Tess, you could have brought us over the bridge!” he gasped.

“You don't have to worry about Teagan.” She ignored him with a tender kiss this time, and he groaned with a pain in his heart.

“As much as I just want to kiss you all night, Tess-”

“Yes! Undead!” she gave a shudder of disgust. “Yes, they need to die.” Slid down off of him, and they started back down to the Chantry again.

Aside from the frozen fire, the strangest thing Alistair saw that night was the sight of an apostate fighting alongside Templars. But the undead were a much larger threat than mages and Templars right now.

These ones were more relentless than the ones that had been up the hill. They kept coming, and considering they were spilling up out of the lake, they were probably the deceased townsfolk from over the decades. This fight was brutal for the fact alone that they were already exhausted. Morrigan's mana was near constantly depleted, which drew the attention of an entire pack of undead. Tess screamed for Morrigan from the opposite end of the little battlefield, but Morrigan was surrounded and couldn't run. Alistair turned, and for Tess' sake – only for Tess – he rammed into the small horde around the witch, cutting them, keeping them occupied long enough for Morrigan to drink a lyrium potion and regain her mana. Po stayed behind to guard Morrigan after Alistair finally took his leave to help Tess and the townsfolk and Templars.

One Templar received a gash in the neck deep enough to require bandaging, but since they couldn't stop to aid the man, they had to slip him inside the Chantry and continue on as if they'd truly lost a man. Tess, the town mayor Murdock, and a Templar tried to meet the vile creatures across the small bridge they were advancing from, but it turned out the things were smart. The undead started crawling up from another side of the docks. Even though it boxed everyone in, they regrouped together in front of the Chantry, aside from Morrigan who remained on the hill, as they couldn't ever get half of the demonic army down as two separate forces.

Literally as soon as the sun peeked over the lake, the attacks stopped. Just like that. Everyone looked around at each other for a while, taking the opportunity to catch breath and share water. But after...maybe half an hour, according to the slight shift in the sun, when no more undead came, they all sheathed their weapons and shouldered their shields.

With the undead taken care of, though, one of the Templars stared at Morrigan, holding his helmet under his arm. Tess made the poor fellow jump with a heavy clap on his back. “She's with the Grey Wardens, mate. She's allowed today.”

The Templar nodded. “Right. Of course. We're glad for the help.”

Tess collapsed into Alistair's arms. They just stood for a long time leaning on each other, and he didn't want to let her go for the life of him. But the longer they stood there, the heavier his eyelids felt. This had, by far, been one of the longest days of his life. He caught his eyes closing a few times before Teagan's voice called out to them.

Tess stumbled a little as they parted from their embrace to receive Teagan and the party they'd left up at the windmill. Murdock said that had been the strongest attack the town had had. As the Chantry doors opened and curious heads poked out, Teagan decided they needed to have the Revered Mother say a blessing of thanks for the lives spared, and to bless the town in protection from here on out. They were all so tired that not even Morrigan protested, however they all yawned throughout the small ceremony.

Teagan gave them a helmet as a reward for helping save the town – the Helm of the Red, which he said had once belonged to his great-uncle, Ser Ferris the Red. Alistair accepted the helm on behalf of Tess, who tried to argue that she wasn't taking a family heirloom from him despite Teagan insisting it would be more use to them in their quest than it would be to him right now. Alistair understood just enough of noble customs to understand that refusing a gift from a noble, reward or in general, was a direct insult and a possible indication of severing partnership. He wasn't sure what Tess was up to, but Teagan had stayed up all night just like the rest of them to fight. Even though he still didn't like the Bann (around Tess, anyway), Alistair still felt the man deserved some sort of acknowledgment for his gratitude.

As soon as the service was over, however, Teagan said there was still the matter of the castle. The entire party that was Tess, Alistair, Sten, Morrigan and Leliana, Po even made noises of exhaustion and self-pity. Teagan told them to take a moment to gather themselves and then meet him up at the windmill. Tess, Alistair and Leliana made sounds like the undead and turned to trudge up the hill after Teagan with Sten and Morrigan. Tess grabbed on to Morrigan and hooked her arm through the witch's and muttered another _good job,_ leaning her head on the bare shoulder; Alistair had a feeling that no matter what position he took come the Landsmeet, Morrigan would be a part of his life as long as Tess remained so.

Teagan granted them a few moments to grab provisions from the windmill, and Tess asked Leliana to bring some apples from the Chantry to their horse, which they had locked up in the old general store. Morrigan set out some alchemy supplies and started making stamina potions. Sten and Po sat against a tree and shared bread, cheese and dried bear meat together. Alistair sat on a crate past the door of the windmill, his back to the cliff. He was so exhausted he didn't even feel like eating. While resting his head in his hands, propped on his knees, he felt the buzz of familiar Taint closing in on him, and then a kiss pressed on to the top of his head. He didn't need to look up to know who it was. He reached for Tess and found legs he had spent a good deal of time memorizing the night before last. He pulled her in and rested his head on her belly, and she caressed the back of his neck and messed her fingers through his hair. Even through the leather of her gloves, her touch was still perfect.

“I don't understand it,” Teagan said, his voice sounding distant and dreamy. “The castle looks so still, peaceful even.”

Alistair turned his head to peek at the Bann. Teagan stood there just before the deck started, staring off at the castle. “Teagan, the elf said there is a mage inside, hired by Loghain,” Tess said.

“That explains the undead,” Morrigan stated, “as I said before.”

“He said Isolde -”

“Teagan! Oh, thank the Maker!” an Orleasian accent made both Alistair and Tess cringe.

“You summoned it. You bloody summoned it!” Alistair accused Tess.

“Isolde?” Teagan turned.

Tess' hands started shaking on Alistair's head, and he pushed her back a little to release her. “Go for it,” he permitted. Without a single word, Tess turned away and bee-lined for wife of the Arl. Morrigan gave a giggle as Tess threw her fist into Isolde's face, sending the Orleasian woman backward to the ground. Teagan scolded in shock, and the single guard with Isolde drew his sword. Tess was quicker, though, and slid a dagger between the helmet and collar of armor, and the guard went down spraying blood out of his neck. Tess sheathed her dagger and punched Isolde again, then dragged her by the neck and held her over the edge of the deck. Isolde held on to the wooden floor only by the tips of her tiny feet.

“Tesslyn, that's enough!” Teagan bellowed.

Alistair stood up. “Do not talk to her like that.”

“You pathetic excuse for a woman! _You_ caused this razing! How could you, Isolde?! You had _no_ right!” Tess shook Isolde, who try to pry her neck free as she gasped for breath.

“Tesslyn, this is madness!” Teagan said, approaching the scene.

“Not a step closer, Bann Teagan,” Alistair warned.

“I am the only person in this family with any sense!” Tess answered Teagan. “You're a traitor, Isolde! You hired a mage from the man who left Cailan to die just to poison one of the most important men in Fereldan?! Could you be _any_ more of an enemy to this country?”

“Maker have mercy! Isolde, did you _really?”_ Teagan demanded. _“You're_ behind this?” Isolde tried to gasp out that she didn't know, but Tess tightened her grip and held the woman farther over the ledge. Isolde looked pathetic; her face swollen in two places, part of her lip bleeding from one of Tesslyn's punches, legs kicking in frantic attempt to find ground, gasping for air that seemed unlikely to come.

Yet Alistair did not feel pity for her, like he had when Tess had yelled at Morrigan. Instead, harsh memories came flooding back, and he heard Isolde's screech ordering him away from Eamon, ordering him out of the castle during a storm, threatening to withhold food if he didn't have the stable cleared of dung by sunrise. He remembered her ordering him to sleep out in the stable; he hadn't even turned five yet. He remembered shivering in the smelly hay and being screamed at when he asked for a blanket. He remembered every time she reminded him that he was an unwanted heir, and that common practice for ridding of unwanted heirs was cutting them and throwing them to the wolves, butchering them for hog slop, or throwing them in the river to drown. She had convinced him he was lucky to have a stable to crawl back to. All he heard right now was Isolde's voice ensuring his entire childhood existence had been as unwanted as a Blight.

He saw Teagan put a hand on Tess' shoulder. Alistair quickly drew his sword upon the Bann's arm. “Hand off, or _I_ take it off,” he promised. Teagan

Teagan stepped backwards with his arms raised in surrender. “Alistair, you wouldn't...”

“I would. You have no idea what I suffered here under Isolde's order. You were even here for some of it. You can't convince me she doesn't deserve it.” Alistair stepped between Teagan and Tess, and with his sword still pointed at the Bann, he looked at the woman who had made him afraid of asking for food even when hunger ached him all over. All he saw as he stared at Isolde was every moment he froze under rain-soaked clothes, when hay wasn't enough to hide the lightning or thunder that matched her baseless rage for him, when he wasn't allowed to sleep because Isolde wanted the chamber pots scrubbed to a sparkle. “Drop her,” he told Tess.

“No! Wait!” Isolde forced through weakly. “Connor is inside! Please! I need to bring Teagan!” she choked. Both Tess and Alistair hesitated.

“Connor's alive?” Teagan asked. “What about my brother? _Dammit_ , Tesslyn, _put_ her on the ground! We _need answers_!”

Amber and emeralds searched each other. “It's your call,” Tess told him, while the Orleasian devil wiggled at the end of her controlled arm.

Alistair finally understood her reason for wanting to kill everyone off. They could not be trusted to keep safe the future rulers of the country, nor raise them to properly do so. “For Connor's sake only,” he said softly. “If anything happens, we'll continue with your plan.”

“Are you sure? I don't need her to get information,” she offered.

“ _Both of you! This is idiocy!”_ Teagan yelled at them.

“Just for now,” Alistair told his woman with a tenderness he swore from then on to use only with her.

Tess stepped back and released her hold when Isolde was over grass. Teagan immediately reached to help her up, and though Alistair sheathed his sword, he stayed right next to Tess and kept a suspicious watch on both of the other nobles. Isolde spent a few minutes coughing as she tried pull in air again.

Isolde's accent came out thickly when she said _Teeee-gahhhn_ this time, and Tess cringed with a grimace.

“So help me, cousin, if the way she's saying your name means you've been fornicating with your brother's wife -” Tess took a deep breath through her nose.

“Don't be ridiculous, Tesslyn.”

“ _Teeee-gahhhn_ doesn't _sound_ ridiculous,” she said sourly. “Actually, yes it does," she corrected herself quickly.

“Who is this woman, Teagan?” Isolde gasped in her rich accent and annoying, finally standing.

“Technically, I could punish you for not recognizing your nobles, Arlessa,” Tess threatened.

“Surely you remember _me_ , Lady Isolde.” Alistair wondered what his face looked like, if he looked as cold as he sounded. The winded Orleasian, with distinct finger marks around her neck, looked at Tesslyn, then Alistair.

“Alistair? What are _you_ – of _all_ people-”

Tess backhanded Isolde so hard it sent her flying into the door of the windmill.

“ _Enough_ , Tesslyn!” Teagan bellowed.

“ _I'm_ about to do the same to _you,_ Teagan, so _watch it._ ” Alistair warned. _“She's_ in charge. Not you.”

“How is she any good to us if she's dead? Hm?” Teagan glared at both of them.

“She should have thought about the consequences before she willingly hired some random apostate-prisoner, Teagan! That elf, Berwick, was hired to watch for the mage's signal that the Arl was fallen. He gave a rather compelling confession.”

“If I go back to the castle without Teagan, Connor will die,” Isolde whimpered.

“You should have considered the possibilities before you bought a prisoner from a traitor, then, no?” Tess answered.

“If I go back with anyone else, the...problem will destroy Connor. Please, I need Teagan!” Isolde begged.

“What of Eamon?” Teagan asked.

“He is ill in bed. The mage who poisoned him is rotting in the prisons,” Isolde said.

“The mage _you_ hired,” Teagan clarified.

“Yes.” Alistair couldn't tell if the shame on her face was real or an act. But it didn't change how he felt, though. It didn't change how she had treated him when he wasn't able to defend himself.

“Yet you hired him anyway, knowing apostates are dangerous and unpredictable,” Alistair said. He glanced at the Tesslyn's witch; “No offense, Morrigan.”

“You are not lying.” Morrigan stood and brought them each two bottles of the same stamina potion she'd given them earlier. “An apostate hired to infiltrate a castle is dark news indeed, and summoning undead means blood magic. Demons are an unpredictable hazard."

Teagan glared at Isolde. “I truly want to believe you're innocent in all of this, Isolde, but there are too many coincidences here. My brother would not have believed the news of Cailan's death as Grey Warden fault. He would have seen right through Loghain. He must have been planning something. But now he is conveniently unable to contend against Loghain. Ironic, yes?”

“Teagan, please?” Isolde begged him. “My Connor is in danger!”

“And what of my brother?” Teagan stood firm. Alistair understood this was why Tess had agreed to keep Teagan on as Arl; he kept a level head in the face of confrontation. He was a better political match as far as interrogations went, compared to Tess, who obviously preferred to scare with blunt force.

“Eamon is in bed. I do not know what the mage gave him.”

“I'll go with you,” Teagan agreed after a moment.

“Absolutely _not_ , Teagan! That's suicide! If you walk through those doors without protection, you may die!” Tess also stood her ground. Teagan looked at her for a moment, and then pulled her and Alistair away, out of earshot of Isolde.

“We don't have a choice at this point. Maker knows what is inside there right now -”

“Which is why this isn't smart!” Tess hissed. “Considering the only light on at night is the front hall, storming the castle would be quite effective!”

“She's right. We don't have time to waste here wondering if you've been killed yet. We're supposed to be heading to the Circle and Orzammar and finding the elves to get help to stop the Blight, which just so happens to take precedence over anything here,” Alistair said.

“Unfortunately, you need Eamon's help to remove your bounty so you can freely wander Fereldan to do so, don't you?” Teagan whispered back. He hesitated, then wiggled a ring off his right hand. “In the windmill, there is a trap door -”

Tess hissed. “That _one_ stupid lock that doesn't have a proper key-hole?”

“I remember. It has the Guerrin insignia over it,” Alistair said.

Teagan held the ring up. “Correct. It opens only for Eamon and I. Our rings are the keys. It leads into the basement prison. You can sneak in and meet me in the hall.”

Tess snatched it. “And you've been hiding for _how_ long when you could have gone in and ended this!” she looked like she wanted to hit him.

“There was no proper force to keep whatever is inside in check before, was there?” Teagan countered her. “Wait until we are out of sight, then go. Be swift and quiet.” He left them for Isolde. “Come. Take me to Connor.” Isolde nearly fell all over herself in Orleasian mutterings.

“Teagan.” Tess disapproved.

Teagan paused only to answer her: “You are brave, cousin, among...other things. Perhaps in another lifetime, Alistair will leave with an Arlessa, and it will be _me_ standing at your side.”

“Keep dreaming, old man!” Alistair retorted. Teagan only laughed before returning to Isolde.

“I do not care for the way all that was handled, you know,” a kinder Orleasian voice said. Leliana stood over near Sten and Po, holding a white and pink flower in her hand.

“She deserves worse, believe me,” Alistair said. He uncorked one bottle of potion in his hands and tossed it like a shot. “Is the horse still alive?”

“She is. She took some calming, but she ate, and she is safe,” Leliana reported.

“How do you want to handle the castle?” Morrigan asked. “Tesslyn, you should drink that or you won't have anymore energy to finish strangling that Orleasian.”

“I can't argue that,” Alistair agreed. Tess listened to reason and drank one of her potions, and made a face as if she'd had whiskey instead.

“I suppose sleeping the day away isn't an option,” Tess speculated.

“That sounds absolutely counter-productive,” Sten said. “But considering the competency inside the castle, I agree with this plan.”

“We cannot just sit and wait for them to die,” Leliana argued.

“We can,” Morrigan voiced her opinion. “It would be a self-solving problem.”

“I like this plan more and more,” Alistair said.

Unfortunately, Morrigan's _wake-up_ potion affected all of them at once. They ended up agreeing that since now none of them could sleep, except for Po who was already snoozing, they would re-hydrate and eat a bit, and then infiltrate as Teagan had suggested. Ser Perth agreed to watch over Po, and with that, the party descended under the trap door with the Guerrin insignia upon it; Tess cursed many times for not having figured out the way in before.

The ladder led into what looked like an empty storage room. Aside from an unlit wall sconce, the room was empty and shaded, and Alistair was grateful. At the end of the next stretch of hall, there were three undead clawing at something. Tess and Leliana tried their bows again, but the ranged weapons seemed useless since the creatures didn't care whether they were injured or not. When the party spilled into the hall with the undead, Alistair recognized it as the prisons. Lucky for them, five against three was much easier work than they'd dealt with all night. They were all grateful for Morrigan's potions, though they were all so spent that just that tiny battle took more strength to recover than it should have. Plain and simple, they all needed a very long night's sleep.

Alistair leaned back against the wall near the first prison cell on the left. He looked at the now-rusting iron bar door, and he tapped it with his sword. “I locked myself in here, once,” he told Tess, “when I was six.” Tess giggled and crashed into the wall next to him. “For a whole day, too. Eamon finally found me when no one apparently remembered seeing me anywhere.”

Tess turned her head with a sly expression, still giggling. “You want to get locked in there again?” she flirted. _Oh Maker._ She was talking about _both_ of them locked in a cell. Alistair felt his face flush.

“This is not the time for such talk,” Sten disapproved.

“'Tis perhaps _my_ fault,” Morrigan said. “A possible side-effect of the stamina potion...”

“Oh...well, that certainly explains it,” Leliana said. Alistair and Tess giggled almost incoherently, and even Leliana joined in.

“Oh – so – you're not those undead things, then?” a timid voice called out.

“What was that?” Sten asked.

“Oh thank the Maker! I'm over here! Help! Please!” two arms waved out of the last cell on the side Alistair was against.

Alistair stopped Tess when the others advanced toward the waving arms. He planted a kiss on her ear. “If we're here long enough, do you want to try it?” he breathed.

“ _Ohhhh_ yes!” she said through a breathless giggle, holding on to his collar. He was growing a little snug in his smalls just thinking about it. He pulled her into him for a kiss, and she made a sound, melting into his shape as she lingered on his lips.

“Honestly, you two. Could you not wait until you're alone?” Morrigan asked.

“And how long until that happens?” Alistair's cheeks burned as he said it, though.

“Even more reason to hurry up, then,” Leliana smirked. Alistair shared one more kiss with his giggling assassin before letting her go. They finally rejoined their group to discover a man in mages' robes behind the bars.

“I believe this is our mage of question,” Morrigan guessed.

The mage looked pathetic, almost as pathetic as Isolde, but more like a lost sheep than the vile devil that typified Isolde. “Mage of question? Yes, I suppose I am.”

“And just who are you?” Alistair asked.

“My name is Jowan.”

“You're the one Loghain sent, then?”

“It's true. The Teryn's men -”

“Traitor. Not Teryn,” Tess interrupted.

“I..all right, I'll use traitor. Anyway, his men ambushed a small group of Templars who had caught my escape from the Circle. I was told the Arlessa was looking for an apostate, and I was contracted by the Ter – the _traitor_ to pose as an innocent apostate just looking to make a living,” Jowan said.

“What did she want you for anyway?” Alistair studied the man.

“The boy had begun to show magical ability. Connor. She needed someone to secretly train him.”

Both Alistair and Tess raised a skeptical brow. “Connor? A mage?” Alistair said in doubt. “Really?”

“Isolde does have magic in her line, but it's quite a few generations back,” Tess shared.

“So what about the Arl being poisoned? That sort of thing is always planned,” Leliana said.

“Yes, that was what Loghain sent me here for. But I honestly tried to to teach the boy!” he insisted.

“Why were you being taken back with such a large party? The Chantry usually only sends two out,” Tess said.

Jowan's face fell. “I'm a blood mage,” he admitted.

“Truly? You do not seem the type.” Morrigan was genuinely surprised.

“A what?” Sten asked.

“A blood mage. I'm a malefecar.”

“He uses his own blood, or the blood of other as his source of power, instead of relying on just his mana like a _normal_ mage should,” Tess explained.

“I believe that's the first time someone's referred to me as _normal,”_ Morrigan said.

“You haven't strayed into forbidden magic, yet, that's the important thing,” Tess told Morrigan kindly.

“To the Qunari, mages are considered abominations,” Sten said. “They are made into slaves. A _normal_ one is bad enough, but none are stupid enough to turn their own life force into power. That doesn't even make sense. What good is using your own blood for magic if doing so could kill you?”

“I quite agree, Sten,” Alistair said.

“As do I,” Morrigan agreed.

“Are you what caused the plague of undead, then? _Malefecar?”_ Tess asked.

“No, I only poisoned the Arl! I swear to you! It...it was the boy, Connor. I think he's become possessed.”

“I think you taught him a little too much, blood mage.”

“I didn't teach him that! I haven't even been here more than a week. At least, I think it's not been that long. What day is it?”

“What was Connor doing? Why do you say he's possessed?”

“The last I saw of him, he wasn't himself. The Arlessa had me tortured -”

“Not enough, it seems,” Alistair muttered. “Not that I'm justifying Isolde, or anything,” he added.

“So he deserves torture?” Morrigan challenged Alistair.

“Not for being a mage, but for his actions. However, Isolde is _also_ in need of torturing.”

“We don't have time to tarry,” Sten said. “Kill him and be done with it, if he is truly a threat.”

“I agree,” Alistair stared down the mage. “He poison the Arl. That's bad enough. But teaching Connor to summon demons, or teaching him to raise the dead is also worthy of punishment.”

“I'm not a big fan of magic, personally. At all.” Tess said.

“What?” Morrigan said after hesitation. “Do _I_ need to be worried, then?”

“It's not your magic I like you for, Morrigan. I truly like you for the kind of person you are to me,” Tess assured her.

“But part of my person _is_ magic.”

“But I don't like you _for_ your magic. Would you still have your same opinions even if you didn't have magic?” Tess asked.

“I would certainly hope so.”

“Then that is who I like you for. You are safe.”

“I'm starting to notice a pattern of distraction in nearly everything we do,” Leliana observed.

“I see it too. I am hesitant of our chances for success,” Sten said.

“Right now,” Tess said. “We need to decide what to do with this naughty person. All in favor of death?” Tess raised her hand, and so followed Sten and Alistair.

“Doesn't three against two automatically win?” Alistair asked.

“Those in favor of letting him escape?” Tess asked.

Morrigan raised her hand. “'Tis only fair to give him a chance, considering he's already been punished for deeds.”

“Leliana, you did not vote,” Tess noted.

“I only think he may be of use still. If blood magic caused this, then shouldn't blood magic be able to reverse it?” Leliana asked.

Alistair stared at her like she was mad. “Blood magic caused a _disaster._ How can _more_ blood magic _fix_ it? Nothing good comes from blood magic! I have a little bit of experience with this. Tess and I both do!”

“I'm….” Tess pondered while she stared at the mage behind bars. “Actually quite conflicted.”

“Great.” Alistair said sarcastically.

“Not about the blood magic part, by any means. But if we can find the source of the corruption, then perhaps this mage will have an idea how to undo it. His lessons, and all.”

Alistair sighed. “I hate to agree that you may be right on this. I don't like it, but we might need to know exactly what happened before we can make a decision. Connor is the priority, here, after all.”

“You stay for now, malefecar,” Tess decided.

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Jowan said. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry.”

“You'll only be sorry if something happened to Connor,” she said. “The rest can burn, for all I care.” She grabbed Alistair's hand as she walked away, a they led the others into the torture chambers. Jowan called _good luck_ after them.

Alistair leaned down to Tess' ear. “Prison cuffs,” he teased. She froze and stared at the open cells ahead of them. Two sets chained cuffs dangled from the wall. “Didn't you say we'd need four?” he asked. Her eyes shifted over to him and her lips hardened, and he laughed a little.

“Yes, cuffs are an acceptable accessory,” Sten approved.

“Mm, yes! But you shouldn't use _those_ rusty old ones. Order a padded pair from Orlais. Much more comfortable, I assure you,” Leliana also approved.

“ _Oh, sweet Maker!”_ Alistair buried his face in Tess' hair, his face and ears and neck flaming with embarrassment.

“Er, yes...thanks, Sten. Thanks Leliana,” Tess giggled uncomfortably.

“Can we all just agree to get adequate sleep before our next unending battle so I don't have to prescribe anymore stamina potions?” Morrigan suggested.

“Yes! Yes, a _very_ good idea!” Tess said, pulling Alistair along quickly.

As soon as they stepped foot up the spiral staircase, though, a sickly screech made them all spin around. The undead were being risen from the dead bodies of the old prisoners that had were far past rotting. Morrigan, seemingly confident in her new freezing abilities, rushed them all up the stairs, and she created a door of solid ice within the door frame. Alistair knocked on the door of ice; thick and sturdy.

“Well done, Morrigan,” he praised, truly impressed. “This should buy us some time.” Tess gazed at him warmly.

“Very impressive indeed,” Leliana agreed.

They weren't so lucky in the rest of their maze through the lower parts of the castle, though. The stairs led up to main level, into the servants wing. Either the entire castle had been dead for a very long time, or the entire staff of servants had been suddenly turned to living-mummies. There were more bodies than there were beds, though. Alistair fully suspected demonic possession. Even the castle mabari had all been corrupted, though not mummified like the staff had been. Tess remarked she was glad they left her own dog behind for this.

Alistair remembered this part of the castle well. He'd been ushered around in secret by a few sympathetic kitchen staff when he'd managed to sneak in.

They cleared out the rooms behind the door leading into the small hall that connected the kitchen to the main hall. The last door down the hall held a surprise that startled them all. A tow-headed woman gave a blood-curdling shriek as Alistair threw the door open. When they were trying to calm her down, another horde of undead came rushing in, probably from the kitchens. It almost worked better for them to be boxed in, with this kind of enemy. The demonic minions stumbled over each other as they tried to push forward faster than they could be eliminated, which in turn made them easier to behead when they were fallen over in a disorderly pile.

They finally calmed the terrified girl down, though terrified was a poor word to describe how scared she actually was. Leliana was able to coax some words out from the maiden, and they discovered she was the drunk blacksmith's daughter. Tess tried to tell her to go down through the basement and up the trap door into the windmill, but Alistair reminded her of Morrigan's ice wall, which was keeping undead out. Sten actually suggested she just follow them and escape when it was clear.

The kitchen was empty, as was the store room behind; the last horde they'd fought must have been what was left of the kitchen staff. The door into the main hall was locked. Tess couldn't pick it, either. She tried quite a few times, but her picks kept popping out, as if someone was pushing on each one from the other side. Alistair told everyone to stand back; he could get this door open. He stood back in the hall and raised his shield, and he ran straight into the door like a battering ram. He fell through to the other side as the door splintered under his force.

Tess helped him to his feet, and she stood on her toes to kiss him. However, they both stood there with their lips pursed in expectation, frozen as strange sort of singing reached their ears. They stayed just like that for a moment, searching each others eyes silently for a possible answer. Someone _was_ singing, but nonsensical, accompanied by loose applause. Alistair took the kiss anyway, then she followed him through that small room into the main hall.

They both froze again, as did Sten, Leliana and Morrigan when they joined them. Isolde stood in front of the huge fireplace, looking like a timid mouse, bruises and swollen skin where Tess had punished her earlier. A young boy of maybe ten or twelve – Connor? - stood near her, clapping with delight, but wore dark circles around his eyes and sunken cheeks. The person singing was Teagan.

Tess clapped a hand over her mouth to cover her giggle. Teagan kicked his arms and legs from side to side and completely flipped over, and danced in circles while crouching to the floor, singing _bee-bah-doo_ and _doo-bee-_ _d_ _op_ and _ta-da!_

 


	16. An Eye for an Eye, or The Hardening of Alistair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party sneaks into the Redcliffe castle to deal with Isolde, Teagan and Connor. Tesslyn encourages the hardening of Alistair, persuading him to come up with harsh solutions on his own to prevent possible future problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood music:  
> [ Who We Are, by Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/z2hIavE58Fc)  
> Tess: [Mz Hyde, by Halestorm](https://youtu.be/j2OD-dV7j_I) Hear Me, by Imagine Dragons  
> [Undisclosed Desires, by Muse](https://youtu.be/R8OOWcsFj0U)
> 
> ***not edited***

Teagan was surprisingly limber in his odd little dance. Morrigan offered a little giggle, and Tess snorted and shushed her. Alistair jerked under Tess' weight when she pulled him closer to muffle her laugh in his neck. Alistair wasn't actually sure he'd seen any person ever move with such elasticity or enthusiasm. Tess managed _“I didn't know he could do that!”_ in gasps.

“This is disturbing,” Sten spoke.

“These must be the ones who destroyed my army,” the boy said in a voice that reverberated with tones far too deep for anyone so young, perhaps even multiple voices.

“Oh, don't mind us!” Tess giggled hard. “I insist!” Morrigan hissed for her to stop laughing while she tried to stifle her own.

“Both of you stop! It's not funny!” Leliana whispered and tried to turn a giggle into a cough.

“Enough!” the curious voice announced. Teagan suddenly stopped dancing and proceeded to sit on the other side of the boy.

“Aw, well that's not fair,” Tess said. She stepped a little closer. “Hi, Connor.” She grinned, giddy from probably Morrigan's potion and the dancing Bann. Alistair guessed the only reason he wasn't laughing was because he wasn't sure if it was real or not. “Do you remember me?”

“I'm not sure what it is.” Connor raised a brow in extreme doubt. “What is this thing that approaches? What is it?”

“That...” Isolde whimpered, “is a woman, Connor. Like me.”

Alistair resented Isolde simply for comparing herself to Tess. _You are nothing like her._

“You lie! This thing is nothing like you! This thing is young and beautiful! I'm surprised you don't have it beheaded in a fit of jealousy!” Connor said. Alistair supposed he was siding with strange sorcery this time.

“Oh, my,” Tess said with a crooked, empty grin. “Isolde, you are working with a demon.”

“It's only Connor!” Isolde pleaded.

“Not if he's possessed,” Alistair said. “This is the whole reason Templars exist.”

“Little demonic cousin, your fleshly mother seems to have been lacking on your political upbringing. She has no power over me here.”

“Is that so?” Connor said.

“What happened to Teagan?” Tess asked curiously.

“Happened? Nothing has happened. Uncle is right here! See? Say _hello_ , Uncle!” Possessed Connor told Teagan.

Teagan the jester looked up at demonic Connor with a loopy grin. “Hello Uncle!” he said in a funny voice. Tess snorted, and quickly covered with a cough.

“Shut up!” demonic Connor barked, and Teagan straightened his face to glare at the party. “I like him better this way. No more yelling!”

“Not complaining at all, simply noting that he may be a tad annoyed...and sore when he wakes up,” she mused.

“Why are you here? Why have you destroyed my army?” demonic Connor asked her.

“I am here because we were led to believe you were in trouble, small cousin. The Arlessa told us we needed to come help you.” Tess said. “The Arlessa thinks _you_ need _help._ She thinks there's something _wrong_ with you.” She was trying to irritate the demon.

“I see. And do you think I need help? Or do you think for yourself at all?”

“I don't think that's quite a fair question. I don't know enough about you to know if you secretly _desire_ help? I, for one, thoroughly enjoyed Teagan's dance. It's about time the old bat loosened up. And then there is _context_. Do you need help in _general_? From...say, a demon? Or do you need help from the Arlessa herself?”

Alistair frowned in thought. Was she trying to get the demon to kill Isolde? Make it look like Isolde's own mess had killed her? He couldn't catch her eye for validation.

“Isolde, what do you gain by having this demon kill your son? I suppose having the shame of giving birth to a mage erased from personal history is motivation enough.”

“WHAT!” the demonic voice raged at Isolde. “You _wish_ me _dead?!_ And what is it _you_ wish, now that you have seen me?” demonic Connor turned to Tess.

“I want to talk.”

“We need to do more than talk,” Morrigan spoke up. “There is only one cure for a possession.”

“No, please!” Isolde cried out. “He is not himself! He's just -”

Demonic Connor reached up and slapped Isolde across the face. She gaped, and for the first time that day, Isolde almost looked human; _no, she has never been human._ Alistair pushed pity from his mind. Isolde deserved no compassion. “Silence, wench! You've lied to me! You brought these strangers here to kill me! But I won't let you! You will never get that chance!” Possessed Connor took off running into the west hall. As soon as the boy disappeared from sight, Teagan and the two guards readied their swords and shield.

“Were you quite hoping for this?” Morrigan demanded as their own party jumped into battle.

“ _Maker_ , yes! That was so boring!” Tess cried back.

Alistair took on Teagan by himself. “Do I kill him?” he asked. He hit Teagan over the head with a pummel strike. He was forced mainly to block, though. Teagan was quick; _right, training with Tess._ Alistair gave the Bann a shove with his shield without waiting for Tess' order.

“No! Don't kill him! _Dammit_! Isolde I'm going to _gut_ you for this!” Tess screamed.

“Then how do I stop him?” Possessed Teagan was relentless, hitting heavy and fast.

“Morrigan, can you paralyze him?” Tess asked. Without replying, Morrigan stamped her staff down, and out from it blossomed a green glowing mess of symbols that both settled around her staff and traveled to Teagan. Alistair jumped back to avoid getting caught in her glyph. While Sten and Leliana took out the guards, Tess snaked in over the glyph, carefully stepping between the magic lines. She pried the sword and shield from Teagan's hands, but fell prey to the glyph with a single slight miscalculated step.

“Dammit. Morrigan, how long will this last?” Alistair asked.

“Another few minutes or so,” the witch answered.

Alistair did not want to wait _another_ _few_ _minute_ _s_ _or so,_ nor did they possibly have that much time before Maker-knew-what might attack next _._ He demanded a lyrium potion from Morrigan, who quizzically handed one over with _are you going to withdrawal too, now?_ _Sten is the only one large enough to carry you to and fro,_ and he swallowed it like a shot of the worst whiskey he had ever tasted. He dropped his shield and sword and steadied his hands a finger's length apart as his chest, bowing his head to concentrate on his breath against his hands. He studied each breath, feeling for the lyrium to travel though his body. He could already feel the current of energy building up between his hands. When he felt it stream through his arms and up his neck, he exhaled slow and deep, emptying his lungs completely. He filled himself with air as the lyrium hit his skull, and he felt a familiar power pulsing through his skin. His hands vibrated as if they held an eager ball of pure life. In fixed grace, he stretched the length between his hands, cautious not to break the phantom orb, his strength manifested in a single point. With velvet motion he crossed his arms, shattering the invisible ball with stiff fingers to expel the lyrium current. He felt the echo even back to his elbows.

He caught Tess as she fell limp, and told Morrigan to paralyze Teagan again as soon as he had Tess out of the way. Tess groaned in his arms as she found her legs. “ _Ohhh_ , you smell good!” Tess breathed on to him. He laughed softly. “Do I need to find us some privacy?” he said just for her ears. She nodded with a breathless laugh, clinging to his shoulders. She held his head and uttered approval into a kiss deep enough to taste the lyrium residue in his mouth. His groin pressed toward her in instinct, unwary of their surroundings.

“I understand the excitement, but this is truly not the time or place,” Sten told them. Alistair and Tess laughed into each others mouths, and he fought the urge in her lips to respect the Qunari's request for decency.

Alistair secured his sword and shield to his person as he looked around. Only Teagan and the nightmare of his childhood remained. “What do we do with both of these?” He kept his fingers tangled with Tess'.

“What about Connor?” Isolde trembled by the fire. Bits of blood splattered her dress like half of a spotted rainbow.

“I do not think the boy is your concern anymore,” Morrigan spoke up. “'Twould seem you forfeited motherhood when you allowed a malefecar to teach him to summon demons.”

“Well said,” Alistair agreed.

“Morrigan, when he comes out of this, will he still be hostile?” Tess asked, gesturing to Teagan.

“But what about Connor?” Isolde pressed.

“I'm bloody waiting for your mistake to wear off!!” Tess yelled. “Stay put and shut up, or I'll hold your head in the fire!”

Isolde cowered clumsily into a corner. “I honestly never thought I'd enjoy violence so much,” Alistair admitted.

“Should we split up and look for the boy?” Leliana asked.

“No. He's either upstairs or in the study, both of which are dead ends. He'll be fine until we figure out what to do.” Tess stared at Teagan with narrowed eyes. “You know, I could _hear_ you _talking_. _Teagan_ can _hear_ us.”

“So...you're saying you and I should slip around the corner and make really loud, obscene noises?” Alistair joked, his own banter inflaming his face. Tess grinned.

“I do like that idea. _Very much,_ right now.” She reached out and poked Teagan's face. She gave a very childish giggle with a lift of her shoulders, just like she had at Ostagar. She poked the tip of Teagan's nose and giggled again, and then flicked it. Alistair couldn't help his own giggle.

“Is torture really necessary at this point? I thought he was on our side?” Sten asked. Both Tess and Alistair did a double-take at him, and Alistair embarrassingly remembered Tess saying Qunari used light touch for torture because of their sensitive skin. Tess responded with a giggled _yes!_ She tickled her fingers under Teagan's chin and made funny noises, and Alistair had to completely turn away to calm the laughter boiling up inside of him. Leliana and Morrigan eventually gave into amusement, as well.

When the glyph finally wore off, Teagan collapsed to the ground cursing up a storm at Tess, who howled in laughter so hard she nearly fell over.

“I'll have you know, a second paralysis wasn't necessary,” Teagan said. “I've been fully conscious since Alistair...did what he did.”

“It was absolutely necessary!” Tess laughed.

Teagan winced and rubbed a spot on his head. “I swear, Alistair, if you've left a bump, I'll have you for this. I'm very picky about my hats fitting.” He groaned. “What happened to Isolde?” the Bann turned around. Isolde let out a cry and nearly tripped to run to him.

“Oh, Teagan! Please! My Connor!”

Tess rolled her eyes. _“Oh, Teeee-gahhhn!”_ she mocked quietly. _“I_ am _never_ going to get that out of my head!” she cried softly. _“Ba_ _aa_ _hhhnn Teeee-ga_ _aa_ _hhhn!”_ Alistair was sure he even heard Sten stifle a laugh with the rest of them. Teagan shot Tess a glare to challenge competency. “Okay, _look,_ aside from you never telling me you were so _limber_ , we've got a possessed child, and also a malefecar in the basement. Any ideas?”

“ _Oh!_ I would _love_ to learn that _dance_ he did!” Leliana piped up. Alistair shoved his face into Tess' shoulder and bit her armor to muffle his laugh, and her silent giggles made his head shake with her.

Teagan sighed. “I'll go get the mage. Isolde, go get yourself a drink.”

“I-get... _myself?_ Get it myself?” Isolde stammered as Teagan left her.

“Yes, get yourself a drink. You haven't forgotten where the kitchen is, I hope?” Teagan said.

“Ah – _Te_ _e_ _ee-gaaahhhn_?” Tess called over the other shoulder. Alistair didn't like the way she enjoyed pronouncing the Bann's name in that accent. _How_ _to_ _draw her attention back?_ he silently wondered.

“What?” Teagan asked uninterestedly.

Alistair moved his lips to Tess' neck, and he reached over to spiral the tip of his finger on her cheek while he flicked his tongue just below her ear. She let out an involuntary mewl, quickly followed by a gasp. “Maker! _Stop_ that!” She swatted Alistair's hand away from her face and leaned away from him, though she giggled when he did.

Teagan sighed. “Really, that's unnecessary, both of you.”

“That's not confusing at all, is it? _Don't light her up,_ but also _you're mad to turn him down.”_ Tess said. Alistair laughed again. “Teagan, you can't get down there, you oaf! Morrigan set a door of ice down there!”

Teagan sighed again. “You really know how to complicate things, don't you?”

“Oh, and you'll need this.” she tossed the Guerrin ring back to him, and the Bann caught it. “And oh! Teagan! Take the panicky little lass back with you! She belongs to the smith!” Tess called after him. “Go on, girl. Follow the man in pajamas.”

“See? I was right,” Sten said.

“The whole lot of you are top-notch jesters,” Teagan called back.

As soon as Teagan and the girl disappeared out of the doors, Alistair headed toward the kitchen. “Hungry, love?” he asked.

“Maker, yes!” Tess ran after him.

“Is anything salvageable in there?” Morrigan asked.

“I'm about to find out.” They found nothing but drink, though, and uncooked roots, and Tess found a store of dried fruit. They untidily gathered up two serving bowls-full of carrots and dried apples, and some bottled mead. They were all stuffing their faces, save Isolde who still cowered away, when Teagan returned with the blood mage.

“Oh, good.” Tess greeted them. “Little blood mage, the boy _is_ possessed. Is there a way to save him without chopping his head?”

“Normally I wouldn't suggest we kill a child...” Alistair began, stepping forward with Tess to meet them. “But we may have no choice.” Though, _ugh._ Not his first choice by far.

“No!” Isolde cried out, running over. “Please, I beg you, do not kill my Connor!”

“It's either that, or...I could perform more blood magic, and someone could enter the Fade to deal with the demon,” Jowan said.

“What?” Alistair cried. “How does more blood magic solve this?”

“Unless you happen to have a hundred bottles of lyrium on hand, blood magic is all I can offer,” Jowan shrugged.

Alistair looked to Tess for an answer. He would agree to whatever she thought best. But he didn't like the look on her face. “What is involved in this blood magic?”

“I would need to take a living sacrifice. I could then use his or her blood in place of lyrium to magically put the mage to sleep, and they could enter the Fade to find the demon,” Jowan explained.

“A living sacrifice?” Teagan scowled.

“We'll find another way,” Alistair said.

“No! Please!” Isolde begged. “Let me! I'll do this! To save my Connor!”

Alistair heard a _shing_ of metal sliding against leather, and before anyone had anytime to look over, Tess' arm and a flash of steel flicked out and around. Blood sprayed out in wide spurt from Isolde's neck as her body hesitated to drop. Teagan cried out before Alistair could protest, which immediately switched Alistair into Protector. Teagan cursed at Tess, and Alistair whipped his own dagger out and held it to the Bann's neck.

“ _Never_ speak to her like that again!” Alistair ordered darkly. A waft of wet, rusting copper hit his nose as Isolde started to leak on to the floor.

“You are wasting time,” Tess told the blood mage.

Jowan stared down at Isolde with wide eyes. “I...can see that. Yes, I’ll...just get to work, then...”

“You can't just go around killing everyone, Tesslyn!” Teagan scolded.

“She willingly offered herself.” Tess shrugged, stepping back. “Morrigan, you are up.”

“What?! Absolutely not!” Morrigan cried out as if offended.

“Alistair, get this thing away from me! What is wrong with you? _All_ of you?” Teagan pushed Alistair's hand away to move out of reach.

“Morrigan, you're the only mage,” Tess ignored Teagan.

“Then watch your tongue around her,” Alistair ignored Tess.

“No! I refuse!” Morrigan said.

“Morrigan.” 

“Have you ever been to the Fade, Tesslyn? Of course you haven't! Do I look like the type that likes to frolic with demons an a world of blurry faded colors and fake sunshine?”

“It's too late for other options,” Alistair said.

“We _could_ have gone to the Circle and asked them to do this with _lyrium!”_ Morrigan protested.

“That's over a day's walk, and I'm going to find that blasted golem as soon as we leave this wretched town,” Tess said.

“I'll just... _wait_ for her to start _stinking_ , then,” Jowan said.

Morrigan sighed loudly in annoyance. “You _owe_ me for this, Tesslyn.”

“Yes, yes, I'll buy you whatever you want when we get to Denerim,” Tess said. Morrigan scoffed, but spoke to the blood mage anyway.

Alistair stood silent, watching the whole blood ritual start to play out. Morrigan refused to lie near blood, Teagan paced with a hard, troubled frown, Leliana stood back against a wall, and Sten warmed himself by the fire in attempt to ignore the chaos. Alistair watched Tess. Her eyes flew all over the blood mage and Morrigan. He couldn't believe she'd given in so quickly. She'd been willing to kill Jowan earlier.

Alistair grabbed her arm and led her from the hall swiftly. She let him drag her without question through the hall of the suits of arms, into the Arl's study. He slammed and locked the door. He wanted to yell right now. She hadn't even consulted him first, yet he sought her direction for everything? But he _didn't_ want to yell. _Maker, help him_ , every time she met his eyes or kissed him or touched him, his pulse raced and melted his insides.

He dropped his sword and shield on the floor and sat on the edge of the desk while he thought. Tesslyn silently lit the wall sconces with the single candlestick on the desk. He was well aware of the symbolism as she conquered the darkness around him with every step, carefully guarding each new flame with her hand until it could dance on its own. It had been like this from the start.

“Was there really no other way?” he asked her. She looked at him as she set the candlestick atop a short bookshelf.

“She offered herself.” She kept her voice gentle as well.

“You know what? I don't even _care_ that she's dead. Maker! I wanted you to throw her off the cliff earlier. _Her_ death doesn't bother me. But _blood magic_ , Tess.” he sighed. “Blood magic is _dangerous_ , and not just for mages who use it or the victims. The only way a mage can make a pact with a demon is through blood magic. What if this comes back on us?”

“Did we honestly have any logical options?” she asked. She paused. “All right, _what if_ we had left for the Circle instead?”

He sighed. “If we had just left, Redcliffe would have fallen again. And if Redcliffe goes for good, then Denerim falls too. Trade ceases, and people starve, and then domestic war breaks loose, _while_ this Blight is going on. And Maker knows how much more trouble Isolde would have caused.” he rubbed his face. She was there in front of him when he opened his eyes. “What if Teagan's still... _infected_ by that demon that's holding Connor hostage?” When she hesitated, he shook his head. “We'll have to kill him.” She gave a small sigh.

“Let's hope that's not the case. He has a _very_ _loyal following_. We need that influence.”

“What about Eamon? Are you really going to kill him?”

She hesitated. “I'm not sure anymore. He may be different with Isolde gone.”

“Can that be _my_ choice?” he asked. “I honestly don't have any bad memories of him. I mean, I was upset when he told me he was sending me to the Chantry, but that's it.”

“As you wish.” she hesitated. “What would you like me to do with the malefecar?”

He sighed again. “He is far too eager to keep using blood magic. I...suppose we can't leave here with him still alive. He could easily undo any good we've accomplished.” He paused, and reached for her. She came into his arms like she was coming home, nestling herself in all his crooks. “I'm sorry I'm unpleasant right now. I...there are a mess of reasons that I don't want to talk about right now. But...know that I _am sorry._ ”

“You are not in trouble. Yet.”

“Yet,” he echoed. He pulled back from the hug and just stared at her for a moment. He pushed his mouth to the tiny smirk playing on her lips, and she folded even deeper into him. When he parted her lips he tasted the difference on her tongue, and remembered her kiss to suck the lyrium from his mouth. And he realized this was the first real time he'd had to just sit with her, be alone with her. He knew exactly how he was going to use the opportunity.

He pulled her daggers from her waist and tossed them somewhere behind her, and immediately found the buckle on her back. “This is beginning to be a habit, yes?” she swayed in his arms, and he nipped at her chin. “Abusing my daggers means caboodling time?”

“Damn right it does.” With every article he loosened, his breath grew heavier. Her own hands stumbled at his his belt and jerked on the ties of his armor. She sighed his name, and he took one of her hands and pressed it over the bulge at his crotch. Their hips sought each other with groans. Their mouths were hot and sloppy, navigating more drunkenly with each new part of revealed skin. He tugged at the laces at her front, giving her a nibble as he traced her jaw with his tongue. She withdrew a sharp hiss when he wet nearly half of her ear with a suck of the lobe.

“You did that on purpose, earlier,” she moaned. “in front of Teagan.”

“Mmm,” he agreed, wetting her whole ear before biting on her tragus. “You pay far too much attention to that man.” He basked in the sound she made when he flicked the tip of his tongue in. He stopped only so she could slip his armor and undershirt over his head, but immediately returned to the spot that made her completely submit to him.

“Are you jealous, Alistair?”

“Jealous Alistair. Yes.” He loosened the buckles of her right armguard, flicking his tongue quicker. She responded by pressing down over a nipple in a pluck that bucked him, making him grunt into her ear.

“Jealistair?” she guessed.

He gave a breathless laugh, and planted a kiss in her conch, and on her cheek. “Utterly Jealistair.” He kept her gaze through a tender kiss. “No one touches you but me,” he reminded her, slipping off her right glove.

“What about a healer?” she sassed with a smirk. He bit her lip with a grin of his own.

“ _No_ one,” he said. He closed his eyes and nuzzled her for a moment, just enjoying the icy-hot tingle she left on his skin as she trickled her fingers up his bare back and neck. “Except maybe a midwife, down the line”

She started to retract, and he opened his eyes to find her frowning. “Alistair...”

“It's not impossible,” he murmured, pulled her back in for another gentle kiss. “Nothing's impossible. We'll find a way. I promise.”

“You can't promise that.”

“I just did.” He turned his attention to her left arm and carefully unlaced the leather ties; this was her wounded arm. “And if it takes the rest of our lives to figure out how, then in the meantime, we'll just try, and try -” he thrust his hips into hers with each _try_ “- and try, until we pass out.” She leaned in for another kiss, wanting and eager. But he needed to watch what he was doing. The bandage came off while he pulled her armor off over her head and arms, so he took a moment to re-wrap her. Her mouth found his neck, causing his breath to catch. _I love how you taste,_ she whispered, dragging her tongue up his neck, up under his jaw, forcing a whimper from him when she suctioned her lips. His groin swelled in silent pleading, and he lost breath again when she freed his straining desire, pushing everything down his hips at once. They hung their heads together to watch her stroke the length of his erection. Her touch summoned a pearly bead of his seed from his small head, and he gasped again when her finger grazed the eye to capture it. He followed her finger with his eyes as she brought his milk to her tongue, and their eyes met. His lips crashed into hers, and he blindly unbuckled her belt and threw it; the buckle hit the stone wall with a loud metallic clank.

Voices echoed in the hall beyond the door. Teagan started raging, _If she's breaking things in there-!_ To which Leliana quickly replied, _We shouldn't assume they're destroying property. They are...simply young and in love, remember._ Teagan scoffed, _Even worse! In the Arl's study –_ my _future study!_

“So help me, if they break down this door, I will slay them all!” Alistair breathed, glancing to make sure he had indeed locked it. Tess giggled and secured his mouth again, and he forced her leather pants and smalls over her curves before he fully loosened the ties. He groaned and she gasped when he shoved his hand between her thighs, and his cock danced in excitement. She was practically dripping, her curls glossed together, so slick at her entire center that his fingers slipped and slid all over. “Oh, Tess...”

He dropped to his knees to remove her boots, and she gasped, perhaps in anticipation. He glanced up at her, then quickly untied the knots on each boot. While finishing the buckles with one hand, he reached up with the other and massaged her slippery folds. She moaned, and every time he lapped his hand, he brought a whole new wave of sweet musk. He could barely see straight. Her fumes were like a mask with with only one sight. With dizzy fingers below a light head, he sought the core of her dribbling perfume with his mouth; she gasped and braced desk. She coated him from nose to chin without him even squishing his face against her. _Maker, she was sweet,_ maybe it was the witch's potion? He'd have to remember this. He ran his tongue along her labia and pressed between, drinking her nectar like a favorite wine. She gave a hum when he grazed her clit with his nose while he nuzzled her sopping curls. He moved the tip of his tongue to her pearl and polished his cheeks with her wet hair. Her thighs stuttered and she mewled in desperation, and he groaned into her as his cock jumped toward her. He took her all in his mouth with a hard suck, drawing another wiggle from her, claiming the rest of her gloss for himself. He yanked off a boot and freed one leg of cover, his breath was just as heavy as hers. He jerked off the other boot and finished her undressing, and he slid back up to his feet.

Her eyes flew all over his coated face, and she stood on her toes for a rough kiss. She suckled his top lip, tasting herself as the kiss broke in a sigh. “I really taste like that?” she wondered in breathless awe.

He grinned into another kiss. “Mm-hm. Like syrup, and milk,” he breathed back. Her shoulders shuddered into him when he grazed his fingertips down her back. She brought her tongue up to his face and moaned.

“This feels almost sinful,” she muttered. He couldn't even find words to tell her how erotic it was to have her lick her own juices from his skin. “I may need to pray afterward.” He laughed, and she cleaned the rest of herself from his face.

“You'll have to let me return the favor sometime,” he bargained.

She nearly melted from the thought. _“Ohh,”_ she whimpered, “all those Little Alistair's all over my face? And you're just going to _eat_ them?” she gave a giddy laugh, and he laughed again.

“An eye for an eye,” he teased, kissing her as she giggled. He dug his hands into her bottom and picked her up. He tried to turn but he nearly tripped himself. He cursed loudly, holding her and the desk at the same time. “I forgot I've chained myself.” His boots and pants kept his legs only hip-length apart. She giggled breathlessly, drowsy in his hold. He carefully moved around to the short-end of the desk and set her down, forcing her backwards as he pushed up and knelt between her legs. The desk wasn't nearly long enough for even her, let alone him. He came down over her and tucked his forearms under her shoulders, one arm facing up so he could hold the back of her head, keep her from falling, the other arm set to brace himself. “One day, I'll eventually plan this out properly,” he promised. She hiked her thighs up around his waist, and kisses rolled together as he wiggled his hips to find her core. He wasn't sure who sighed when he found his way, but their lips and tongues met through a tender duet when he pushed inside.

She was so sensitive that every thrust already drew nonsensical pleading. She was already trying to squeeze seed from him. He pushed up with his bracing arm to watch not just her, but their crashing centers. There was enough light in the room to see her honey squish out every time he buried himself. It came up sometimes with little bubbles that caught in both of their curls. He arched his back for a better view as he pulled all but his head out, and he moaned at the sight of her so thick around him. Her gloss dripped down his shaft before he shoved up to the hilt, and she cried out so loud it echoed around them. He looked at her while he pulled out again, watching her face flex with want, watched her head tilt back with another cry when he rammed in again. He pushed his mouth to hers through her whimpers, and he picked up speed.

The desk legs screeched and scraped against the stone floor. She stammered his name between pules, and he dropped back to his forearm with his head at her neck as his own breath started to fail. He grunted against the pooling heat in his balls, not wanting to finish so quick, or before her. Her high-pitched whines and the animalistic noises coming from his throat played out like music around him, but he conducted their song from a need that had built up throughout the past nightmare of a day.

He balanced briefly on the elbow supporting her head to weave his other arm between his side and her leg, and he braced the desk again with her knee bent over him. She curled up into him with this new angle he penetrated from. Her moans became a crashing tide of breathless wails, jaw dropped in pleasure, and her fingers dug into his bottom to keep him _right there_. His arms trembled as he clenched to stay in that one position. He rested his forehead to hers and closed his eyes, listening to her body unravel in thanks. He sought her mouth as she started to melt beneath him, and he rocked his hips faster. She was summer for him, and tighter than she had been even at the start. Her breath stammered at his neck, and when her lips feathered over his skin he boiled over. He held himself deep, making sure his seed was hers exclusively. He didn't give a damn who heard him. He clutched his love and let his own appreciation sing out for her.

They were still sweaty between their bellies when he slid off of her and the desk. He pulled her up, and she came swaying like a drunk doll into his arms. He stood there just holding her for a moment, tracing the bones in her back while she regained strength.

She started giggling. Alistair looked at her when she didn't stop, and she met his eyes, still looking a little wrecked. “Teagan is going to be _so_ mad at us!” she said deviously. Alistair nearly snorted, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead with his own laugh.

“Good. I hope he finally understand the boundaries now.”

She giggled again. “The boundaries are in his future study.”

He did snort, this time. “And he'd best remember that!”

He pulled up his smalls and splint-mail pants so he wouldn't trip anymore, and then he collected the rest of their armor from around the room. She crawled off the desk, and stepping only on the rug, walked around the room. She commented that the library hadn't grown in past eight years. She let him slip her small clothes back up her legs, and her reinforced leather pants, lavishing her hip with kisses as he dressed her. Her curiosity drew her away from him, and so he had to follower her back to the desk to finish clothing her. She opened every drawer of the desk, switching hands to sift through parchment, quills, charcoal as he fastened up one arm and moved on to the next. She opened the center drawer and pulled something out. Alistair did a double-take as it reflected lights when she rubbed her thumb across it, and he completely froze.

She looked up at him in question, and he met her eyes. He dropped her arm and held his hand out. “May I?” he asked. She gently placed the circle in his palm, resting a cool chain over his fingers. About half as small as his palm, hollow and silver. The two welded edges connected what looked like two tiny shields, the backside flat, the front a mound. The Flame of Andraste carved into the curved front. Just as light as he remembered, though now scarred with silver seams throughout. Even though it hadn't been with him in over ten years, it was just as scarred as he was.

“You know it?”

He nodded, and he felt his eyes water up. _Maker's breath._ “I thought I'd lost it...” He traced the blemished grooves of the Flame. “It was my mother's. It's the only thing I ever had of hers.” He blinked a few times, and glanced at her. “I threw at the wall. I was so mad when Arl Eamon told me he was sending me away.” He couldn't blink the tears away fast enough. He wasn't sure if he was angry or happy or sad. Probably all three. She stood on her toes and kissed a stray tear, and he just broke down.

He felt weak. Even though she held him, cradled him and kissed him and assured him _it's all right_ and _I'm here, Alistair,_ he felt small and undeserving. A moment ago, he had been a man, but not anymore. Now he was just a little boy crying over his mother's broken necklace.

She coaxed him into the chair, and she sat on the desk so she could hold him better. When he had caught his breath, he left the flawed amulet on the desk to finish fixing her armor up. He laced her up and double-checked all her buckles, and she kissed him tenderly when he stood up. Her arms wove up over his shoulders, and something thin and cool closed around his neck. He met her eyes, and he heard a faint click. The amulet stayed in place around his neck when she slid her hands down.

“I _love_ your _heart_ , Alistair. _So much,”_ she told him, her own eyes glossy now. His heart swelled and crumbled all at once, and he found her lips under the biggest hug he could give her. His best friend. His love. His life. Loving him even when he didn't feel like a man. He wasn't sure he deserved her.

A heavy pound on the door made him jump a little, and Tess squeezed him tighter before they turned. _If you're quite done in there, we need to talk._ Teagan. Alistair gave a small growl, and Tess pressed a giggle into his shoulder. They gathered their weapons and his shield, though Alistair kept his sword out like a walking stick. They gave into Teagan's demands, and Alistair opened the door while Tess extinguished the sconces. Teagan stood looking very disapproving, and Jealistair immediately returned. “Cousin, please don't tell me you were standing outside the door listening,” Tess said.

“I didn't need to. We could all hear you in the next room. _Both_ of you.”

“ _Good.”_ Alistair stared at the Bann. “Remember that.”

“If you are done defiling the study, your mage friend has awakened.”

“Defiling denotes some sort of destruction. I assure you, nothing was destroyed in there,” Tess explained. “We would have been out in a moment, _Teeee-gaaahhhn.”_ That name was becoming venom to Alistair's ears no matter what accent it was in.

“Ser Perth is here. We all need to have a word with you two.”

“We already know where babies come from,” Alistair said. Tess choked on a laugh. They followed Teagan anyway.

Isolde's body had been removed, and a woman in servants clothing was cleaning up the rest of the blood from the carpet. “I'm glad I was not present for the auditory escapade that everyone keeps snickering about,” Morrigan greeted them.

“You would have only disapproved,” Alistair told the witch. He looked from the mage to Morrigan. “So what happened?”

“I slayed the demon,” Morrigan reported. “I was even nice to the boy.”

"Thank you, Morrigan. I mean it," Tess said kindly.

“And...where is Connor now?” Alistair asked.

“I had to calm the boy and distract him,” Leliana said. “He came in before we could...move the body. He is upstairs playing with toys in the Arl's chambers.”

“And the demon is completely removed? Was that what was responsible for the undead?” he asked.

“It would seem so. The scratching from down in the dungeons where you found me stopped when your friend woke up,” Jowan said. Alistair frowned a little and remembered his and Tess' talk; they could not leave the castle with the mage alive.

“Good.” Alistair said, careful not to let his decision known in his tone.

“Sorry for the disturbance, Ser Perth,” Tess said. Alistair glanced to see the knight walk up.

“I heard nothing, Teryna.” Ser Perth politely excused them.

“Noted and appreciated,” Tess tried to hold in a smile though.

“Before Ser Perth returned to Redcliffe, all of Eamon's soldiers were sent to search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes,” Teagan told them. This piqued Leliana's interest and she came right over to listen.

“We ran into two of them in Lothering,” Alistair said. “Ser Donnell was the only survivor. The other we saw was a dead Templar. The rest of Ser Donnell's party had died.”

“I suspected as much,” Ser Perth said. “Supposedly the Ashes have magical healing properties. We sought them to attempt to heal the Arl. This is not certain, of course, but there is no cure for the poison he was given.”

Jowan cringed even before they all looked at him. “Did I mention I was sorry?”

“I would actually like to find this,” Tess said. The expression on her face was set and true.

“As would I,” Leliana chimed in. “If we do find it, there were would be no greater blessing than to be in the presence of the ashes of the Maker's Bride.”

“I would be most grateful,” Ser Perth sighed with relief. “My party was lucky to be not more than a day away when we got wind of Redcliffe's fall, but had we been here instead, I suspect the outcome may have been different. We would not have had to rely on outside help, though please don't mistake that for ungratefulness. Our duty should be here, to protect the Arl and the boy as we were sworn.”

“Do you have any leads, or are we just to wander all of Fereldan blindly? In which case, we could just easily go collect the elves, dwarves and Circle anyway,” Alistair said, trying to be practical. “I'm not against the idea, but we need a pretty distinct direction to head toward right now. The whole point of coming here to find the Arl was to have him clear our bounty so we _could_ go gather forces to fight the Blight.” The corner of Tess' mouth turned up ever so slightly, though her eyes glimmered her actual approval.

“We do indeed. We were headed toward Haven, a very small town near the south-western base of the Frostbacks. Sulcher's Pass will get you there,” Ser Perth said.

“ _Oh!”_ Tess squeaked excitedly. Alistair knew exactly what she was talking about before she said it. “Yes, that's near your golem,” he told her. She nodded quickly with an excited grin, and he smiled at her. “Yes, we can do this. Golem first, then the Ashes. It might be a good idea to have a golem with us for that, just in case.”

“That is a relief, I assure you.” Ser Perth nodded. “If you'll excuse me, I should make sure the castle is secure.” He gave a small bow with his fists crossed over his chest, and he left the hall.

There was a moment of silence until Teagan asked what to do with the blood mage. “I could lock him up until Eamon awakes. He will want to interrogate him.”

“If you do that, you risk another possession,” Alistair said. “You can't trust a blood mage.”

“Alistair, Eamon will want to hear the story from the mage himself,” Teagan said.

“I did hear you,” Alistair told him. “And I repeat, you can't trust a blood mage. Especially with Redcliffe in the sorry state it's in, and since Connor doesn't have proper training or knowledge to protect himself from demons, keeping the mage alive only puts all of Redcliffe in the exact same danger it was in before.”

“'Tis not fair to kill this mage just for being a mage,” Morrigan voiced her same opinion she had in the dungeons. “He also helped remedy the problem.”

“He helped _Connor's_ problem, not the problem _he_ created _._ My answer is final, he needs to die.” Alistair said.

“The decision is not yours to make, Alistair,” Teagan argued.

“It is certainly mine to make. I've seen first hand what happens to possessed mages. Even their own kind kills them for becoming abominations, and _every_ single blood mage I've encountered has turned to demons. Honestly, what good is it going to do for us to go way out of our way to go find these Ashes, only come back and find the entire town burning and the castle overrun with more undead?” He challenged. “You can't deny this _has_ to be done!”

“It's not your decision,” Teagan repeated.

Alistair could see this would continue to be a problem. This man would forever be trying to undermine his authority – though he was personally claiming none at the moment – if he didn't show his resolve right here and now. Like Tess had with Isolde. What good could come from Tess putting him on the throne if he let the nobles try to run him down? He found Tess' gaze. She was firm, confident. She had agreed with him, the mage needed to die.

Teagan started to say something about Tess not being able to get him out of this because _blah blah_. Before the Bann could finish speaking, Alistair turned and shoved his sword clear through the blood mage's middle. Noises around him were made, but he ignored them. He removed his sword and Jowan hunched over, limbs shaking as he looked down at the stain blossoming from around the cut. Alistair stuck his sword into Jowan's neck and held the mage by the hair to slice across. He tossed the head to the floor and turned back to the party.

Teagan bellowed at him, and Alistair put the tip of his sword to the Bann's neck. _“Don't push me!_ I did what _had_ to be done because _you're_ too busy cowering under the weight of having to make a decision for yourself! We have already tarried here far longer than we should have, and _now_ we have an even bigger mess to clean up! _Your_ mess, because you hid away with a bunch of women and children instead of infiltrating like you should have done!” he lowered his sword. He glared at Teagan in the best manner he could silently say _you will remember your place._ He strode out of one hall and into the entry, passing Morrigan, who hid behind Sten, and the frightened servant who gave a cry. When he glanced back, Tesslyn was hurrying to reach his side. He looked at her and opened the door, and stepped out into the light with the woman he would make his Queen.

 


	17. It had to be done.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tess continues to harden Alistair. Alistair puts his past behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: recollection of emotional abuse, physical abuse - child abuse.
> 
> Alistair's past inspired by [ this amazing piece of art ](http://donc-desole.tumblr.com/post/120174253724/hi-res-x-x-an-attempt-at-a-darker-take-on) by [ donc-desole ](http://donc-desole.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.
> 
> NSFW art at end of chapter.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [ Who We Are, by Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/z2hIavE58Fc)  
> [ Demons, Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/LqI78S14Wgg)

Alistair and Tess walked hand-in-hand out of the Redcliffe castle courtyard and over the bridge. “We need to sleep,” he told her as they stumbled downhill. He glanced up at the sun with a squint. “It's past noon already. Maker's breath!” he said in bewilderment. “We've been in battle literally all night and half a day.” he looked at her. “Bath, and then sleep?” he suggested. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Are you all right? Truly all right?” she asked

“Of course. Aside from being tired. Why?”

“You just killed a man.” she paused briefly. “Aside from circumstances being as they are, you still beheaded a man. Not darkspawn, a _man_.”

“It was necessary. When they turn to blood magic, they're no longer men. In Temp – well, you went through some of it. In Templar training, they teach you blood mages are simply abominations that haven't taken over the flesh yet. Are you trying to say I did the wrong thing?” he asked, stopping his feet.

“Absolutely not. I think you did a brave thing in the midst of a conflicting situation, and you set aside yourself to look at the bigger picture. You did what you had to do for the greater good. It was a wise decision. I just want to make sure you're _good_ with it. If you have regrets?” she asked. She was solid as she said this, unwavering. She seemed to believe her words, and so his reasons and actions.

“I think I'm all right with it. I feel okay right now.”

She stood on her toes, way up on her tiptoes because where she stood on the slope made her even shorter, and she pressed her lips tenderly to his. “I'm very proud of you, Alistair.” she hugged him tightly.

His heart was swelling too big for his chest again. He held her as close as he could. “Thank you,” he told her. “Aside from Cailan's goodbye, Duncan was the only one who ever said he was proud of me. Until you.”

“I'm convinced the rest of everyone didn't know what they were missing,” she said. “But I'm glad they did miss out.”

 _He wouldn't have found her otherwise._ “Me too.”

She sighed. “Okay, I need to keep moving. My eyes are starting to close.” She pulled away and blinked and shook her head and widened her eyes. He bent to kiss her head. “I say we figure out who all died, and use the best house with the biggest bed and the biggest tub, and just sleep for two...no, three days.”

He laughed softly. “That sounds amazing.” They finished stumbling down the hill, and at the windmill, they found Bodahn and Sandal and Po. Po ran over in excitement and leaped on Tess, knocking her clear to the ground, and she squealed when he slobbered all over her face. Alistair just let the mabari express his love for his mistress, and he talked with Bodahn while he grabbed his and Tess' backpack, a wheel of cheese, and two bottles of wine. The dwarves were fine, they were a little spooked during the battle, but the barkeep gave them enough drink and they passed out. Sandal and Po had been in the lake already, and so far all their belongings were fine. He said he let the horse out of the cramped store and tied her up in the sunshine, she seemed content. Alistair told Bodahn he and Tess, and the rest of the party wherever they were, all desperately needed sleep, so they would be in town probably another day at least, maybe two. As long as the undead didn't attack anymore Bodahn could handle that. With a grin, Alistair assured the dwarf the problem was taken care of but there was no need to use the undead as an excuse to drink themselves to sleep.

 _“Maker's Breath! Alistair, help!”_ Tess shrieked through laughter and squeals, her dog so happy to see her that he wrestled and licked her, tugging on her to play with him. Alistair laughed at his woman, and he went and rescued her from saliva suffocation.

Alistair led Tess down the hill, and Po followed happily, trying to play with both of them. They stopped inside the Chantry for a moment to ask if there were houses their party could borrow to sleep in for a day or two, and they discovered quite a few people had died before they had arrived. The Revered Mother had a Chanter show them to the empty houses of the dead, and while the Chanter was primarily silent, Alistair quietly tried to get Tess to _speak Chanter_ , since she knew it so well.

Tess and Alistair settled in a house with a wide stone bath and two beds. Even though she said she wanted a bath, Tess sank to a bed and didn't move, even as Alistair pushed the two beds together. He filled buckets of water from the well pump outside and boiled enough water to fill the tub half way, then carried in enough buckets of the cold water to cool her bath down just enough. He found soap bars still wrapped and unused in the store room of the small house, and he ripped up a folded cloth to use as wash rags. She stared at him with droopy eyes as he undressed her, again, and carefully unwrapped her arm. It had started to scab up, but he would need to watch it still.

She wanted him to bathe with her. He smiled for her, and though the bath would be snug with them both, he agreed and undressed, and he climbed in the bath first to receive her. Neither of them cared about the lack of stretching room, though. The hot water seeped right down to the bone, and knots Alistair was unaware he had in his back and joints untangled themselves. For a few moments, they both just curled up together and let the warmth melt away the troubles of the day and night. He scooped water over her back and shoulders as she lie resting in his all his crooks again; he loved how she fit perfectly in his arms. Only when his eyelids started drooping did he realize he was too sleepy. He forced her to sit up, and he wet, and then lathered her up. She sat curled up, rocking with his movements as he cleaned every part of her.

“Why twice?” she asked as he rinsed all the suds off her back and neck.

“Why twice what? Turn around, love?” he asked back. Maker, even their voices were falling asleep.

She turned around completely, eyes barely awake. “The bad mage.” He smiled. “You stabbed him, and then cut off his head.”

“I can see this is really puzzling you,” he teased. He lifted her chin and wet down her neck and front so he could rub her with soap.

“It is. I would have just...”

“Stabbed him in the neck?” he guessed.

“Yes. Much simpler.”

“I am not that clever with daggers. I didn't have a clear enough swing to just chop his head at once,” he said. “I stabbed him first to put him in shock and buy myself time to cut his head off. If I had just stabbed him once, he could have just healed himself with the blood he'd lost.”

“Oh.” she seemed to be trying hard to keep her eyes open. “Well...that was damn clever, Alistair.” The amazement in her voice when she was this tired made him giggle.

Washing her, especially her front, was arousing, even when they were both practically falling asleep. The only reason he didn't try to meld with her in the tub was because he thought the motion would rock them both to sleep and they'd wake up freezing and still joined at the hips in a few hours.

He washed her hair, had to tickle her a bit to wake her back up when she started to drift off, on her back with her legs hanging out over the rim of the tub. Nearly as soon as she started washing him, he found himself nodding off. She woke him up so tenderly each time, though. He couldn't lie down for her to wash his hair, but she managed anyway.

She had to wake him again to get out of the tub. They dried each other off, and she wrung her hair out and tied it up in a tight bun. She pulled the plug to drain the tub; Alistair wasn't sure where the water went. He made sure the door was barred and locked, and then they literally collapsed in bed, clean, naked and relaxed, and barely caring if they were under the blankets. Alistair curled up around her and fell asleep with his head nestled right next to hers.

 

He awoke before her. She was on her belly, hair unraveled from the bun, bare bottom exposed, one leg tangled in the blanket. She turned and curled into him when he stroked her shoulder, to her spine. He put his lips to her head and pulled the blanket up over her, and he watched her sleep. Waking up next to her felt so perfect. How had his life changed this much?

Lothering had felt like so long ago. Maker, Ostagar had felt like years ago. How long had it been now? He didn't even know what day it was. The only thing he knew was he wouldn't have made it this far without Tesslyn. She had made everything bearable; the long days, exhaustion, even the heat of battle. She gave him a strength he didn't know he had, or maybe it was, she reminded him he was strong? He wouldn't have had the guts to call out Isolde or Teagan. He would have just let them push him over, would have let them convince him to make another strenuous journey and back even though he really needed to rest. She was there for him plain and simple. And Isolde ––– he felt his whole body tense, and he cursed to himself. Dead or alive, she haunted him.

Tess moved her head as if trying to make herself comfortable in his hardening body. He couldn't do this to her. Maybe if he went for a walk, he could clear his head, and then he could come back and hold her like she deserved.

He slowly slipped his arm out from under her head, replacing himself with a headrest. He tucked the blanket in all around her, gently, leaving no patch of skin uncovered save her head, in case she got cold. When he turned around, there was a notice on the floor as if slipped under the door; _the others had found the other empty houses to rest in, come find them if blah blah, nothing important._ He set the notice on the chest drawers and searched for clothes he could wear. Commoner clothes in silly colors. The shirts didn't fit him, but the pants did, for the most part; his backside seemed a great deal smaller than the previous owner's. Quills and blank parchment took up an entire shelf of the bookcase, but all the ink jars were dried out. He looked at Tess. He didn't want her to worry if she woke up while he was gone. He whispered for Po to stay, and he opened the door as quietly as he could. It was dark out. He looked up at the sky as he stepped down. The moons dotted the darkness as they did every midnight. No one about at all, except for a single Templar standing in front of the Chantry with a torch, and another, moving torch far up the hill. Alistair jumped off the dock and scooped handfuls of pebbles from the waterfall bed.

Tess was still in the same position when he got back inside, but Po had moved into Alistair's place on the bed. “Oy! Out!” he hissed to the dog. Po gave a gruff but remained. “Do you want to sleep outside?” he whispered. Po gave him an honest-to-Maker look of annoyance, but climbed off the bed and settled in front of the fire.

Alistair set the pebbles on the dresser, the first thing Tess would see when she got off the bed, and he spelled out for a walk. He sat on the edge of the bed to put his boots on, and quietly closed the door behind him again. He almost instantly regretted not bringing a shirt. The longer he walked, the more he noticed the night chill.

The Templars and guards doing their rounds greeted him as he passed, but aside from them, no one else was out. The party was likely catching up on sleep. Alistair wasn't sure where he was going. He just...walked. The dwarves' wagon still sat behind the old boat. The waterfall echoed under the bridge like thunder, without any other noises around.

 _Thunder_. Like from the rainstorms, and from Isolde, both things he had suffered through. The waterfall suddenly wasn't so friendly anymore.

One of the castle guards stood watch at the windmill, greeting him by _Warden_ as he walked by. Alistair did a double-take at the ledge Tess had held Isolde over and he frowned. _Should have dropped her._ He saw that whole scene replay in his mind, and a bitter taste of disgust filled his mouth. _Teagan had no right to interfere._

And Teagan. Maker, that man was was nothing but an obstacle, and an ache in his head. Perhaps if the man didn't try to seduce Tess every time he looked at her, he might be tolerable. He had been pleasant for a total of two minutes.. The Bann was nothing but pure competition, though. Silently trying to undress his woman – _Alistair's_ woman – with his eyes as often as he could. He suspected Tess was right about Teagan and Isolde having an affair. He wouldn't put it past either of them.

The old seamstress' house was the first thing anyone encountered when they entered the town. One of the abandoned houses of the dead, now. He had liked to sneak out of the stables sometimes in the summer and lie under these trees with his old golem toy. He groaned at the thought, and turned, not even sure which direction he was going. Isolde had thrown that out, too. Threw it over the bridge, actually. He had been trying to run away to hide his toy, and he'd dropped it. The only toy he'd ever had. That stupid golem had been his whole world, and she'd just thrown it.

He threw his fist, and a guard opposite him gave a start as a plank from the gate up to the castle splintered under his hand. Alistair said nothing as he walked on, picking up his pace.

His pulse was racing. He could feel the veins in his neck, his fists, around his eyes even. Coming back to this town was a mistake. He still heard her screech. It had been over ten years, but he still heard it. _Filthy little bug! They should have just squashed you into the mud where you belong!_ He kicked the barrel under the lamp post, and the lid flew off when it crashed into the red dirt wall. _How dare you just barge in here? Do you think you own the place? I ought to have you chopped up! Ground into hog slop!_ The only thing left to hit was the dirt that rose up around the path. He sent his fist into it so hard his knuckles cracked with a tingle that didn't feel right. _Ground into hog slop_. Who says that to a child?

His feet stopped when he reached the top of the hill. The Arl's personal stables. He glanced around. The bridge and castle far behind him were dead, save for two minuscule lights far away, probably at the front door. He stared at the blackened stables for a moment. The door was broken off its hinges. The same two trees from ten years ago still shadowed over the south end of the building.

A man called out, and Alistair turned to see a guard walk up from the over the bridge. “Oh, Master Warden. It's only you.” The guard gave him a look-over. “Are you all right, Ser?”

Alistair met the man and put his hand on the torch. “May I borrow this?” he took it anyway. The guard agreed in confusion and turned back toward the castle. Alistair stood just outside the stable door with the torch held high.

Empty. Nothing. No horses, no pigs, no sheep, no goats. This had been the Arl's personal stock. Completely empty except for a pile of loose hay and a lopsided hay bale. Almost exactly the same as when he'd left. He had to dare himself to walk in; he had to duck under the door, now. He set the torch in the sconce and looked around. The corner he'd slept in had a hole in the roof with a broken branch still in it. He had joked, earlier, when he said it was like coming home. But now he actually _was_ home, it was the same nightmare all over again. As much as he disliked the sight of Redcliffe castle, Alistair loathed the stables. He hated the smell of livestock and hay. It was all foul, mingled with the scent of rat droppings, shit and piss from the horses and pigs, and the rotting smell of pig slop. The animals were gone, but the smell still lingered, though now it was stale, mixed with the smell of dust, and what smelled maybe like dead rats. Dead rats went in the pig slop, too. He hated feeding the pigs, always hated it, and each time he was scared that he was pouring some other poor little bastard boy out of the slop bucket. His hands shook from just the memory.

He could almost see the lightning flash as he remembered. It still spooked him, if he was honest with himself. _Get out of here! What do you think you are doing? You are ruining the carpets!_ He had been dripping with rain water. His bare feet and pants were muddy from the clay the grounds were built on; one trouser leg was so torn it didn't cover his bony knee. It was as if Isolde had stayed up specifically to see if he'd try to sneak back in. She'd known the storms scared him.

 _I'm cold,_ he'd told her.

_That is your problem, not mine! Get out! Now!_

_But the lights are scary._

_That is because you are weak! Do I need to remind you what happens to weak things?_

_But I'm wet._

_If you had stayed out there where you belong you would not be wet, would you? This is what happens when you try to sneak in!_

_Can I just have a blanket?_ He jumped, as if lightning had really struck.

_No, you can't have a blanket! The Arl will freeze to death if you take his blankets! How could you be so selfish?_

_But I'm cold. Please, mama!_ That had been his biggest mistake. He felt the sting of her hand across the whole left side of his face as if he was actually there with Isolde right now; it throbbed all over again. He felt her hand squeeze his right arm and jerk him down the hall, cursing at him as he cried for her to let go because she was hurting him. The guards did nothing as she threw him down the steps. He had a hard time getting up to his feet, and he cried the entire way back to the stable, holding his right arm because it dangled where it shouldn't bend.

Before he even knew he was moving, his foot flew into a stall door. He screamed as he tore the door off its hinge, and it shattered when it hit the door to the pig pen. He kicked down that door as well. He wanted it all gone, all of it. _She was right_. A yell ripped through his throat as he threw the hay bale into a wall. _Eamon knew. He came down just after the horse master set his arm with a splint and resin-soaked wraps._ He tore the moldy old pig trough from the fence and threw it as hard as he could. _The horse master told him, Eamon knew. And still, he'd had to sleep out in the cold, smelly stable._ Something dripped down his face, and he looked up, expecting rain and lightning, already flinching with the expectation of thunder. The sky was clear, but he was still dripping. He wiped his palm across his cheek to find he was leaking like a flooded storm drain. Tess was right; _Eamon knew how Isolde had treated him, and he just let it happen. Maker, he'd tried so hard to believe it wasn't true. How could he have been so stupid?_ He kicked at the supports between stalls and ripped the boards till nothing was in one piece. With nothing else left to break, he punched the wall between the pen and broken horse stalls.

A familiar buzz lit up inside of him, the good kind of buzz. Tess was here. _Shit. No, no, no. Not her._ He wiped his hands across his face and tried to calm his breath. Only then did he notice how terribly he shook. He couldn't still his arms for the life of him.

“Alistair?”

He turned his back to her. She was the last person he wanted to see him like this. “Go away, please!” he tried to steady his voice. “Go back to sleep, Tess. _Please!”_

 _“Oh, Alistair.”_ Her voice dropped in sympathy, and her feet crunched over brittle hay.

He held his arm out to stop her. “Please don't! I don't -” he swallowed, his jaw trembling now. “I don't want you here in this.”

“I've already been here before, Alistair,” she said, coming anyway. She grabbed his hand and arm. He couldn't shake her off.

“Not for me. You aren't... _in this_ for me.” He gestured around to the wreck that was his childhood. “You don't belong in this. I don't want you associated with all this.”

“Alistair,” she said softly. “It's done with.”

“No. No, it's not!” he shook his head, trying to blink away the swelling in his eyes. “It's _not!_ I can hear her, I can _feel_ her still, when she -” he touched the same cheek Isolde had slapped, and he recognized the weakness in his voice. Weak and crying all over again when he thought of her, just like she had wanted of him.

Tess closed her one arm around his waist. He winced when she turned him by his cheek, as if Isolde really had just slapped him and it still stung. “It's not real anymore,” she whispered.

“I don't want _you_ mixed in with _this_.” He was still shaking. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, but from the corner of his blurry vision, Tess was crying now, too. Tears fat enough for him to see through his own spilled down her cheeks. “I don't want to hate you for what _she did_ to me, just because you're here right now.”

“Look at me, please?” she sniffled. He shook his head and clenched his whole face to keep more tears in. “Alistair, _please?_ It's over. It's not real. She's dead, remember?”

“It doesn't feel like it.” She turned his head again and put wet, salty lips to his. Just like that, he spilled tears all over her. His whole body jerked as he sobbed into her shoulder. Scared little boy all over again. Smaller than a mouse and weaker than a worm. Small enough for her wrap her arms around him. She even caught him when his knees gave in.

“We could burn it,” she suggested, her arms firm around him.

“Burn it?” he pulled back and wiped his eyes. He was ashamed he couldn't stop anything right now, shaking, crying, gasping.

She nodded. “Finish it. She can't ever hurt you again. You can't ever come back here if it's burnt to cinders.” He blinked tears so he could look around. He had certainly created kindling. He nodded. He never wanted to be able to come back here. “Yes. Burn it,” he said. She stepped back and grabbed the torch, and their eyes met when she closed his hands around it. She stood higher to kiss him again, and he fought another urge to cry so he could return her support.

She helped him pile and prop splinters and broken planks over the defeated hay bale. She held his hand securely and hugged him with one arm as they made sure the flaming hay caught the splinters on fire. Then they sat on the ground some ways back to watch the flames grow and molest his old home.

“I was four when she made sleep out here,” he said. His eyes watered up all over again. “The last time I tried to sneak back in was...Wintermarch. The last big storm right before it started snowing. I was six. I accidentally called her _mama_ , and she hit me, threw me down the stairs and broke my arm. I never tried to go back in again when she was here.” He felt a tear sneak down his cheek. “I wanted a mother so badly. I always hoped she'd change her mind.” Flames licked the floor as they devoured broken wood. “You were right. Eamon knew. He knew the whole time.” He paused while she wiped his stray tears away. He shook his head and frowned. “We shouldn't have just cut her throat. We should have...broken _her_ arm, and pushed _her_ down the stairs. And then tied her there and _then_ watched her burn.” he gestured to the stables.

“I can see if Morrigan knows how to resurrect her, if that's what you really want.” He looked at her and she gave a small smile. He choked on a wet laugh. He leaned in, and their lips met in the sweetest kiss. _Best friend_. Her lips lingered on his. _Love_. Her arms wound around him and held him close. _Always yours._

“I love you,” he told her. She searched his eyes. “I don't…” he swallowed, “I don't know if it's too soon to say that.” He kissed her again. “But I know what I feel. I know how _you_ make me feel. And I love you so much for it.” She melted into his hold when he slid his arms around her. He didn't know if she was kissing him differently, or if part of his past dying was lightening his heart. Relief flooded him though, and he knew he only had it because of her. He wouldn't ever let her go.

 

 

*** _NSFW_ ***

_Alistair and Tesslyn; scars received and emotional change **:**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by me. Emotions and scars update.


	18. A Painted Elf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The herd leaves Redcliffe only to be ambushed by a smooth-talking painted elf. Alistair starts to show his confidence in what he wants out of the whole situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music:  
> [ Who We Are, by Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/z2hIavE58Fc)  
> Zevran's theme: [ Made to Love, by John Legend](https://youtu.be/nRpjsFcb2uo)  
> [ Hear Me, by Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/1Yr683VLxes)
> 
> ***not edited***

Teagan tried to push them out of town just after sunrise. He yelled about the stable and pounded on the door. Tess and Alistair had only been asleep a few hours though and had already planned to leave the following morning; today was supposed to be a day to finish resting. When Teagan didn't stop, Alistair rose from the bed and opened the door with a growl, stark naked and fully erect. Teagan gasped out _Maker's Breath, have some decency!_ Alistair made it very clear they were staying in town another night and there was nothing the Bann could do until he became Arl, in which case Alistair would already be King. He closed the portal between Teagan and himself, hitched the heavy lock, and returned to bed in a huff.

Tess peeked with one eye as he tossed over and again, fruitlessly trying to get back to sleep with his adrenaline so high. She muttered for him to _have_ her; Alistair stared in question. Her eyelids fluttered back together as she murmured precise instructions: _lie on top of me, take me like this._ Alistair hesitated; they'd never done it like this before, in fact the only time he'd heard about  _from behind_ concerned _two men_. He braced himself over her, and when he hesitated again she pushed her bottom against him. The sight of her folds instantly stole his attention; so this _wasn't_ just for  _two men._  He stuck his hand down and his cock twitched,  _s_ _hit, she was wet._  Carefully guiding himself through slick petals until he crowned her threshold; _a beautiful harmony as he pushed through_. Voices groggy with sleep, no volume control,  _no worries_. _Maker,_ _t_ _his is just what he needed._ He lay on top of her even after release, lazy kisses, sweaty skin and holding hands, catching air to rhythm. He closed his legs around hers to lock himself inside, never wanting to leave, and drifted back to sleep to the beat of her heart beneath him. 

He woke up still inside of her; she continued to slumber, unaffected by his weight. He gently raised himself, but he was already – or still – erect. He only trapped himself when he tried to pull out; the tug she gave in her sleep stiffened him, and his vision blurred as he struggled to restrain himself. Her hips moved in instinct and he nearly collapsed back over her. _Oh Maker,_ he hoped she would forgive him for this. He buried his face between her shoulders and rocked his hips. His breath and grunts steamed her skin, and before he knew he knew it, she was awake and moaning right along with him. It was midday before they actually made it out of bed.

Alistair spent the afternoon cleaning and polishing their armor and weapons, while Tess attempted her hand at fishing. She eventually managed to catch a few, but only after adding more weights to the line. Morrigan and Leliana spoke with her. Alistair watched from the shallow end of the dock as Morrigan spoke with wide arm gestures, even a gesture toward Alistair. He could only assume the witch was complaining about him killing the blood mage, probably adding how even more unpleasant _'twould_ be for her to travel with Alistair.

Sten was apparently good with a bow. He had borrowed Po to go hunting outside of the town, and they came back with a whole deer over the Qunari's shoulder. That night's supper made everyone happy, except Leliana who wasn't a big fan of eating _cute little things._ But Tess finally had her fish, Bodahn and Sandal finally had a feast, and Po had some new bones to munch on, and of course they had cheese now. It was a good meal for a last night of rest.

Leliana asked Morrigan for sleeping potions, to make sure they would all start out fully rested. When Morrigan handed one to everyone except Alistair, he could only laugh. “Is this payback, Morrigan? For never letting you get a decent night's sleep?”

“Twould seem Tesslyn's influence has _slightly_ increased your intellect, Alistair.”

“Oh, we can't have that, now, can we? If I get too smart, you'll be unable to to insult me anymore,” he retorted. Tess rolled her eyes and drank a lot of ale at once.

“Oh, there will always be some rancid truth to hit you with. Never fear.”

“How can truth be rancid?”

“When it's about _you_ , it is,” Morrigan said. “You must learn to employ decency, Alistair.”

“And I'm sure you know all about decency, growing up with that apostate mother of yours and the reason she has so many men's clothing.”

“Twas not I who participated in her little rituals. I did, however, learn the difference between _consideration for others_ and _indecent exposure_ , and your affections run awfully close to the latter.”

“Perhaps you two should find a nice patch of grass and just get it over with,” Tess suggested. It took Alistair a moment to get what she was suggesting, then he cried out in disgust.

“ _Maker_ , Tess! That's – _no! Why_ would you _say_ that?”

“Why would I say what?” Tess looked at him innocently. “What are _you_ talking about?”

“You just told me to – with _Morrigan!”_ he hissed. Tess snorted and spit out her ale, laughing even while she coughed.

“ _You_ were –!” she almost fell over laughing so hard. _“You were thinking about having sex with Morrigan!”_ Alistair felt himself flare up, shoulders, ears, neck and cheeks. He hung his head and clamped a hand over his face. Sten said something along the lines of _not needing to be ashamed,_ apparently _he_ did it too _,_ which didn't help. Leliana giggled and Morrigan scoffed obscure abuses. Tess crawled over to Alistair and pressed her lips to his cheek. “I'm sorry,” though she still giggled.

“Maker's breath, woman!” he groaned. He peeked at her. She utterly adored him in this state, he saw it all over her face. “What _did_ you mean, then?”

“I was talking about _dueling_ ,” she tittered. “ _Maiming_ each other. _Violence_.”

“Sure you were.” But he looped his arm around her and kissed her anyway.

Tess convinced Morrigan to give Alistair a sleeping potion too, insisting it was in everyone's best interest if the person taking care of their leader was taken care of too.

The night went on longer than Alistair had planned, both he and Tess anxious about rustic camping and little privacy for how many more weeks, wanting to take advantage of the bed before it was gone. When they ran each other through, sweaty loins emptied round after round, lousy with affection and uncontrollable giggles but far from tired, the witch's potions did the trick; Alistair didn't even remember dropping the empty bottle. Though they woke before they wanted, they were up with the others and getting ready to leave as the sun rose over the lake. Morrigan secured the horse to the wagon while Alistair, Sten and the dwarves loaded up their possessions, Tess went through the houses of the dead, and Leliana prayed in the Chantry for a safe journey. Tess returned with spare clothes, blankets and soap, and also a handful of gems that clanked together in her purse. She asked Alistair to come back and help her with a chest that was too heavy, but as soon as they were indoors, she quickly roped him into a fit of lust. They indeed returned with a chest of useful things, but the witch and Qunari made no attempt to hide their annoyance: the lovers' last minute tryst caused them to leave half an hour later than desired.

Alistair felt a heavy weight lift off his shoulders as he put distance between him and his old...well, the place he'd first experienced life. Pressure of fighting the reputation of  _dirty stable boy_ brushed off and left like junk. 

Alistair and Tess led the party wagon. Bodahn said he wasn't familiar with Honnleath, but his maps showed a small town south on Sulcher's Pass which looked to be four or so days away, maybe seven if the terrain was uneven.

Alistair practiced pike defense with Tess until she grew bored. It seemed she was just bored in general though, because when Leliana started singing, Tess joined in as if in a chant, twirling and dancing with the pike as they pressed on. Must have been a popular Orleasian tune because the dwarves knew it too, Sandal had a grand time, clapping and stamping his feet; even Morrigan cracked a smile at the dwarf's glee.

Alistair loved seeing his assassin sing and dance. It reminded him of that day in Ostagar, when all they'd had to worry about was how to pass the time.

The road was full of curves; not a straight shot like Bodahn's map portrayed. They also miscalculated a turn Morrigan pointed out, forcing them to turn around and retreat from the Korcari Wilds to return to the impractical road. They ate as they walked again, and Tess got a little tipsy on bottled ale. She made loud, _horribly_ lame jokes; Alistair was the only one who understood most of them, and a few jokes were even quite private between just her and him. Eventually Morrigan caught on to the fact they were private jokes, and she aggressively insisted Tess drink a potion to sober up and stop embarrassing everyone.

When they came to another crossroads, from which they could see Redcliffe like a mountain peak, it was nearly sundown. They all agreed to pull off road and set up camp. But as soon as Bodahn steered the horse onto the plains, a soiled commoner woman approached in a panic. She begged for help, said bandits had overrun her caravan, she was scared her husband was dead, and to _please hurry_. Alistair, Sten and Tess all gave a huge sigh of relief; finally a cure for boredom. Morrigan stayed behind with the dwarves, and the rest of them followed the woman. However, none of them questioned following the woman who claimed utter fear until they found themselves down the road out of sight of their wagon, in an ambush of bandits perfectly hidden by boulders and part of the Wilds.

“ _Sweet_ Maker, this is _not_ what I meant when I said I wanted something to do!” Tess said. She ordered Leliana to take out the archers, and, still holding the Tess-sized pike Alistair had made for her, she charged out into the open ambush. Alistair didn't have time to yell for her, thrown into battle himself when men jumped out of trees and from behind a tipped wagon. He had to watch out for Sten as well, the Qunari swung fierce and wide and seemed oblivious to friend or foe in ambush.

Alistair and the two elves he fought all looked up as something soared overhead; Tess had used the pike to vault above. The three of them watched her in surprise, but Alistair recovered to bash down an elf. Tess tumbled to the ground behind a blond elf and swung her pike, knocking him off his – her? Alistair couldn't tell – feet.

“Wait, _no!”_ Tess sprinted and stopped Alistair from striking the blonde elf.

“What?” Alistair cried. “This isn't time for a change of heart!”

She cocked her head get a better look at the blond elf. “He's a bloody Crow!” she ducked and thrust her palm, knocking the elf out. Alistair frowned, shook his head as he rushed off to another bandit. 

When the last bandit fell, Alistair looked to see Tess hooking her bow on her back. She stood by the elf again. “Crow as in, Antivan?” Alistair asked her.

“Yes. From the tattoo, I'd say Arainai,” she said. “The Crows work in...small tribes, so to speak. Houses. My Master had the same tattoo.” She patted the painted face roughly until the elf stirred with a groan. It was a _he_.

“Ohh...” he winced as he squinted up at them. “I rather hoped I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as it were.” he looked from Tess to Alistair.

“Oh, he _is_ Antivan!” Leliana veered over in interest.

“I see you have not killed me yet." The elf looked at each of them.

“Yet,” Alistair echoed, shouldering his shield and sheathing his sword. He picked up Tess' pike.

“I've decided I want to torture you first,” Tess said. Her eyes flew all over the elf. Alistair wasn't sure he liked this.

“Ohh, heh heh,” the elf laughed. “I see you wish to have a little fun first.”

“ _Definitely_ a Crow,” Tess said flatly. “Stand up, Arainai.” When the elf didn't stand, Alistair reached down and yanked him up.

“How do you know who I am?”

“My Master was San Amoldo Arainai,” Tess said. “The Crows really need to stop tattooing people.”

“ _San_ Amoldo?” the elf asked.

“He was San to _me_ ,” she told the elf. “What is your name?”

“Ah...Zevran, my dear Grey Warden.”

“ _Oh.”_ Tess' voice dropped. “That _muddy_ sack of _bronto_ balls!” she cursed.

Alistair sighed. There was only one reason a complete stranger would know they were Grey Wardens. “Loghain. _Shit_.” Tess glared at the elf for a moment, then she flung out her dagger and pressed to the slender neck. Alistair found himself hoping she would just cut his throat.

“ _Why?”_ she demanded.

The elf hadn't flinched at her blade. “I don't know why. All I did was take the job,” Zevran said.

“How much were you paid?” she asked.

“Ah, _nothing_ , as it were. If I were to return to Antiva, the Crows would be directly paid, not I.”

“You did this out of the goodness of your heart, then,” Alistair said wryly.

The elf hesitated. “Something like that,” he joked.

“Why were you here alone?” Tess interrogated.

“Ah! You mean why did I only have random mercenaries and no other Crows here? Well, killing Grey Wardens is impolite, even for the Crows. I happened to be the highest bidder for the job,” he said.

“Highest bidder?” Alistair asked.

“Well, the only bidder actually.”

“The Crows allowed you to come all the way out here against their own policies all by yourself?” Tess said suspiciously.

“Did you _want_ to die?” Alistair eyed the elf. Zevran hesitated again. “What, so that's a yes? Is that a Crow thing? Suicidal Assassins?” he asked Tess.

Tess lowered her dagger. “Must be.” She stared at Zevran while she sheathed her sparking weapon. Alistair then realized his words might have hit too close to home for her, though thought of an apology was quickly lost.

“Am I to understand you are _not_ going to kill me, then?”

“No, we are.” Alistair drew his sword, but Tess firmly blocked arm.

“Put that away! Andraste's ass, we are _not killing_ him!” she insisted.

“Well, he is _not_ coming _with_ us!” He protested.

“Why not? Perhaps I could be of service?” this Crow was _too_ eager.

They both looked at the elf. “And we're supposed to trust you? After you tried to kill us?” Alistair challenged. He didn't like the way Tess kept staring, like she saw something familiar. That couldn't happen,  _she was his_ , _Alistair_ was supposed to be her  _something familiar._

“He can't go back to Antiva. They'll kill him," Tess stated.

“ _I'll_ kill him,” Alistair offered.

“You will _not_ kill him, Alistair. What are your skills, Zevran?”

“Ah! I happen to skilled in daggers, as I'm sure you noticed -”

“I've seen better,” Alistair told him.

“As have I! Especially speaking, _now_ , that is!” Zevran agreed cheerfully. “Also, I am skilled in traps and poisons.”

“We've got all of those covered between us already.” He found no special reason to take in the elf.

“Or I can simply stand around and look pretty, or warm beds...” he smirked at Tess. Alistair raised his sword arm, but Tess stopped him again, this time pushing him far away from the elf.

“Will you _stop_ that!” Alistair shrugged her off. “You can't be serious, Tess!” he hissed at her.

“We could use an extra pair of hands and eyes and ears,” she said.

“He just propositioned you!”

“I never agreed to it. That's just Antivan cheek, they all do it.”

“And what if it happens?” he asked, staring at her.

“It _won't_. I don't like elf bodies. I like _your_ body.”

He sighed, not happy about this idea at all. “Okay, _aside_ from that,” he sheathed his sword again, “he's an _assassin_ who just tried to _kill_ us, and he knows _poisons_.”

She rolled her eyes. _“I_ am an assassin who knows poisons,” she said. “I was _taught_ by an Arainai. The combination is probably a house specialty.”

“I _trust you. You_ haven't tried to ambush me and kill someone I care about.”

“He's more useful to us alive. He'll use us to keep himself safe, and we can use that need as a contract of repayment.”

“No.” he shook his head. “I'm putting my foot down on this one. I let you take in the Chantry girl who's suspiciously good at killing things, I let you take in the Qunari who killed a family of innocent farmers, I let that wretched apostate come with us. But _not this._ I'm Senior Grey Warden here – and future King, apparently. I'm putting my foot down.”

She stared back at him just as hard. “You relinquished command when we left Morrigan's. He's a trained assassin, he can help us watch out for anymore.”

“He can't be trusted, Tess.”

“Neither can I. I told you that from the start.” She searched his eyes. “As of right now, is he any different than I was when you talked me off that ledge?”

“His family is an entire group of paid killers. That is _very_ different than you mourning your parents and nephew,” he reminded her. “Being trained by the same people doesn't make him your friend. He's too quick to switch his allegiance.”

“We've got two very big men in our party, and we're about to go get a golem. Aside from two archers and a witch trained by _Asha-bellanar.”_

“No.”

“Alistair, I'm not asking your permission on this. He's coming with us and you're not going to hurt him, and that's final.” She began walking away.

“What about _me?”_ he asked.

“What about you?” she asked back, turning around again.

“Don't _I_ matter enough to have a say in this?”

“You expressed your concerns. I acknowledge them all. But considering the circumstances, we could use another rogue. You are not being replaced, Alistair. You're still my number one priority.”

He frowned. “I don't want to be a  _priority_ , Tess.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “I didn't mean it like that.”

He'd said it too soon. _I love you._ Way too soon. He could see that now.

He looked over at the elf, the Qunari and Leliana. “I don't want to die because of this,” he said. “Ostagar was worth dying over. But not an assassin who was only down because we let him be.”

She stopped him when he tried to walk past her, and he looked at her. She hesitated to meet his eyes. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly. Guilt settled heavy in his stomach. He sighed, and rested his head on hers.

“Me too.” He wrapped his arms around her. “I'm just...trying to protect you.”

She stood on her toes to knot her arms over his shoulders. “You're right. This is just as much your say. What do _you_ want to do?”

He closed his eyes, just letting her scent fill him as he breathed. “I want...to forget all of this.”

“Okay,” she said unsurely.

“Just forget it all, and...I want to spend the rest of our lives in a little cabin somewhere, maybe on a beach, with nothing to do but try to make a baby.” No point in dishonesty right now. Her arms tightened around him.

“That's not fair,” she whispered.

“You asked me what I want.”

“I mean _right now._ What do you want to do with the elf?”

“Yes, I know. I was trying not to think about him.” He let out another sigh as he looked over. Leliana was talking with the Crow. “ _How_ can we _trust_ him, Tess?”

“You trust me,” she tried to point out. “Even when you didn't like me, you trusted me.” she pulled back to rest on flat feet. Alistair kept her in his arms.

“I've never _not_ liked you,” he told her. “And you're a Grey Warden, not just some random assassin. That's a huge difference.”

“So...we'll grab a cup, I'll cut my wrist, and we'll turn him into a Grey Warden.”

He froze for a moment. “I actually believe you would try to force someone to drink your blood,” he said. “But no. I'm pretty sure there's more to it than that, anyway. I know it has lyrium, too. But that's _not_ the _point_.” The corner of her lips turned up a little. He gently pressed on her tiny smile with his thumb. “What reason does he have to be loyal to us?”

“If he goes back and we're not dead, they'll kill him. If he wanders because we let him go, they'll hunt him down and kill him. We offer protection for his skills in combat.”

“But he's _not_ actually that _good_ in combat,” he said, staring that the elf. “You knocked him off his feet with a _stick,_ and not even the sharp end.”

“I think he let me do that.”

“Why would someone do that, though?”

“Die in combat, or go back home and say you failed and then get betrayed?” she guessed.

He frowned. “You're _sure_ we can trust him to be loyal while we can guarantee his safety?”

She hesitated again, and he shifted his frown to her. “...no...” she said. “But we still need help.” He frowned deeper, and pushed back from her to dig the rope out of one of her purses. “What are you doing with that?”

“Simple leverage, love.” he paused, and looked at her. “Sorry. I'll stop saying that.”

“No.” she shook her head. “Don't stop. I like it.”

“So...it wasn't too soon?” he tried to verify. 

“Do you really feel like that?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“Then it's not too soon.” She braced his arm, and he met her soft lips in a tender kiss. A noise rumbled in his throat, and he held the back of her head to kiss her deeper. “Will you tell me?” she whispered.

“I love you,” he told her. She hugged him tight as they kissed. His insides sighed with relief. _She was his again_ , she needed him, wanted him again. Things were fine again. That's all that mattered.

They returned to the elf, and Alistair held out the rope. “ _Oh_ , you _did_ decide to keep me around for pleasure!” Zevran played. Alistair ignored him. He bent each of Zevran's arms and placed Zevran's hands around his own neck.

“Don't move,” Alistair ordered.

“Of course not. That would ruin all the fun. You're going to blindfold me first, though, right? And you have lubrication, yes? It's not required, of course, but it does make for a smoother ride.” Zevran joked. Alistair hoped he was joking. Tess made a sound; Alistair glanced over to see her trying to hide amusement.

“You will have rules, elf,” he said, winding the rope around the neck, and then around the wrists. “Rule number one: Tesslyn is off-limits. Don't proposition her, don't flirt, don't try to share a drink, don't anything.”

“Ah, of course. And which one is Tesslyn?” as if he hadn't seen them together.

“Rule number two: She and I are in charge, no one else. You will listen to us, but mostly _you_ will just listen to _me_. If I tell you to do something, or tell you not to, you listen or you die.”

“A dominant one. That explains the rope and this vulnerable position you are tying me up in.”

Tess turned with a stifled laugh and announced she was going to loot the bodies. “Rule three,” Alistair said, “we have a Blight to stop. Don't try anything funny that might hinder or stop our progress. Tess and I are the only ones in Fereldan who can stop it.”

“Ooh! Right! The darkspawn, yes. I ran into a small bunch already, unfortunately. Nasty things.”

“Rule number four: be civil and do _not_ try to kill any of us. If Tess didn't stop me earlier, you'd already be dead.”

“Yes, yes. I'm very grateful. I promise I will not harm your party,” Zevran said.

“Rule five: I don't like you, and I don't trust you. I don't need a reason to end your life. If you make me mad, I will kill you.” Alistair made sure the knots were secure, and circled him to disarm him.

“Hm, but if you already don't like me, how can I not do anything to make you mad?” Alistair shot the elf a glare. “Okay, okay, I get it. The beautiful Grey Warden who swept me off my feet is spoken for, and her lover despises me already. Tsk tsk. And I haven't even had a fair chance for myself yet.”

Alistair glared down at him still. “We're off to get a golem, and then we head to Haven. We travel with two dwarven merchants, and we have a witch. Tess wants them all here, so respect that.”

“So many rules,” Zevran sighed. “Rules are made to be broken, you know. At least, that's what they say in Antiva.”

“We are in Ferelden, not Antiva. Remember that as well.”

Morrigan had camp roughly set up by the time they got back to her and the dwarves, including a couple tents. “I was not aware we were taking prisoners,” she greeted them.

Alistair growled, setting down a crate of items they had looted; Sten carried another crate. “It's not a prisoner, it's Tess' new pet.”

“A pet?” Zevran spoke up in interest. “Will I be getting a _proper_ collar, then? With a matching leash?”

Alistair watched Tess grin. “I think we have purple satin in here somewhere,” she joked back.

“Purple satin, you say? I think I can work with this. Do you have any beads to sew on?”

“Tess, _no_ ,” Alistair said firmly as she approached the elf from the back, reaching for the rope. She looked at him like he was being silly.

“We'll have to let him out sooner or later. Like when he needs to pee or shit, or eat. If we leave him tied up, someone will have to pull his wanker out of his pants every few hours,” she told him.

“Oh? Is this an offer? Yes, keep me tied up them. I'll gladly welcome a helping hand,” Zevran agreed.

Alistair sighed. “Fine. I'll get our tent set up.” Alistair turned around, and around and around. “Morrigan, where are our bags?”

“They are all over there, by that rock. Out of earshot.” Morrigan pointed beyond the main camp, and Alistair saw a pile of lumps and a lit fire, so far away the fire looked tiny.

“Why that far? We're not _that_ loud...are we?” he asked.

“I, for one,  _like_ to sleep at night. I'm not taking chances. Directing camp was _my_ job tonight, so you are there. Now you are free to…” she ended with a shooing gesture.

Alistair smirked. “Caboodle?” he offered.

“ _Yes. That.”_ Morrigan glared at him. He laughed softly.

“Oh, what is this? The rest of us will be _out_ of listening range?” Zevran asked. “Fereldans actually _do_ that? _Why?_ Is love-making a _sin_ , here?”

Tess giggled. “Bodahn, this is Zevran, he'll be joining our party from now on. Zevran, Bodahn and Sandal Feddic.”

“Pleased to meet you, Messre Elf,” Bodahn said.

“Hello,” Sandal said with a wave.

“Oh! The dwarves! I hear you have good items in stock, yes?” Zevran said excitedly. Alistair rolled his eyes and met Tess' gaze. She smiled at him lovingly at him, and his heart fluttered in his chest. The twinkle in her eyes said she was entertained. _Amusement_. That's what she wanted the elf for. As long as that's all it boiled down to, Alistair would honestly try his best hand at acceptance. But _only_ as long.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping the subtly of the changing relationship value between Alistair and the Warden can be seen by everyone. He is growing more comfortable and confident outside the relationship because he is growing more of each within, and she's starting to realize this isn't just some little boy puppy-crush.
> 
> Zevran is one of my favorite characters in the game. He is absolutely adorable, a fun and funny companion. I have been dying to write him in, and I finally got the chance. I hope I can continue to do him justice.


	19. Blowing Off Steam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Tess work through their argument from earlier in the day with a blindfold and cheese.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Highly NSFW
> 
> Mood Music:
> 
> [I surrender, by Jennifer Zulli ](https://youtu.be/Vnop2EmJ5pY)  
> [Heartbeat Sounds](https://youtu.be/3do5nUV-hl8)

Alistair took off his armor and began to set up the tent in time for Tesslyn to head his way. She wore a smirk with something tucked under one arm and her hands full.

“I bring a peace offering of cheese.”

“Is it the soft, foreign kind?” he glanced over. He threw the largest fur over the whole backside of the props.

“Er – no...”

“Then I'm sorry, Madam, but I have to deny you tonight,” he teased.

“ _Oooh.”_ He looked over to see her eyes narrowed, and he laughed. “Kings aren't allowed to deny me.”

He couldn't speak without laughing, “but I'm _not_ king.”

“There are no loopholes in this game, Your Royal Bastardlyness.” He grinned; he'd have to use that sometime. “Cheese is cheese. You _must_ acquiesce.” The tone in her voice excited him. _Maker_ , he loved it when she was playful.

“Some cheeses are better than others.”

“And how would _you_ know if other...” she stole a kiss, _“cheeses_ are better.” He laughed.

“Because the kind that I will _acquiesce_ to can be _licked_ off – _dammit_.” he sighed, his smalls embodying their namesake. “The tent isn't even up yet.” She giggled and kissed him again. “That _seriously_ has to happen one of these days.”

She grinned and sat down with the cheese. “Maybe Orzammar will have some.” She leaned against the bedrolls and the backpacks and sliced through the wheel of cheese.

“We'd be naked be a lot quicker if you would unroll those.”

“Nope.”

“Where is all this _cheek_ coming from? Is this what _normally_ happens when you survive ambushes?” he teased.

She smirked. “I am going to sit here and make you watch me sliver this _hard_ _cream_ into my mouth and _coat_ my _tongue_...” He watched her do exactly as she described. She stared at him like a cat lurking in wait for her prey to settle in closer.

“You are _evil_ to look at me like that when my hands are full.” He threw a fur on one end and moved on to the other.

“I took one of Morrigan's stamina potions.” Alistair froze, and he stretched his smalls even tighter, remembering how wet that potion had made her, and sweet. “I brought one for _you, too_.” He forced himself not to look at her so he could just get this damn thing finished. “Remember our little pact? An eye for an eye?”

“I have never heard of a woman _begging_ for intimacy as much as you are now,” he joked.

She gave a husky laugh that was full of want, he had to adjust himself at the groin. She made a noise as she put another slice of cheese in her mouth, and he cursed under his breath. “I want you to watch me wrap my lips around your cock-” _he nearly tripped over his own feet_ “-but before I can drink of you, I want you to paint my face with your love. And then I want you to lick my face clean.” she watched him come right to her. “And then I want to taste you from your own mouth -” she made a noise as he slid the bedrolls out from behind her.

“Take off your boots.” he stole a kiss. “ _Now_ ,” he ordered, his pulse racing. Maker, he'd never had a woman talk to him anywhere near this naughty before. He hurried to unroll the bedmats, and he stuck his feet out of the tent to unbuckle his boots. He watched her stare at him with predator's eyes. “Are you coming?”

She grinned to show off her dimples. “Not _yet_.”

Alistair laughed and set a boot and sock an arm away. “Would you _like_ to?” he grinned back. She bit her bottom lip, stabbed the cheese with its own knife, bunched something in her fist and grabbed a small bottle on her way over. Tess uncorked the bottle and held it down. “Get the lantern?” he said, taking off his other boot. With a smirk, she spun back around. He couldn't tear his eyes from the curve where her hips became thighs. Each step rounded her out perfectly, stretching his erection; it was the reason he couldn't walk behind her. He drank the tiny vial. For such a revolting taste, it worked pure wonders.

He tossed the bottle by his boots and reached for her when she returned with the lit lantern. “What's in your hand?” he asked, unbuckling her boots. With another bit-lip grin, she flicked her wrist and a handkerchief stretched down. He cursed as his balls tightened, hardening him; she let out a laugh. She had spoken of blindfolds and cuffs before, and the elf had mentioned blindfolds and being tied up. It seemed it was actually a thing that people did. “Is that for me? Or for you?”

“Tonight, it's for you.”

Alistair cursed again and swallowed as his hands fumbled with the laces of her boots. His fingers tripped over themselves, rushing to free her. She stopped him when he tried to pull her into the tent. Tess knelt in front of him at the opening, staring into his eyes. Alistair was nervous, and at the same time so eager for whatever she had planned for him that when her fingers grazed his belly at the grab of his shirt, his breath stole away completely. She pulled the undershirt up over his head and out of his sight. “Have you been planning this all day? Or is this just a spontaneous side-effect of the potion?” he asked as she folded and wrapped the handkerchief around his head.

“A little of both. Is that too tight?” she asked.

“How tight is it supposed to be?”

“Tight enough so you can't see out.”

He swallowed. “Er…I think it's fine then.”

“Scoot over and lie on your back,” she commanded. Alistair did as she said, feeling around before lowering himself. “Put your arms up above your head and don't move them. No touching.”

“No- I can't -?” he huffed.

“Nope.” she sounded to be grinning. Alistair draped his arms above his head, and when lips pressed to his, he eagerly kissed back. Her fingers unfastened his belt and untied his pants and smalls. He arched his hips off the bed, and she slid them all down at once off, fabric rolling down over his buttocks, fingers digging in as she pulled. When he lay naked, she said, “Stay right there. I'll be right back.”

“What??” he asked. “No, don't just leave me like this!” Alistair never felt more physically vulnerable in his life. Tess giggled, and her hand brushed against the inside of his thigh; his thigh gave a jerk that traveled up to his groin. “I'm just grabbing something from the backpack.”

The backpack? What could be in there that she wanted to use against him like this? His heart was pounding so hard it echoed within his chest. He heard a shuffle, scooting from the bedmat, also bare feet upon the ground. Her sounds were all around him, it was like his ears were trying to figure out where she was without sight. Thick cloth moved with a thud and a flutter; the backpack with the book in it.

She seemed to be taking her time. Alistair called for her. “I'm here,” she answered, nearer than he expected. More shuffling, then the bed under his left half slid a bit. A heavy flap signaled the tent closing. He got a whiff of strong Fereldan cheddar.

“You left me like this to go eat?” he asked.

Tess giggled. “Something like that.” A click and a _zhip_ of something thick riding on metal; her buckles. She was undressing.

Alistair groaned. “You're positive I can't peek? Or help?”

She laughed again. “Excellent ears, but no. Not yet.”

He exhaled deeply. “I'm starting to think you like seeing me so...” he swallowed to wet his tongue. “nervous and...at your mercy...” he gave an involuntary sigh when fingers grazed his inner thigh. He cursed quietly, amazed and embarrassed that _he'd_ made a noise like _that_.

“I believe you will enjoy this..." she trailed off. More muffled shuffling in a pattern. Buttons? She gave a small moan with a whip of heavy fabric. “Do you think I could get away without armor for one day?”

“Not you, no.” Nothing had happened yet and he was already short of breath. “So, is this the whole point of blindfolds? To build up anticipation?”

“Yes and no.”

“So you just want me to stay like this all night?”

“Stop talking,” she giggled.

“Why? Are you going to do something now?”

She hushed gently. “Just listen.”

“To what?” he heard nothing but them.

“To your breath and your heartbeat. To the sounds I make.”

He was breathing too hard to close his mouth, but he quieted as she directed. Armor and underclothes made more heavy rustling; Alistair was familiar with these. He heard her move, felt the mat move beneath him. Hot skin settled in next to him. He smelled Fereldan cheddar again, then something cool and smooth, squared and tiny touched his bottom lip. The tiny block of cheese gently pushed past his lips; he closed his lips around it, missing the finger he tried to catch.

Another tiny block was set upon the center of his chest, and another above his navel. When she placed a third in his bellybutton, he took a deep breath. His mind raced and his heartbeat pounded between his ears. They had talked about this with reversed roles. She placed a final cube close to his hardening member, and a tiny tendril of hair poked his belly as her lips closed around that spot of cheese in a single kiss; he lost breath for sure. The tip of her tongue lingered; his hips gave a shudder, his shaft waved for her attention. Tess smiled into him. Her mouth disappeared only to return at his button. When she took the cheese, the tip of her tongue flicked in, just like she'd done to his ears. She nibbled skin, drawing falsetto from his throat, hesitating before wetting him with a flat tongue and a kiss. Alistair couldn't stop the moan that broke as her lips dragged up his front.

She secured the last bit of cheese, but her lips never touched down like he expected. Instead, a pinch to his right nipple. His hips jerked up, and he understood why she had blindfolded him. Not knowing where she would touch him, expecting her to close in somewhere else gave far greater pleasure than anticipating out of memory.

Delicate fingertips traced both areolas, stringing jets of pleasure straight to his groin. She straddled his middle;  _o_ _hhh, she was wet!_ His whole groin tried to throw itself at her. Alistair dug his fingers into the headrest to fight the urge to shove her hips on his. She glossed his belly with a rock of her hips. Thumbs plucked at his nipples, drawing around the very rim, following slow circles. A deliberate nick with her nail, and he sang high for her again. Her weight shifted, the tip of her tongue traced his top lip; he grunted in attempt to catch her mouth, but she was too fast. Then just like that, she was off, no hands, no touching, nothing.

A ghostly kiss on the eye of his penis; he nearly choked on air. A little suck on his crown, and even _she_ moaned. Then she was gone again. The bedmat moved and she wove in between his legs, propping each one bent up over hers. She did nothing for a moment, silently facing him.

A single finger found the seam of his scrotum, and he clenched with a lift of his hips and quaky moan. She feathered this one finger on his raphe; all other movements held off, though Alistair was sure he'd erupt if she so much as breathed on him at the same time. His arms trembled in the attempt to control the heaving in his chest. He felt dizzy, and he was sure that even if he didn't have the blindfold on he wouldn't see straight. Her fingertip dared to dance down. He bit his own lip to quell noise as she followed the line right to his anus. “Do you not like that?” she asked. Her voice startled him; without being able to see her, it was almost like a phantom was handling him. Alistair couldn't speak. His mouth was dry, hitched wide open, breath scarce. She took her hand away and her body bridged over him; he turned his head in a voiceless attempt to call her back. The familiar mouth of the waterskin touched his lips, and Alistair drank deep. A thin steam spilled out and ran down his jaw and neck when she removed it; her tongue on his skin to catch it stole his breath all over again.

He kissed her while he had her there. His skin was hot, his mind demolished, and every part of Alistair trembled in blind excitement. He kissed her as hard as he could, craning his neck to follow her as she pulled back. “Alistair, was that too much?” _Her touch near his hole._ He shook his head, successfully finding her in another kiss. “Are you sure?” she asked. His voice stammered from desire before it even formed words. “Don't – don't stop!” his steadiest voice wavered. He kissed her again, took her smile in his mouth, before she crawled backwards over his body. He shuddered as nipples grazed the whole way down.

She settled between his legs again, on her belly this time. A hiss escaped him as teeth made a path up his inner thigh straight to his crotch. She knew exactly how to tease him, a flickering tongue, dotting his sack, up his shaft to the head like a stitch. A loud noise slipped form this throat as she trailed the tip of her tongue back down, not stopping till she had traced his raphe all the way to where it already made him whine for her. _Maker, this was_ _unholy_...and yet it felt so good, sending sparks right up inside of him. It was like she found a secret switch. Alistair was completely at her mercy. She circled her tongue, attentive to needs he hadn't know he possessed, and his veins pulsed in response, throbbing, waving his cock. He cursed without sound as she pressed her lips. She blew his mind, he never knew love extended _everywhere_ , parts the Chanty taught were for beatings and waste; Tess loved  _all_ of him. She planted her kiss down twice more before retracting her tongue. For a moment, all he felt was hot breath.

Tess paused to nuzzle him, heated and breath steaming the base of his sex. Alistair took the opportunity to wet his mouth and catch his breath. His curls bent to indulge her, he felt her eyelashes flutter, tickling between hairs. She breathed in his scent and drew circles with the tip of her nose; _did she like this? She liked his scent?_ He'd only heard bad jokes about groin smells. And then -  _t_ _hey were in her mouth_ , his testicles filled her mouth, and Alistair let out first the most feminine, then the most masculine sounds he had made the whole night. She reached over and lost her fingers in his tangle of curls while caressing him with her tongue, wet sounds, _wet mouth_  adding to the pull and energy surging throughout. His erection wiggled for attention. Fingers raked along his hips and released his sack with a loud slurp.

A hot tongue hugged his shaft, sliding all the way up. She hesitated at the crinkles where his crown met the raphe; another flicker of her tongue, another feminine whimper squeezed from him. She wet his crown with her flat tongue, pausing before his tiny eye. A scoop of her tongue over the slit, and Tess curled into Alistair with a needy moan. “It is _definitely_ the potion!” They laughed breathlessly together, until she stole his wind again: a simple close of wet lips tight around him. He lay gaping while she took his entire girth in her mouth. Something between a grunt and cry ripped from his throat, and he hissed her name. She wet all around the hilt, then she closed her lips again and milked him. He ripped the blindfold off his face and raised his head, cursing as if he hadn't believed it true; it was still unbelievable this happened to  _him_. He struggled to keep his hips still as he watched his length disappear in her mouth, watched a slow deliberate descent, and then vanish behind her lips again. He wasn't sure if watching or feeling, or both, made him dizzy but his head was foggy and he had to blink to keep her in focus. It was _too much,_ such intense _new_  pleasure he could barely contain. While she suckled she kneaded his balls, molding them to her grip even as they tightened, letting one finger ride down to his anus and back up, and that beautifully wicked caress sent him spiraling. Heat surged from his sack, climbing in a swell of ecstasy to the head of his cock. With a throaty curse he grabbed her by the hair and jerked, another grunt as his seed splashed out in jets all over her mouth and chin. She drank the tail end of his pent-up culmination with her eyes on his, his hips stuttering beneath her.  _Maker, what a beautiful sight!_

Her tongue darted to clean the mess on her lips. Before she could sip it up, he pulled her up in his arms and secured his mouth. They groaned together as he retrieved himself from her face. He wasn't as sweet as she has been in Redcliffe castle, but it was close enough. _Damn that witch and her potions;_ as if discovering his pleasurable spots wasn't sinful enough.

Alistair recovered himself in kisses, running his hands over whatever skin he could reach. He traced her creases and scars, the ones he'd set, the ones she'd earned from Ostagar. He coaxed a writhe from her as he inched his hand between them. He groaned louder than she gasped; he moment he touched her curls she coated his fingers. He grabbed her firmly at the hips in another kiss then slid her up his chest. “Lift up,” he told her, and as soon as she did, he moved until she was dripping right over his mouth. He opened wide, funneling his tongue in through her folds, causing her to topple with a mewl. Alistair steadied her hips to, keeping her open to him, and when he drank, his lips smacked, his tongue smacking against her skin then his before he swallowed. He sucked her curls dry and then found her clit. _She was swollen_ _; and so was he._  Such a small button, and she responded best when he was rough. He caught it in his teeth and _pulled_ , making her shudder around him with a hiss, and then he sucked _hard_. She trembled over his head, gripping his wrists to try to steady herself upright while he held her hips. He locked her clit between his teeth, pulling further to make room to snake his fingers in, and with him tumbling in her core and twisting, rolling, suckling her pearl until she cried for him. Hunching over, locking up; Alistair loved this part best,  _locking him in place_.

He pushed her up to pull her down until she collided with his potent erection. Alistair held her tight while he rolled them over, and he rubbed his length against her clit, stalling only to take a mouthful and handfuls of breasts, _tasting_ , _kneading_ more buttons made just for him. She gave another flutter when he used his teeth. The sounds she made as she fell from his mouth in slurps bucked him right into her. He felt raw,  _mighty_ as her body succumbed beneath him, his grunts mixing with squashed air every time he took another swallow of bosom and smothered himself. He wasn't done devouring her other breast yet when eager loins ended the distance between them.

Head to hers, he rocked himself home. Desperate emeralds stared back in the mess he'd sucked her into. Sloppy kisses between gasps for air, teeth grabbing when he thrust _just right._ He brought her legs up under his arms and arced, rolling in waves, grinding until her voice broke in moans, shoving as deep as he could. Her mouth was fantastic, but _this_ is where he belonged, every push and pull another shower of breathtaking perfection leading to the blinding peak of her love. She wailed incoherence into him, teeth and fingers digging as far as they reached. Growls burst forth he tried to hold out; his body still buzzed from the torturous pleasures she drove him to. He thrust _faster_ , _harder_ , making juicy skin clap together. He dug in to her neck, huffing, gruff curses as he rushed to peak her off. With another grunt, he pushed up, pumped hard. She locked up again with a howl stolen by completion, hot walls smothered him tighter. She whimpered with him as his loins spit his essence deep inside her.

Recovery took them both into sleep before he could tell her they were keeping the blindfold.

 


	20. Nothing Left to Give

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair realizes Tess has commitment and loyalty deficiencies as Zevran moves between them far too easily. He begins to hold his ground within their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music:  
> [Madness, by Muse](https://youtu.be/Ek0SgwWmF9w)  
> [ Dead Inside, by Muse](https://youtu.be/I5sJhSNUkwQ)  
> [ Time is Running Out, by Muse](https://youtu.be/O2IuJPh6h_A?list=RDI5sJhSNUkwQ)  
> [ Demons, by Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/LqI78S14Wgg)  
> [ Bleeding Out, by Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/gJEoxeW7JvQ)  
> Tess: [Innocence, by Halestorm](https://youtu.be/_CRNN5fiEwI)

Tess was hard to wake, though Alistair woke up with the sun. When he searched for his pants, he found the handkerchief she'd blindfolded him with. He sat fingering it for awhile, processing the night. His eyes shifted to the slumbering woman as the callus on his thumb scraped silk. He'd learned more about himself since he'd met her, let alone in just the few times they'd made love, than he'd ever learned growing up. It was strange to trust someone so wholly. He left a tender kiss on her face and the handkerchief on his headrest, tucked her in, and he pulled on his underclothes to leave the tent.

The party had over two hours of lost time from yesterday to make up for. Even though they didn't have a specific time frame, they still had the Blight. First getting lost, then securing Zevran stalled them. The sky was slowly graying from nighttime blackness. No silhouettes from the rest of camp; it seemed no one else was up. Po shivered next to the tent. “Oh, pup.” He knelt and rubbed the mabari's head. “Oh, Po,” he cupped his hands over the dog's ears, “if you're cold, climb inside with us,” he said quietly. Po made a small noise, leaning into Alistair's hand to trap the warmth. “Go on.” he held the flap open and gave the dog a nudge, and Po fought the sleep in his stubby limbs to disappear into the warm tent.

Alistair stoked and added to the fire, then wandered to relieve himself. Tess was still asleep when he returned. He grabbed his shirt from inside the tent, and sat on his shield to eat, grabbing a map from the backpacks. They still had…maybe three days left to travel? As long as they weren't ambushed by anymore elves, anyway.

“Alistair?” Tess asked in a very confused tone. Po gave a snort and a gruff. Alistair looked toward the tent, just listening for a moment. “Is...that you?” she asked. Alistair grinned so wide it nearly hurt his cheeks. Po gave another round of sleepy-dog answers, as if he were pretending to be Alistair telling her to go back to sleep. Tess groaned. “Maker, that's the last time I mix Morrigan's potion with cheese right before bed!” Alistair laughed loudly.

Camp was entire packed up and on the wagon before the sun was even at the seventh-hour position in the sky. Alistair was glad no one put up a fuss to get going before breakfast. However, the elf turned out to be a talker, and Tess was the only one who had the energy and patience for him that early.

“Is this habit, then? Go to sleep early only to, er – what do you call it? _Hit the road_ before a proper meal?” Zevran asked.

“Not all of us go to sleep early, elf,” Alistair said dully, walking between him and Tess.

“Ah!” Zevran laughed with a grin. “Yes, so I heard! It's a shame the others don't try to find comfort. You are a wise man, Grey Warden.” Alistair wasn't sure how to respond. He just glanced at the little man. “Ah, well. Don't worry, I'm not complaining. I'll grow used to this in no time. I think.”

“Right…” Alistair said.

Morrigan scoffed behind them. “Tesslyn, a word of advice: stopadopting things that won't shut their mouth!"

Tess tossed a grin back to Morrigan. “I think it's fun,” she beamed.

“You hear that, Morrigan? I'm _fun,”_ Alistair teased.

“Oh! Yes, I heard that too! Well, _accidentally_ , of course,” Zevran said.

“What?” Alistair whipped his head over.

“I said it was on accident!” Zevran insisted. Tess gave a giggle from the other side of Alistair. “I was looking for somewhere to...what is a good word for this? _Relieve_ will have to do, yes, that seems safest right now. I didn't realize I had wandered so close to your tent.”

“ _Oh, Maker! This isn't happening!”_ Alistair breathed.

“It seems safest?” Sten echoed.

Tess giggled again. “I'm fairly confident you don't want him to elaborate so early in the morning.”

“Please, just...change the subject.” Alistair moved the other side of Tess, putting her between him and the elf. “I can't sodding handle this so early.”

“Oh! Good! Now that you're here, I wanted to ask you something, dear Warden,” Zevran told Tess.

“Ooh! Me, too! You first!” Tess insisted.

“Maker's breath, you talk just alike!” Alistair muttered. Was this happening?

“Very well, if you insist. So, your Master, San Amoldo,” Zevran said, “you said he _was_ your master?”

“Oh. Yes, was,” she paused. “ _Was,_ was my very last lesson.”

“I see. And still he was San? My condolences, then,” Zevran told her.

“What is a _San_?” Alistair asked.

“A revered person,” Zevran translated. “Not a word usually associated with a Crow.”

“I spent nearly three years with him. He lived in my family's home,” Tess explained.

“And why does the elf offer condolences?”

“My last lesson was to kill him, in the most merciful way I was taught. He couldn't return to Antiva after he had trained me, and he had nowhere safe to go.”

“Crows are not allowed to desert,” Zevran said. “We are seen as a threat. _I_ will likely be hunted, even.”

“Can I just tie him to a tree?” Alistair groaned to Tess. She giggled.

“Only if you're both naked while you do it.”

“What?” he stared at her like she was mad. She grinned an adorably devious dimpled-smile that drew a smile on him as well. _“No,”_ he told her, trying not to laugh. He pulled her close and kissed her while they walked. “You're _terrible_ in the morning, you realize that?”

She giggled silently, and her shoulders shook in place of noise. “And to think I didn't even have any of that potion yet.”

He kept his arm around her, laughing a little himself. “And yet I'm not surprised.”

“You'll forgive me while I interrupt,” Zevran began.

“No, I am _not_ going to cuddle with you,” Alistair said firmly.

“Would you do that for _me?”_ Tess asked softly.

“ _Stop_ it,” he tried not to laugh.

“Mother help me before I kill them all!” Morrigan said through her teeth.

 

The days were dull. No, he couldn't say that. They were certainly busy, but they weren't fun. The elf and Tess had far too much to talk about. She talked non-stop with him all day; even Leliana asked them to take moments for quiet. Alistair started spending his evenings eating dinner with the others around the main fire because Tess wanted to eat with the elf. Three damn nights of wasting most of their private time so she could laugh and play cards with the elf. Alistair sat in silence, and each night in progressive anger carving a gryphon, a bow, a bone dagger – with a slot to screw the diamond-coated rose into the handle. Things _Alistair_ could do with _Tess_ , things to help her, mementos to share with her. And here she was, the third night, she and Zevran sparring blindfolded, falling all over each other every few minutes.

“You are going to take a thumb off if you continue like so.”

_Great. The witch._ Alistair sighed. “What do you want, Morrigan?”

“Why do you let this continue?” she asked. From the corner of his eye, he saw Morrigan watching Zevran and Tess.

“You know what she does to people who tell her she's wrong,” he said.

“But this _is_ wrong, Alistair.” Alistair stopped his blade on the wood and looked at her. “She is _yours_ , yet she is not acting like so and you are simply... _allowing_ it?”

“What are you getting at?”

“I simply wonder why you do nothing? You _said_ you were going to marry her.”

“ _If_ I take the throne.”

“That is the whole purpose of reaching Denerim, is it not?”

“Why do you even care about this?”

“I do not like the elf. He propositions me every night when you two leave.”

“So set him on fire. What is the point of this conversation? I don't happen to like _any_ of you except that funny little dwarf,” he told her.

“My mother taught me many things I do not value _except this_ : if you believe in yourself, you must also fight to keep that which defines you.”

Alistair looked at her again. “I'm not saying your words don't make sense, but I was Alistair before I met her.”

“You were not the same when I met you as you are now. You have changed. You killed a man and set a building on fire. The innocent boy whom I walked out of the Wilds with would not have done so.”

“I would kill another malefecar without considering other options, believe me.”

“My _point_ is, she has changed you, and now you are losing your grip on her.”

“I don't own her.”

“She certainly owns you, doesn't she?”

He growled. “Get away from me, witch. Eventually her hold over _you_ , as well, will not protect you from me.” He grabbed the bow and his knife, and he left main camp for his and Tess' camp.

The witch was right, though. _Damn her. Damn the elf, too!_ He sat in front of his fire sculpting the rest of the bow, long enough to go through three bottles of ale before Tess finally came over. Her buzz was beginning to feel bittersweet.

He _used_ to welcome it. _How long ago was that?_

“I don't like how much time you're spending with that elf.”

“I apologize for making a friend," her tone was almost mocking.

“I don't think the elf sees it that way. Morrigan brought this same concern up tonight, as well. It's not just me." Alistair shook his head.

“Because we _practice_ together?” she asked.

“I made pikes for us to practice together with, Tesslyn. You and I _have_ things we could do together. Last night, you played cards with the elf until the others fell asleep.”

“I asked you if you wanted to play.”

“I don't _want_ to play _cards_ with you. Did you forget how to _talk_ to me?” he finally looked at her.

“What?” she searched his face.

“We used to stay awake talking until you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore.” He stared at her for a moment. “Do you love me?”

“I won't answer that, Alistair.” She didn't bother sitting down to unbuckle her boots.

“Why not?”

“It's not that simple.”

He frowned, deeper, actually. He had already been frowning. He tossed the bow and dagger aside and stood. “I'm _making_ it this simple, Tesslyn.”

“That last people I told _I love you_ to were massacred in a surprise attack in the middle of the night.”

“I'll take my chances.” He stared at her for long while. “You know, you had me completely convinced that what we had was special and unique. You are all I have left, and I have given you not only all that I _have_ , but all that I _am. No_ one has ever known me as well as you do. I let you do _anything_ to me. I have nothing else left. Every part of me belongs to _you._ What I _do_ have left to give, you're seeking from the elf now.” He pointed toward the other camp. “I see myself when I watch you two. I see _us_ at Ostagar, that entire day you spent building up my confidence in _you_ always wanting to be here with me. The Grey Wardens was the _one_ thing I had to share with you, and had everything turned out perfect, I would have taken you there, and I would have shared my life with you.”

He watched her say nothing, only stare back. “That's all I want to do, Tesslyn. _Share my life with you._ You own every inch of me inside and out. I _willingly gave_ you that much of me. You are the only woman I have ever kissed, the only woman I've ever held, the only woman I've ever made love to.” He paused and ran his hands down his face, taking a deep breath. “You know, I don't even care _how_ you love me. I can be happy with you only wanting to be friends. I told you that back at Morrigan's house. _Y_ _ou_ were the one who kissed me and encouraged me to... _express_ myself sexually with you. I was going to wait. I wanted to wait until I knew for sure how both of us felt before I even kissed you, I wanted to make sure we couldn't live without each other before I ever tried to undress you. I wanted it to be _perfect_.” He sighed, and the realization of what he wanted to say next pained his heart. “Morrigan is right. You have changed me, you own me, and now you're leaving me.”

She opened her mouth like she wanted to speak, but no words came out. She didn't look at him.

“I just need to need to know that whatever end we find in Denerim will be worth it,” he said.

“I never promised I could make things perfect,” she finally spoke.

“ _You_ made things perfect for me,” he told her. “I can't get back to sleep if I wake up and you're just sitting outside the tent. Do you even know that?”

She shook her head. “I didn't know that. Alistair, I _told_ you from the beginning I would break your heart.”

“Yes, and Duncan said the same thing. Cailan told me to make you _honest;_ that was close enough. I don't care what people _don't_ want me to do. I'm going off my gut. My _gut_ tells me I love you, Tess. You've been my best friend since you woke up from your Joining, and that was _before_ I lost my other friends. I spent my last day with _you_ instead of them because my gut told me you were my best bet. You've driven me crazy since I _met_ you. It doesn't even matter _how_ , it's just the truth. So to...” he winced as he gestured back to the other camp, “to see you do this...to stop talking to me, to stop eating with me...you don't want to sit with me anymore, you don't want to laugh with me anymore...we picked him up nearly four days ago, you've been one-on-one with him almost the whole time. You sleep next to me, you want me to touch you at night, and then you're his during the day. You haven't even kissed me today at all.” Alistair sighed. “Maker, this _hurts_ , Tess,” he whispered to her. “I can't take this. You're _all I have._ I can't lose you, too. _Especially_ I can't lose you. You're the _only_ reason I have any motivation to wake up anymore. I can't handle having you there with your hand in mine since – however longs it's been, I don't even know anymore – and then have you just suddenly stop everything all at once...it's _too much_ for me.”

He didn't realize his eyes had watered until a tear leaked from _her_ eye. She sat where she was. “I can't tell you I love you. I'm...it sounds stupid, I know.” she paused. “Okay Cailan told me he wanted to run away with me when I was fourteen, and then...Loghain happened. I realize that was mostly my doing, but he had a control I couldn't fight. My only friends were gone after that, for good. I froze up, I shut myself up. I didn't say I love you again until I got back home, right before Howe killed my family. I told my mother that evening that I loved her and I had a bad feeling, and then I told Oren I loved him and I'd see him in the morning and we'd cause all sorts of mischief, and then I told my father I loved him, and... _death_ and chaos all over again. And then Cailan _again_ , said he loved me at Ostagar, and _everyone_ died. I can't use that word. It's a curse.”

"That's pretty skewed, Tess. None of what you said has anything to do with love. They're all mistakes caused by other people outside of love entirely. And it's not fair to compare me to _Cailan_ and _Loghain_. I have _never_ done anything to hurt you."

"I don't have any other answers for you. It all relates to  _me_ , in  _my_ head."

“You said you loved my heart.”

“That's not the same thing. That's admiration.”

“You _admire_ me, but _don't love_ me.” His eyes tossed side to side while he thought, trying to remember every behavior from her since they'd met. “Has it been like this from the start?” he wondered out loud. He recalled her words that night before they reached Lothering:  _How are you so sure of me?...I've seduced people to get support...You may even hate me for it...Your innocence makes you so beautiful_ (and now he had lost his innocence)... _This severely complicates things, Alistair._ “Maker, I am... _such_ a fool.” A quiet huff escaped him, and he turned from her. “You did this on purpose. You did _everything_ on purpose, and I fell all over you right into your trap.”

“The mission doesn't change how I feel,” she said.

“But that's just it. I don't _know_ how you feel. And I'm _not_ just a _mission.”_

She got to her feet with a frown and disappeared inside the tent, only to come back out a moment later with one bed and its contents rolled loosely in her arms.

_This is it._ _Separation_.

Alistair was numb, frozen in place while he watched her unroll the bedmat. He'd only heard of partners leaving each other, mostly random town gossip during travels. But it was real.

_Just like that? Is it really this simple? One day, in love and whole; the next, forgotten and alone._

Alistair turned to the tent and ripped all the furs and cloth off. He could feel her eyes on him as he broke the props in half over his knee. Avoiding her gaze, he approached with half the furs and sticks and moved her bed from the fireside. He drove the broken poles like stakes into the ground, then draped enough furs over to cover her bed. Just as silently, he turned to fix a the remains of their shared tent into his own private one. He removed his armor, and climbed in by himself.

He couldn't sleep. Alistair could feel the buzz of her Taint, so he knew she was nearby. But now his tent was far too small and all too empty. Part of him was so hurt it angered him, made him hate he could feel her presence, and he didn't want her there at all. Part of him was so hurt it felt like his heart was ripping to shreds string by string, and he wanted nothing more than to go to her, beg for forgiveness and make everything better with a kiss. Part of him wished she had never survived her Joining so he would never have to battle these feelings again.

Faint sniffles every so often told him he was not the only one unable to sleep.

 


	21. Whatever It Takes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair tries to figure out how to break free from Tesslyn's chains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: violence - choking
> 
> NSFW art at end of chapter.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> Tess: [Innocence, by Halestorm](https://youtu.be/_CRNN5fiEwI)  
> [ Dead Inside, by Muse](https://youtu.be/I5sJhSNUkwQ)  
> [ Monster, by Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/hhSA9H9Iaqw)  
> [ Mercy, by Muse](https://youtu.be/yj8Xpdx60Ws?list=RDI5sJhSNUkwQ)  
> [ Time is Running Out, by Muse](https://youtu.be/O2IuJPh6h_A?list=RDI5sJhSNUkwQ)

Alistair wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but he woke up before the sun and could not return to slumber. He climbed out of his tent, now tiny and solitary, and fed the fire to settle in front of it. He sat opposite Tess' own little tent. Their argument replayed over and over in his head. He couldn't think of a better way to say what he had said. Alistair stared at the bone dagger he was shaping for her. He was ashamed of himself for not recognizing her behavior sooner. She had played on his virgin-attitude toward everything from sex to rage. Her every action that last day at Ostagar made perfect sense now.

Yet he swore she cared for him. Before the elf arrived, there were moments – little things, like how she hugged him when she woke up from nightmares, or when she cried with him in Redcliffe, that moment on the edge of the broken overlook at Ostagar when she accepted his offer to try to make her life worthwhile...her reaction to him when he kissed her without warning. Not to mention the little touches that made her stop what she was doing and curl into him. However, once she had enough time to think, the wheels of her tyrannical plan to put him on the throne became evidently active. When she was in that mode, her only affection came from moments of arousal, and now he also had the plucky elf to deal with.

He dug a hole into what would be the hilt of the bone dagger, and he retrieved the diamond-coated rose. As he widened the hole in the bone, he realized how silent Tess was in her tent. When she slept, he could always hear her. He sighed a little. “You don't have to stay in there,” he told her.

She was silent, still.

“I know you're not asleep, Tess. I've been sleeping next to you for some time, now. I know how it sounds when you sleep.”

“What could you possibly want me out there for?” she said bitterly.

“I don't hate you.”

“I'm not convinced.”

“I'm upset. There's a difference.” He blew the dust from the bone; the rose slipped in perfectly this time. He twisted the rose like a screw to dig the hardened thorns in. “Can you really blame me? You've all but taken off your clothes for him. Of course I'm going to be upset.”

“I don't kiss him.”

“ _You are not being replaced, Alistair_ , those were your exact words. You didn't touch me at all yesterday, not a hug, not a kiss, you didn't even look in my eyes. He's had your full attention for three days. I'm fairly confident your infatuation has shifted.”

“And yet my tent is next to yours.”

“You still plan to tie me to that damn throne, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then your place will always be next to me.”

She scoffed. “How about _kiss my ass?”_

“I have already done that.”

“I refuse to rule from behind the scenes.”

“Like I am now?” he asked. He held up the bone dagger with the diamond-rose hilt. It glittered in the orange glow, looking like it had blossomed straight out of the bone. That funny dwarf could set the stem in with that resin he had.

“You are not making this easy.”

“Now you know how I feel. Tell me one thing, Tess, and I think I deserve one single answer from you.” When she didn't respond, he said, “Did I imagine everything between us?”

She hesitated for a long moment broken with a heavy breath. “Can we not talk about us, please?” He wanted to believe there was a hint of brokenness in her voice, but he wasn't sure. It was not the answer he was hoping for.

They were still up when the sun woke the land and the rest of their party. Alistair packed up the furs and bedrolls and backpacks into the wagon as everyone was rubbing sleep from their faces. He asked Sandal to set the rose into the hilt, and he grabbed apples and two bottles of Bodahn's unready mead while the rose dried. Sandal had set the whole dagger itself in the same diamond dust-resin; now the whole thing was solid, not merely set. He gladly paid Sandal for this service.

Tess was fastening her belt around her waist when he returned with breakfast. Without speaking, Alistair put the apples and mead in her arms. She stood there with wide eyes as he removed her plain steel dagger and replaced it with the diamond-coated rose-and-bone dagger. He took one apple and one bottle from her. “You can use this dagger from now on,” he said through a bite of the apple.

“I _can?”_ she echoed.

“That's correct.”

“Wonderful. Thank you,” she said sarcastically, though she admired the entire dagger in the rising sun. “Did you make this?”

“I have been making it for the past few days,” he told her. He couldn't keep the irritation from his voice. He truthfully wanted to resolve whatever was wrong between them, but his mind was forcing him to excrete a barrier. He glanced at her. She gave a small hiss when she slit her thumb on the blade. “It should serve you well,” he added, forcing his voice into kindness. _Only the best,_ no matter how upset he was. She muttered a meek _thank you_ before sheathing her new dagger.

The tension between them was all too obvious. Alistair still walked ahead of everyone else, and Tess still walked with him. Zevran tried to get her attention several times throughout the day, but Tess just told the elf she wasn't in the mood. The way she said it pointed strong suspicion right at Alistair, which only drew scowls from Morrigan and Zevran both. Alistair didn't soften at all. Tess wanted him this way, and he was bound and determined to show them she had gotten her wish.

The road to Honnleath was oddly calm as the town itself came into view. Not a single chimney smoked, even in the farm houses out-skirting the town. They proceeded with caution, and for good reason. Both Alistair and Tess froze as they reached just within the boundaries of the farmland. Alistair's blood buzzed like a swarm of bees. _Darkspawn._ He told Bodahn to turn the wagon around, and for Sten, Leliana and Po to stay with the dwarves.

Alistair started off, only to turn around when he realized Tess wasn't following him. She stared at Alistair almost like fear had struck her. “What are you doing?” he asked her.

“Wha –?” she asked.

“Are you serious?” he asked, then suddenly remembered she had been out of her mind and unconscious when the last bunch of darkspawn hit them. “It's your Taint, Tess. It's Darkspawn.”

“How come _you_ don't feel like this?” she asked.

He practically growled. “We don't have time to talk about this right now. Are you coming? If not, send Sten.”

She nodded, and followed Morrigan and Zevran as they followed Alistair in a run. Alistair knew the Darkspawn would be ready for them; feeling them was mutual. Alistair was glad when she snapped out of her daze with the first blow.

It was just like back at Ostagar. She competed with him, sneaking in kills with her bow before he could swing his sword. He responded just like before, ramming into darkspawn with his entire weight, bashing heads in with his shied. They were a team once more, flirting with death to impress each other again. He even tackled her out of the way, and though they were in the heat of battle, he took advantage of the adrenaline-induced arousal in her eyes and ground his loins to hers as he pushed up; she breathed in deep, then shoved him off completely with a sharp curse. Zevran let Alistair know that he'd seen the whole thing.

Tess paced with curses spilling out of her mouth after they'd cleared the village of darkspawn, frowning. Zevran dashed off to signal the town was safe for the wagon.

“Tess, _stop_ ,” Alistair told her. “You're making my head spin, with all this Taint still in the air.”

“It hurts.” she said. “Maker's _fucking_ breath, it hurts!” she hissed. Alistair did a double take at her, as he and Morrigan started looting the bodies. _“Why_ does it hurt? _You_ don't hurt. It feels like I fucking injected _venom_ into my veins. It didn't feel like this at Ostagar.”

“I suppose that's an Orleasian word?” Alistair guessed.

“Why doesn't _your_ Taint hurt?” she asked, ignoring him.

“I don't know, Tess,” he sighed. “Maybe because you're not sucking down lyrium every other hour?”

“I can _see_ my _pulse_ ,” she said. “Rather, my _eyes_ are _vibrating_ with my pulse.”

“That sounds rather erotic,” Zevran said, apparently back with them. Alistair groaned.

“Absolutely not. Don't even go there today, I mean it,” he told the elf.

“Zevran, there's a chest up the hill. My hands are shaking too much to pick it,” Tess said, not looking at anyone, her eyes still darting around.

“Oh! Finally something fun? I'll pick your lock in no time, dear Warden,” Zevran said. Alistair growled at him.

“Morrigan, did you find anything useful?” Alistair asked, trying to divert his attention.

“A few coins, two potions. Are we taking the weapons?” Morrigan asked.

“Yes. Anything we can sell later, we're taking.” Alistair found a necklace wrapped around the belt of a hurlock in heavy armor. He untangled it and looked at it closer. It was enchanted to regenerate health. He couldn't tell how strong the enchantment was, but one person particularly came to mind regarding need of it. He looked up at Tess. She was muttering her strong Orleasian curses as she continued to pace, her frown deep and troubled. She glanced over at him as if she could feel him stare. Her frown receded for a moment as she stared back at him.

He regretted it. He regretted calling her out last night. He wanted to go to her and comfort her through whatever pain her Taint was causing her. He wanted to see her smile again. He wanted to be happy with her again.

She frowned again and spun away, resuming her pace. He sighed silently and hung his head. This was all such a mess.

“Ah,” Zevran said. Alistair looked over over to see the elf wincing. “I regret that I cannot open the chest...” he said apologetically.

Alistair stood. “I thought you were a _great assassin_ , Messere Crow,” he said wryly.

“Usually I am, yes, this is true,” Zevran dismissed the sarcasm. “However, in this extremely rare case, I seem to lack the proper tool. I do believe it needs a key.”

“ _What use_ are you? _Honestly?”_ Alistair asked. “You're horrible at ambushing, you can't pick locks, you can't swing far or wide enough to hit anything.”

“Ah, I should mention I usually sneak in from behind. And that can be said for more than just combat,” he said with a proud smirk. “Assassins do everything better from behind.”

“You know what? That's it. That's bloody it. I've had it with all your sexual jokes, elf.” Alistair unsheathed his sword and started toward Zevran, but stopped himself when something whizzed right by his ear. He spun around to see the dagger he'd made for Tess stuck into the wall of a house. He jerked the dagger from the wood and frowned at her. “Do _not throw_ things at me, Tesslyn!” he ordered her, storming over.

“Don't threaten my charges, _Alistair!”_ she shot back.

“You could have killed me. One inch over -”

“Don't even try that on me!” she shook her head, grabbing the dagger away from him. “I shot moving targets at Ostagar when I was _withdrawing_!”

“Were you _trying_ to kill me?” he asked. “I suppose that would make things easier for you and the elf.”

“I think I preferred it when you gave each other the _silent_ treatment,” Morrigan said.

“Shut up, Morrigan!” he hollered.

“Don't talk to her like that! You have been nothing but rude to her since we met her!” Tess snapped at him.

“But it's okay for _her_ to treat _me_ how she does? I've never heard a single decent thing out of her mouth unless she's talking to you. Oh, but that's just how you are, though, isn't it? You _seduce_ people to get what you want, _until_ you get what you want from them.” He stared hard at her, barely within arm's reach. He couldn't believe she'd thrown her weapon at him. _Her!_ “I almost feel sorry for them all. How are you going to treat everyone else we've picked up when they no longer have something you desire? You roped Cailan in – I'm _even_ starting to think you did to Cailan what you've done to _me._ I bet he had no idea how lucky he was that you didn't want to marry him!”

“Don't you _dare!”_ she said through her teeth.

“I _do_ dare, Tesslyn! The entire time I've known you, you've been building me up to be the kind of _tool_ you can use best against the Landsmeet! You never had the decency to keep to yourself, _you let_ me fall all over myself! Just like you let Cailan fall all over himself! _Just_ like you're doing with Zevran! _Morrigan_ doesn't even realize you're using her! And _now_ you're throwing _weapons_ at me! Teagan was right – and you _damn_ well know it – you can't go around killing people, or trying to! Even if you don't actually draw a blade, you still murder something!” He almost loved the fire in her eyes. He even waited for her to try to hit him. Her reaction was feeding the hurt that had built up since they found Teagan at Redcliffe. “This is _not_ what I talked you off the edge for! The kind of person you are _right now_ should have died at Ostagar. If all you're going to do when we're supposed to be finding a way to end the Blight is _use_ people – _use me –_ and attempt to kill me, then I _should_ have let you _jump!” Maker, I don't mean that._ He may as well have slapped her, the way shock resonated from her pupils. “I want _nothing_ to do with a woman who asks me to tell her I love her, and then _throws_ a _knife_ at my head! Do you _see_ where I'm having issues with what you're doing? I can't trust you to help, I can't trust you to be honest, I can't trust you as a _friend_.”

“Then I'll leave, and you can deal with this stupid Blight by yourself!” she hissed, and turned away, but he grabbed her arm firmly.

“You are not going anywhere. You were _Conscripted._ You are a _Grey Warden,_ and you will fulfill your duty as one. You will do it peacefully _without_ violence, _without_ lies,” he told her. She stared back just as hard, and he could see a flicker of concern in her eyes.

“You can't make me stay.”

“I suppose you're going to go home?” the words were out before he realized what he was saying. He knew instantly that would upset her more than anything. She frowned harder. He released her arm. “This is who you wanted me to be,” he reminded her softly. “ _This_ is the man you want to rule the county. I am not stupid, Tess, I understand fully what you’ve been doing. But I can't play along like a puppy on a leash anymore. Whether or not either of us survive long enough to address the Landsmeet, you are still a Grey Warden, and I am holding you to your Joining. I refuse to do this all by myself.”

“You've _always_ been by yourself,” she said through her teeth. Even though this was retaliation, he knew by the pang in his heart that she cared for him much deeper than she was letting on, otherwise she wouldn't have known what to say to hit him where it hurt.

He shook his head. “Not since I met you,” he reminded her. He reached up with one finger, and her eyes drifted in recognition under a heavier frown as he drew an invisible rune for Lightning on her cheek, just like he'd done at Ostagar when they were perfectly happy with each other. “You have been mine from the start.”

She stepped back and bent into a deep, mocking bow. “As Your Majesty commands.” She scowled as she spun around, and she marched herself up hill toward the motionless stone golem in the center of town.

“What? That's it? No, no, no, my dear – er, Alistair. That's not how you end a lover's quarrel,” Zevran said. “ _Quick_ , she-mage, make them a potion, the kind you refuse to make for me. _What_ are you _waiting_ for?” he sounded genuinely baffled.

“I will _not_ make that!” Morrigan told the elf.

“Zevran, if you value your life you will shut up,” Alistair said.

“But pleasure conducted in angst produces great results,” Zevran told him. “I have seen it save many marriages.”

“They are not married, Zevran,” Morrigan said.

“When has that ever stopped romantic moments? Are you not worried she'll run off, Alistair?”

“She has nowhere to go, and she has a bounty on her head.” Alistair met the wagon as it pulled up. “Leliana, fill up the empty bottles from the well.” He grabbed the control rod from the back of the wagon.

“A word of advice, if I may?” Zevran said as Alistair walked past him again.

“You may not.”

“If you wish to keep a woman, it is probably best you try to _woo_ her first. I do not think a woman like our dear Tesslyn -”

Alistair pressed the tip of his sword to Zevran's chest. _“Mine,_ elf. She is not _ours_ , she is _mine._ Am I clear?”

Zevran held his hands up and stepped back. “May I request you keep in mind I am from Antiva, where everyone calls everyone else by pet names only?”

“I shouldn't have to keep reminding you you're not in Antiva anymore.” Alistair sheathed his sword as he walked up the hill.

Tess was standing in front of the stone golem. It towered over even Alistair by a few feet. Without speaking, he thrust the control rod toward her, and she took it roughly. “Is this what you wanted for us, Alistair?” He didn't answer her. He simply stood in front of her and looped the thin silver chain around her neck. “Don't put anything on me,” she tried to move her head away, but he pressed his forearms upon her shoulders to keep her still.

“You will wear what I give you to wear,” he said in a low voice.

“Does that include pantaloons, Your Highness?” she lipped off.

“If I think it's in your best interest.” He fastened the clasp and stepped away.

“You suddenly know what's best for me?”

“Better than _you_ know what's best for yourself.” He knocked on the stone golem. “I'm the one who's taken care of you since your Joining, in case you've forgotten. This blasted thing is broken.”

“It's a golem, it has a control phrase.”

“ _We_ don't _have_ a control phase.”

“Then the bodies of the townsfolk have them,” she sassed.

“I see _one_ human body.”

“He only had a key.” she held out a brass key. “Give it to Zevran.”

“You don't tell me what to do anymore, Tesslyn.”

“Then I'll go give it to Zevran myself. Alone. With the elf.” She turned and took a single step. Alistair held the back of her collar.

“I did not say you could do that, did I?”

“ _Oh, somebody's_ finally acting like a King.”

He twirled her back around and looked her dead in the eye. “This is what _you wanted_.” Even when she loathed him, her eyes flopped his insides. She had never been able to hide pain from him. She was still that lonely girl who needed him.

“Let go of me.”

“Really, you two need to find a dark corner or something. Oh look! A chair! That is _perfect,_ _no?”_ Zevran said from behind them. Tess started to toss the key, and Alistair released her collar to stop her hand. He pried the key from her fingers. She refused to indulge his stare, frowning off past her other shoulder instead.

“Is the golem broken?” Morrigan asked.

“It appears so,” Alistair answered.

There was a pause before Morrigan spoke in uncharacteristic kindness, “Come, Tesslyn. Let us see what we can find.” Alistair watched the witch take Tess from him. Morrigan glared at him with threatening eyes as she led Tess away.

“She will try to kill you,” Sten said as Alistair stared after the two women.

“No she won't.”

“I mean the witch.”

“I'm honestly surprised she hasn't tried already.” Alistair glanced at Zevran and tossed the key. “Go see if it fits that chest.” Zevran left eagerly, and Alistair watched the women again. “Am I pushing too hard?” he asked Sten.

“Women have clear roles within the Qun. No woman would ever be allowed to take up arms. Roles are defined, and any woman who over steps her boundaries should be dealt with accordingly.”

Alistair looked at him. “But she's a good warrior.”

“She is first a woman. She must be reminded of this. She is headstrong and proud, and she knows how to manipulate others to get her way. If you intend to make her Queen, especially you must remind her of her place. She cannot be allowed to act like King. A King is like the Father of a country, is he not?” Sten asked.

“I suppose.”

“Then a Queen is still only a Mother, just like any other woman, a Wife. She has forgotten her purpose in this world. If she is yours, it is your responsibility to remind her of her purpose. You must continue to shape her.”

Alistair looked over to see Tess opening a door. She and Morrigan peered in.

“If you do not show her who you are, she will shape you into who she wants you to be.”

“She has already done that.” Alistair started walked toward the women as they disappeared through the doorway.

“She remains with you. This is proof she is not done with you.” The Qunari was actually making sense. Tess could have easily ran off, or sneaked away instead of going to the golem. She could have left at any time.

Alistair stopped a few feet from the door as his blood started burning again. _Dammit, Tess!_ She had gone off to face the Darkspawn without him. He bolted to the door and threw it open.

“What is it?” Sten ran with him.

“Darkspawn!” The two almost fell over each other down a darkened staircase that led into a brewing cellar. They arrived at the women to see Morrigan throw a wall of jagged ice between them and the darkspawn. Tess sliced though the ice and frozen darkspawn with the same ferocity she'd had back in the Wilds at Ostagar before her Joining, though the diamond-coated dagger did considerably more damage with each stroke. The way was narrow and the women moved too much for Alistair or Sten, as large as they were, to slide in without catching friendly fire or hurting the women.

“Dammit, Tess! Do _not_ do that again!” Alistair told her when the last darkspawn fell.

“It's not my fault you weren't paying attention.” She wiped her daggers off and sheathed them as she pushed past Alistair and Sten. “You can both leave. Morrigan and I obviously have it all under control.”

“You had better get used to me again,” he told her.

“You made it quite clear last night that's not what you want.”

“You're the one who chose to sleep alone,” he reminded her, following her around dusty bookshelves.

“Twill not kill you to save such talk for privacy, Alistair.” Morrigan said.

“Then leave,” he ordered the witch. “This is Grey Warden business anyway, it doesn't concern you.”

 _“No,_ 'tis _Tesslyn's_ business, and there just happens to be a Grey Warden and Darkspawn in the immediate area.”

“She's leaving,” Sten interrupted. Alistair turned to see Tess hopping down another set of stairs, and immediately flew after her. There were so many darkspawn in the building he couldn't distinguish Tess from the rest of them.

When they got rid of the next batch, they had to convince a group of humans hidden behind a magic barrier they _weren't working for the darkspawn._ A single person took down the barrier and the rest of the townsfolk fled. The man who controlled the barrier stayed behind to ask about the state of the town above ground. Tess asked about the stone golem and the man immediately frowned, refusing to give up the activation phrase. He said the golem had killed his father and he would not just let them activate the monster so carelessly. His daughter had run down to the laboratory past the basement though, and if they would retrieve his daughter, he would consider it payment for the activation phrase.

Alistair knew immediately that Tesslyn would want to save the child. “That's not likely. We've come too far out of our way and already wasted too much time to make another detour,” he challenged Tess before she could agree to help. She frowned and slowly turned her head at him. “I apologize, but that's not our problem.”

“That's _right_ , it's _not_ a problem,” Tess countered. “What's her name?”

“Amalia,” the man said. “She's only nine -”

“Tesslyn, do not twist my words,” Alistair cut in. “We don't have time. We have a Blight to stop.”

“We've already gone out of our way. We're going to get the child.” She started off, but Alistair stepped in front of her.

“We are _not._ ” He pulled his sword and pointed it at the man. “The activation phrase, please, and _then_ I'll consider finding your child.”

Tess pushed him as flat against the wall as his shield allowed. _“What_ is your _problem?!”_ she hissed, prying the sword from his fingers.

“We don't have time to take care of every single problem for every single person we run across.” He reached for his sword but she backed away with it behind her back.

“This is a _child_ , for Andraste's sake!”

“I'm being practical. We've already gone out of our way so you could have another stupid toy to play with. If she's just in the rest of the basement, her father is perfectly capable of going down there himself.”

“This is not practicality! This is the popped ego of of a boy who never had a fair childhood taking his angst out on an innocent little girl! If _you_ didn't have a nice childhood, _why_ should _she?”_ she taunted him. He followed her around the room as she continued to walk with his sword behind her back. “This is the dirty stable boy trying to show the Lady Cousland he's big, bad and powerful enough for a _noble_ woman. This is _you mad at me_ and using this little girl as leverage _against_ me because _you_ know _I can't have children!_ I am _not stupid_ , Alistair, _I invented_ this game!” she cried out angrily. Sten grabbed the sword as she passed by him, but she spun around and rammed her foot into the Qunari's groin. She sprinted for the door toward the laboratory, and Morrigan hurried after her.

“She has your weapon,” Sten accused as if Alistair just let her take it.

“I'm _aware_ of that, thanks!” Alistair ran for the door, but as he reached for the handle it froze over. “Shit!” he cried out. “Help me push it!” He and Sten shoved into the door with their shoulders, but the door was freezing solid from the frame on in. _“Dammit, Morrigan!”_ he yelled. He heard a faint cackle behind the ice. Kicking the solid ice didn't do a bit of good. That was Tess, too, encouraging Morrigan to become more powerful.

With a growl, Alistair turned around to find the villager had resurrected the magic barrier that had kept him safe from the darkspawn earlier. “Is there another way in?”

“Even if there was, I'm not sure I want to tell _you,”_ the man said.

“If there is and you're not telling me, I will make sure you don't see your daughter again.” He saw Sten glance curiously at him. “That woman means more to me than any child I have never met.” He paced for a moment, then told Sten to go check on the wagon.

 _Maker! What was wrong with him? Was Sten right? Was this the right thing to do?_ Tess didn't like being pushed this way. Even though he hadn't actually done anything to physically hurt her, she was fighting back hard. She even took his sword because _she_ thought _he_ was going to kill somebody. _He would never just kill someone! Maker,_ he just wanted her safe. He couldn't protect her if she kept throwing them into battles with no reprieve. And the whole reason he wanted her safe was because he didn't want her to leave him, in any way. He couldn't even handle her spending time with the elf, but was this worth it? Forcing her to argue back just so she'd look at him again? They were both playing into it. They couldn't fool each other. _Why was he so angry?_ No. Scared? Angry because he was frightened? He hadn't been afraid to lose anything for a long time. _But what if she died down there?_ Morrigan had helped her run, too.

He threw a chair at the door, then the desk. _Maker, so help me, I will kill that witch!_ He tried ramming the door with his shield, but that didn't do anything either. He paced. He couldn't just leave and he couldn't break through, and he certainly couldn't wait patiently. All he could do pace.

The sound of cracking ice played like music to his ears. He looked over to see the iced door starting to drip. It took a longer than Alistair had patience for. Anxiety shook him hard. If she was hurt, he would have the witch for it all.

The first thing he noticed was huge, fresh, red burn scar from Tesslyn's left ear, down her jaw and neck. Quite a bit of her hair was singed off. The scar was obvious, about wide as his own hand. The only person he knew with fire was Morrigan. Alistair wasn't sure how he crossed the room so fast, but his hand was around the witch's neck before he could blink. There came a metallic clank and a girlish shriek as he slammed Morrigan into the wall. “Stop it! Alistair, _stop! Let go! What is wrong with you?!”_ Tess yelled. She wedged herself between him and the witch and tried to shove him with her body. When that didn't work, she tried to pry his fingers off. He didn't release his grip until Morrigan froze his writs so deep he felt it in his bones. “Maker's breath!” Tess pushed Alistair away and attended to Morrigan.

The magic barrier disappeared and a little girl ran past him from the doorway, yelling _Da!_ Tess whirled on Alistair with a glare so fierce he expected his eyes to bleed. _“Maker, what is_ wrong _with you!”_ she pushed him far away from Morrigan while she told the witch to get back to the wagon.

“You come back looking like you fell in a fire, and you ask what's wrong with _me?”_ he shouted back.

“I _did_ fall in a fire! It was a stupid puzzle trap to release a barrier just like the one up here! _What_ is _wrong_ with you today?”

“You ran off with my sword and returned with a burn that tore half your neck away!” He could feel it, he was conscious of it: they were fueling each other again.

“That doesn't give you the right to strangle people!” she stepped back with a deep breath. “Just – _go. Just go,_ Alistair. I do _not_ want to see you right now. You just – _just go.”_

“Never.” He gestured to her fresh burn. _“This_ is what happens when I am not with you. I have _every_ right to do what I feel is necessary to keep you safe! Regardless of who or what burned you, that witch still froze the door solid to keep me out. You would _not_ have gotten hurt if I had been there!”

“You don't _know_ that! I _don't need_ you to protect me!”

“Obviously you _do."_  She rolled her eyes but Alistair shook his head. “Don't you do that. You know damn well I'm right! If you had just listened to me in the first place -”

“And what? Let you _kill_ this man?”

“You would not have gotten hurt down there!”

“ _I don't need you, Alistair!”_ she hissed. He just stared at her for a moment. He didn't want to believe he'd just heard that.

“You know what? It doesn't matter what you don't want anymore, Tesslyn. You are _never_ leaving me _again_. Am I clear?” he commanded. She frowned hard at him, and for a long moment all he heard was their deep, parallel breathing.

He let her walk away from him to speak to the father and daughter. _Maker help him, what was he doing?_ His blood buzzed louder than the Taint did around darkspawn. He picked his sword up off the floor while she got the activation phrase for the golem. She refused to look at him as they walked back through the cellar.

This wasn't working. Trying to force interaction from her was not working the way he desired. She wasn't responding to loving, gentle Alistair. She _hated_ aggressive, forceful Alistair, she almost seemed afraid of him even though she threw her own in their fights. What else was left? He couldn't bring himself to physically force her to do anything; he'd been so mad that she'd run off with his sword, but he took it out on Morrigan instead. How could he get back the girl from Ostagar? He couldn't even remember what _he_ was like at Ostagar.

Morrigan, Leliana and Zevran curiously joined them at the golem when Tess spake  _Dulen Harn._ A sound like a rockslide mixed with puffs of dust. The golem stretched its arms farther than they had been. It emitted something likened to a yawn or a groan, then stood like a human and looked at the five of them.

“Oh.”

“It speaks. Lovely.” Alistair muttered. “You could stand to be a little more grateful, golem. She just woke you up.”

“Hmpf. Well, I suppose it could be worse. It isn't a mage,” the golem stated.

“How do you know I'm not a mage?” Tess asked.

“It just isn't. I can tell. Indulge me, if it will? How did it stumble across my control rod?” the golem asked.

“We didn't stumble upon it. It was given to us,” Alistair answered.

“How very fortunate for you,” the golem shot back sarcasm.

“Only as long as _Tesslyn_ controls you,” Morrigan said. “If Alistair gets ahold of you, he'll use you to strangle innocent mages.”

“Oh joy. It _does_ have a mage.” Alistair enjoyed the golem's reaction to Morrigan more than he liked retaliating. “Tell me, puny fleshy things, what became of the town? Is it completely desolate now?”

“There are a few who survived. But that doesn't seem to leave you at a loss,” Alistair spoke.

“Not that I wished for them to be mashed into jam, no, but it did make for a delightful change,” the golem said.

“I bet. I'm starting not to like some of my own present company,” Tess stated. Alistair looked down at her to see a smug clench to her lips.

“That's right. I'm finally learning how to irritate everyone the worst possible way I can,” Alistair said wryly, tearing his gaze back to the stone person.

“And it finds this effective, does it? How very curious,” the golem said in interest.

“Do you have a name?” Tess ignored Alistair.

“My former master repeatedly called me _golem_.”

“But do you have a _name?”_ she insisted.

“Why does it wish to know this? Does it plan on controlling my every move, just like that mage with the squishable head?”

“I could just use some competent help -”

“Right because _I_ no longer _perform_ ,” Alistair snarked. Zevran and Morrigan behind them snickered. Tess clenched her jaw next to him.

“-from someone who isn't likely to go through mood swings every few days,” she finished.

“She means to say we used to be friends, and then something else, but now she's no longer into me.”

“ _Maker's breath!”_ Tess scoffed.

“I can't possibly imagine why. Aside from the annoying thing that I don’t blame it for not liking, I'm not certain I understand what it wants from me?” the golem asked.

“We have to stop the Blight,” Alistair said

“Well, _this_ one certainly doesn't seem capable!” the golem actually scoffed, staring right at Alistair.

“We already went over how much I don't measure up anymore.”

“ _May I torch him?”_ Morrigan asked Tesslyn.

“I'm about two seconds away from allowing that,” Tess breathed.

“You'd _love_ to watch me get burned again, wouldn't you?” Alistair looked down at her. “That seems to be your favorite hobby.” She glared at him.

“I'm appalled it has woken me up for this. Well, go on, then! It has a command for me, I assume?” the golem asked Tess.

“What?” she turned back to the golem. “No, I'm not giving you commands. You could crush my head in if you don't like them.”

“It does have the control rod, doesn't it? I am awake, so it must...”

“She won't actually outright tell you to do anything,” Alistair said. “What she'll do is build you up with small suggestions, and then when people get on her for being too violent, you'll be so infatuated that you'll do anything she wants you to.”

“All right, fine. You want a command? Attack Alistair,” Tess ordered.

“Because you'd _love_ that, wouldn't you? You'd be free to do whatever you want with as many elves as you want without having to see the face of the one person here who _actually cares_ about you,” he said.

“Well?” Tess ignored him, staring at the golem.

“How strange. I feel compelled to do nothing. That _is_ the control rod, is it not?” the golem asked.

“Oh, I know!” Leliana piped up. “Give Zevran a hug!”

“Oh, no thank you,” Zevran said. “I'm not actually fond of stiff objects invading my personal space.” A brief moment of silence occurred.

“Yet you seem to pay no mind invading _others_ personal space with stiff objects.”

“ _Alistair!”_ Tess scolded. _“Will you stop this!”_

“Stop what? Stop exposing people?” he retorted.

She turned and began to walk away. “Golem, do try to keep up. We travel on foot.”

“These are my options, then? Go with it or go with it? I think I'd rather it deactivate me again.”

“You will listen to her, golem.”

“I am called Shale, if it will be kind enough to remember. If not, I will be kind enough to forget it is not squishable.”

“I don't give a damn what you call yourself. You're her pet now, you listen to her.”

“Pet? Is _this_ what I am to be? What motivation do I have to follow it, then?”

“Deactivation.” Alistair walked swift to catch up with Tess. “Keep your pets on their leashes.”

She whirled around to face him. _“Why_ are you _doing_ this?” she searched his eyes.

“How about...because I love you?” he offered nonchalantly.

“This is _not love_ , Alistair!”

“It's not? That's funny. And here I thought I was being _kind_ considering the _example_ I was given.” She glared at him. “Only _here's_ the difference: _I'm_ not _hiding_ anything from you. I _never_ have. What you see is how I actually feel inside because of how you've treated me!” he told her firmly. “You can't use people and play with their hearts and then try to say you never hurt them. _You don't get to decide that your actions haven't hurt anyone._ _This_ is me no longer caring about saving as many people as possible because I recognize that I've allowed you to train me like a dog. _This_ is me tired of going out of my way to make someone like me. _This_ is me not wanting to lose the _very last_ thing that I have. Trying to make you _want_ to stay with me forever has finally taught me that I can't trust other people to take my best interests to heart. No matter how many times I say it, you still don't seem to get it: You are _all_ that I have left, and I will do _whatever_ it takes to keep you. _Whatever it takes._ _”_

 

 

 

*** _NSFW ***_

_Alistair and Tesslyn; emotional change and scarring from Honnleath **:**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by me.


	22. A Test of Will and Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tesslyn relapses when she tries to avoid her personal responsibility in all the chaos that has happened. Alistair takes charge indefinitely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: physical abuse ("spousal" abuse)
> 
>  NSFW art at end of chapter.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> Tess: [Innocence, by Halestorm](https://youtu.be/_CRNN5fiEwI)  
> [ Dead Inside, by Muse](https://youtu.be/I5sJhSNUkwQ)  
> [Madness, by Muse](https://youtu.be/Ek0SgwWmF9w)  
> [ Demons, Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/LqI78S14Wgg)

They were not welcome to stay in Honnleath even with so few residents left. Alistair studied the map while they walked, Shale rumbling the ground behind them with each step. Alistair made them press on until the last possible hour of daylight. There was little talking the entire rest of the day except Shale complaining about the chickens, and Alistair's decision to finally make camp.

Alistair immediately grabbed his and Tess' backpacks and tent gear. He gathered firewood while she stripped down to her baggy underclothes. She sat away from him while he built the fire, not speaking. She didn't even seem to blink until he had just gotten the flames up. Then she stood and grabbed one bedroll and a blanket, and started off toward the main camp.

“What are you doing?” he stood, watching her.

“I am going to sleep with Morrigan and Leliana.”

“No, you're not. You sleep here, with me.”

She turned around, slumped and exhausted. “This isn't good, Alistair. This isn't healthy for either of us. Unresolved everything and uncomfortable silence?”

“I never said you have to shut up. I enjoy our conversations very much.”

She glared with a shake of her head. “You can't say that. You spent all day yelling at me.”

“You _threw_ a _dagger_ at me, and then pushed me against a wall and ran off with my sword,” he reminded her. He went to her and tried to take her bedroll, but she held on tight. “Tess, you sleep with _me._ Only and ever.”

“I'd rather sleep with Morrigan.”

He jerked the rolled up bed out of her grip. “Are you going to tell her what you want from her? Or just lead her on, as well? _She's_ never even had a _friend._ She will be _far_ more pleasant than _I_ am once she realizes you'll just throw her out when you're done,” he said wryly.

She just stood there frowning, refusing to look at him.

“You knew I had already planned to take you to the throne with me. I _see_ the _need_ for a logical, humane king, I do. I'm not upset about that part at all. But why play with me like this, _knowing_ I'm going to take you with me? You will still have power and regency over the rest of the country. You didn't need to toy with me.”

She didn't answer him. He stepped aside and turned her head to see her burn better. She still refused to look at him when he tilted her head. “We have to get that potion on you.” Instantly she terrified, and this is why she met his eyes. “If we don't close your skin, you will get infected.” The last time he had poured the potion on her, it had brought back horrible flashbacks, and her pain had been so great he'd shared her tears. “I'll set up first. But you still need to sleep here, with me.”

“Fantastic. You want to torture me _and_ chain me,” she griped when he turned to back to fix the fire.

“Sometimes wild creatures need to be chained, Tess. That's not always a bad thing.”

“ _And_ I'm a wild creature.”

“You have always been wild, probably your whole life. It's one of the things I'm attracted to most of you,” he told her, kneeling at the fire again, her bedroll behind him.

“The point of trying to sweet-talk someone is to _avoid_ the insults.”

“I'm _not_ insulting you.”

“You just said I'm a wild creature who needs to be chained,” she pointed out.

“Some times you chain vicious creatures to keep them hurting others, and sometimes you chain them to keep them from hurting _themselves,”_ he explained, trying to keep his voice as gentle as he could.

“I don't hurt myself, Alistair!” she cried softly.

He grabbed her bedroll as he stood, the fire blazing hungrily before him now. “I have a whole list in my head, Tess, including today.”

“That was an _accident!”_ she insisted.

“That's fine, I believe you. But if I had been there, you would not have gotten hurt.”

“They're called _accidents_ because they happen _accidentally._ You would not have been able to stop it. My hand slipped when I was turning the cog, and I fell right into the flame. Your presence would not have made it not happen!” she shook her head. “You can't pretend you can _save the damsel_ just by being in the same room.”

“If I was there, you wouldn't have fallen into the fire -”

“ _What part about that don't you understand?”_ she hissed, clearly worked up now.

He just searched her eyes. _“You_ wouldn't have fallen in, because _I_ would have done it _for_ you.” She froze and stared back, her brow creasing deeper. _“I_ would have moved whatever had needed to be moved, _I_ would have fallen in _for_ you. _I_ would have taken the burn _in_ _your stead_.”

She frowned even harder and turned with a look that said she didn't want to hear what he was saying. He set up her tent with nothing but the sound of the crackling fire between them, then set up his with just as little words. “Do you have the ingredients for that potion?” he asked when he was done. She shook her head. He told her he'd be right back, and he went to the other camp and acquired a bottle of the horrid _quick heal_ potion.

Alistair paused when he returned to his and Tess' fire. She was leaning over, bottom in the air, hair out of its normal loose bun and falling down past her knees. He heard a snipping sound, and her dagger flashed out from her hair, taking a whole handful of ashen strands with it. “What in Andraste's name are you doing?” he asked her.

“Fixing myself.”

“By chopping your hair? Tess!”

“It's bad enough I have to wander with an obvious burn scar now. But my _hair? Who_ has crooked hair? _What noble_ has crooked hair??” she sounded frustrated. She dragged the dagger through again.

“Tess, stop, _stop!”_ he said. “Stop for a second!” he stood behind her to grab the dagger.

“You can't stop _everything_ for me!” she said angrily.

“I'm not stopping you, I'm trying to help,” he said calmly. He set the bottle down, and ran his fingers through her hair. _This was the Maker testing him for sure._ Her hair drove him wild. She'd only let it down when they'd made love. To see it down now after all the tension of the day…

 _No. Not this._ He studied what she had cut so far, and he moved to copy it on the other side. Then he tossed the dagger to the bags. “What are you doing? I want it _off!”_ She took a step toward it, but he held her by her shoulders. “You said you were helping!” she accused him.

“I don't want it cut. Tess, can you _just_ let me keep _one_ _thing_ of you?” he asked her. “You change every day. Your hair is the only thing that stays the same.” He had to fight the urge to bury his face in her, pull her in, breathe in her scent. He allowed his fingers to tangle. _Maker, he missed her._

She ripped away from him, grabbed the potion bottle, and headed off into the darkness beyond the tent. “Tess!” he called.

“Just piss off, Alistair!”

“Right.” he sighed. “All right. I'm going to bed.” he paused, “Tesslyn, I love you.”

“ _Piss the fuck off!”_

 

It was always coldest about two hours before sunrise. Alistair didn't get to sleep until just after he was so cold he tucked himself under the blanket like a cat. The sun woke him by beaming through a seam in his tent. He crawled to his feet and warmed himself by the fire for a while. He could see a few bodies moving around at the other campfire. Po curled up right next to the fire.

“Tess? Are you awake?” he sounded like he had a frog in his throat. When she didn't answer, he got to his feet and pushed open the flap of her tent, and he sighed. She was gone.

“What are you doing in my tent?” her voice accused him.

He turned around, and froze. He almost didn't recognize her. Instantly his pulse raced and h e frowned. She had chopped her hair anyway. All over. Short, jagged, just as angry as she looked these days. “I told you _no!”_ he reminded her.

“My body does not belong to you!” she said in a juvenile tone.

“I didn't ask you for your _body_ , Tess. _Dammit!_ How many more things are you going to take from me?” he asked.

She started jerking her armor on. “I don't give a damn what you think. You're have no right to treat me this way!”

“I am the _only_ person here trying to look out for your safety, Tess! The _least_ you could let me keep is your hair!”

“What, is it some kind of sick sexual fixation? Maybe you can stop me from _some_ things, but _not_ what I do with _my_ hair!” she shot back.

“ _Yes_ , it _does_ remind me of sex, but _afterward,”_ he told her, tying very hard to keep his voice calm. “The only times I've ever seen your hair down is when you were withdrawing, and then when we made love. _Intimate times,_ Tess!  _E_ _very_ time I would lie there and just _smell_ your _hair -”_

“If that's all your sick fixation is, the clippings are all over there!” she made a loose gesture between camps.

“Your hair smells different after we make love, Tess. That is the _only_ time I've ever seen you at _peace_ with yourself _. That_ is what I wanted to keep, that _one_ memory of you _truly happy._ And you _couldn't_ even let me keep _that!”_ he cried softly. “What else do you want to take from me? Hm?” He crossed to her and grabbed her daggers as she tried to sheath them on to her belt.

“Hey!” she cried. He took her bow and arrows as well.

“You don't get weapons anymore. I should have done this sooner.”

“You can't take my weapons from me!” she pushed him as he started away. “Dammit, Alistair! You _can't_ _do_ this to me!” she cried.

“Stop pushing me, Tesslyn.” he kept walking anyway. He shoved her daggers in a backpack.

“You can't take my weapons!” she cursed at him and kicked his shield. He began pulling on his own armor, while she stood cursing erratically. When he reached for his belt, she made a swipe for his dagger, but he held the belt up out of her reach. She cried out in frustration, and her palm met his face so hard it turned his head. They both froze.

He dropped the belt and held her wrists, and she struggled to get away from him. “Do _not hit_ me, Tesslyn,” he told her as calmly as he could, the entire left side of his face blazing. He pulled her closer, and froze again with a deep frown. He smelled rock and pepper, like burnt crystals from her mouth. “You took lyrium again.” His arms trembled just thinking about her withdrawal. _“Dammit, Tess!”_ he let go of her, grabbing his belt and dagger as he backed away. His vision was blurry with tears. _“Dammit!_ Tess, I _can't do_ that again! I _can't_ watch you go through that _all over_ again!” he hissed. He tightened his belt and sheathed his sword. _Morrigan._ It was all Morrigan. Morrigan in the basement when she got burned. Morrigan had the lyrium, she'd tried to keep Tess on lyrium in Lothering. Morrigan would have cut her hair in a heartbeat just because Alistair had asked her not to.

He dug the rope out the backpack, secured Tess by the arm, and he made a straight line for Sten. “Hold her still,” he told Sten.

“What?” Tess shrieked as Sten obeyed without question. Alistair went to Morrigan and held her hands behind her back while he hooked his foot around hers, and he pressed her into the ground. Tess screamed profanities at Alistair, but Sten quieted her. Morrigan laughed from beneath Alistair as he tied her hands around her own neck.

“You've been _dying_ to tie me up,” Morrigan said. Alistair tightened the rope around her and stood, yanking her to her feet.

“You are _evil_. You _saw_ what lyrium did to her. You know how it eats her from inside, and you _still_ gave it to her.” he stared in the witch's eyes. “She just weaned from it!”

“Oh! I know that hold!” Zevran suddenly exclaimed.

“Yes. Templars use it against rogue mages,” Alistair still stared at Morrigan. “Try any spells, and you'll burn your own neck off. As of this moment forth, you are a prisoner of the Grey Wardens for _intentionally_ _endangering_ one. You will be _treated_ as a prisoner, and if you don't obey, I will keep a constant Drain on you. Am I clear, apostate?” he demanded.

“This will not last long. You will fall without Tesslyn in control.”

“She does not belong to you, and I will do what I must to keep her from harm, including harm _you_ inflict. If you talk at all today, I will tie your ankles to your neck and drag you from the back of the wagon.” The witch only glared, undecided enough if he was serious. “Shale, you and Sten will take turns watching over the prisoner. Zevran and Leliana, finish packing up camp. We need to get to the Circle before we go find the Ashes.”

“Wouldn’t the Ashes help Tesslyn, though?” Leliana asked.

“Haven isn't on the map, we don't know what we'll face. I can't take that risk yet. We go to the Circle first, stop in Redcliffe to recharge. I'll need to talk to Teagan anyway.”

“Oh, great, now I'm confused.” Shale said dully. “Which one is in charge now?”

“I am,” Alistair said. He went to Tess; Sten had a hand over her mouth. “I am the Senior Grey Warden...and future King of Fereldan,” he searched Tess' frantic emeralds. “I am in charge.” He gently took her from Sten, however keeping a firm hold on her wrists. He led her back to their camp so he could monitor her while he packed up.

“She's right, isn't she? You've been waiting to call out her apostasy,” she said, letting him lead her by the arm.

“How can you say that? I've tolerated her because _you_ want her here. I never once asked for _this,_ Tess.” He stopped to take a deep breath. “Maybe you don't remember it, but _I_ was the one who found you when you withdrew. _I_ carried you back, _I_ cleaned you off, _I_ set your wounds. _I know_ what lyrium _does_ to you. I _can't_ _believe_ you would _hurt_ yourself like this all over again!” He released her to tear down his tent.

“It doesn't hurt.”

“Obviously _something_ does, because you just took the easy way out. Lyrium is a _drug_ , whether you want to admit it or not. That's a huge part of why I was miserable in the Chantry. It's a _drug_ and they know it, and they use it against people. It's an _escape_ route. I know what it feels like to use it, I know what it feels like to have it wear off.” He stared at her over the fire.

“This has been my life since for nearly a decade.”

“And it's _killing_ you. You keep trying to find ways to kill yourself. That's not fair to you _or_ me.”

“What kind of person falls in love with a depressed addict?”

“I _didn't_ fall in love with an addict.”

“Then what kind of _dirty nobody_ tries to fall in love with a _noble?”_

He ignored her cruelty. “I didn't fall in love with a _noble_ or even a _Grey Warden._ _I_ fell in love the girl who moved _away_ from the edge when I offered her my hand. I fell in love with the girl who said _thank you for being my friend._ The fact that you _have_ an addiction is trivial. It is not _why_ I love you, and it doesn't bother me; I am _willing_ to help you overcome it because _I want you to love yourself._ I want you to see the woman _I_ see. I have tried to get you talk about what's upsetting you, I did that before your Joining even.” He went to her, but she backed away as if expecting an attack. “You _never_ have to be afraid of me,” he told her gently. He took the hand that slapped him and put it to the cheek she'd struck. “It doesn't even bother me that you hit me.” He pressed his lips to her palm, lingering for a moment. “What bothers me is that you hold everything in to the point where you think hurting me is your _only option_ , even though I am _right here_ ready to help. _Why_ won't you let me help you? _Why_ do you have to turn to something that you know hurts both of us?”

She frowned harder and took a step back, but he kept her hand to his face. He turned his head and kissed her fingers again, and with the hope of showing her he still wanted her, he feathered his fingertips down her fingers, between her knuckles. Her eyes darted and her pupils dilated in recognition of what he was doing. “I know this isn't _you_ hitting, and throwing and screaming. You did these same things before your Joining. You are in pain, I get it. But you can't scare me off. I will _stay,_ and I will still love you. I will still be here when you have no more strength to hit or scream.” He took her chin and turned her face. She reluctantly met his eyes. Her eyelids were already twitching.

“You should take _me_ prisoner, too. I _asked_ Morrigan for the lyrium.”

“I believe that. But she is still responsible for her actions yesterday and already today. She is still my prisoner. And I _also_ believe your withdrawal will be punishment enough for you.” He let her hand slide down his face. “I _will_ have to tie you up, and give you a sleeping potion when the lyrium wears off again. I can't risk you scratching again.”

She backed away with a heavy frown and zipping eyes. “No. No no _no!”_

“Believe me when I say the alternative is much worse. I will try to get you to Redcliffe as fast as possible so we have somewhere safe to let you heal.”

“You're _serious_ about that?” she hissed.

“ _You_ are my concern. Eamon can wait. I have to get you to the Circle so they can heal you. I can't stop the Blight without you, and you are not well enough to help me do that.” He turned back around to attend to his tent.

The day was very quiet. Zevran and Leliana tried to make conversation but no one responded. Tess alone made everyone uncomfortable, first from the angry, bitter aura she emanated, then when the lyrium started driving her body into fidgets. She refused help walking from everyone, even swung at Leliana. It wasn't even mid-afternoon when withdrawal sent her eyes rolling and weakened her legs. Alistair barely caught her before she hit the dirt road, and he asked Bodahn for a sleeping potion as he carried Tess around to the back of the wagon.

He laid her her on a pile of furs and a headrest. His insides tore up like war shrapnel when he saw coherency slip from her eyes. It was Lothering all over again. He could tell she had trouble figuring out who he was, and she couldn't talk again. He hung over the side of the wagon and coaxed her eyes closed with gentle strokes until the sleeping potion took her. Then he rolled her over and bound her hands behind her back with twine. _Maker, please let this be easy,_ no scratching, no butting, no blood.

The withdrawal stretched out the entire four and a half days it took them to get back to Redcliffe. Whereas Alistair could set up a large tent at night for the both of them, he also had to arrange it so there was plenty of room. She bucked and kicked. He got very little, very broken sleep. Tess began resisting the sleeping draughts now, too. Alistair had to administer a new one every couple hours, and he had to rearrange the wagon to enclose her right in the center; her thrashing had nearly caused it to tip over.

Teagan met them outside as Bodahn drove the wagon over the bridge to the castle. “Your party is not welcome here anymore, Alistair,” Teagan greeted them firmly.

“You and I can discuss that later. Right now, we need a place to recoup.” Alistair tugged on the blankets to pull Tess to him, and he cradled her firmly to his chest. “Sten, do you remember where the prison is?”

“I do,” Sten said.

“Take Morrigan down there. Do _not_ untie her.” Alistair walked toward Teagan.

“You need to turn around,” Teagan tried to insist.

“I'm not asking, I'm telling you, we need a place to rest. The apostate set Tess back into another withdrawal.” Alistair carefully made his way up the steps.

Teagan frowned at the body lying in spasms in Alistair's arms. “Is that Tesslyn? What happened to her hair?”

“She has had a rough time since we left town.”

“You – Maker's breath, you have a – is that a golem?”

“Another squishy noble. Charmed,” Shale said sarcastically, following Alistair inside.

“Where are her quarters?” Alistair asked.

“Top floor,” Teagan said. He walked next to Alistair. “The town's people won't like you here.”

“Close the gates. Our entire supply is in that wagon anyway.”

Teagan ordered guard in the hall to close the castle gates. He walked with Alistair up the next flight of stairs. “How long do you plan on being here?”

“As long it takes for her to come out of this.” Alistair laid her carefully on the four-poster bed in the room Teagan showed him to. He untied her hands, and immediately sat on her back, just like in Lothering, to keep her still. “Do you have silk? Or handkerchiefs? I need to tie her down.”

“Why do you need to do that?” Teagan asked, staring oddly as Tess tried to squirm beneath Alistair.

“Because she'll scratch and rip holes all in her body again.”

“I'll look.”

Teagan was gone for some time. Alistair leaned forward and rested his head to the headboard, ready for a very long nap. Tess whimpered beneath him, her arms busy, reaching as far as she could while his shins pinned her elbows. He tried caressing her eyebrows; that had worked in Lothering after he'd dunked her in the river. He closed his eyes, shushing her gently. For a moment, it actually seemed to be working. 

“Alistair.” Someone shook him by the shoulder. Alistair opened his eyes and sat back to see Teagan.  _Maker,_ he was more spent than he'd thought. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Just now, apparently.” He took the four handkerchiefs Teagan held out, and he climbed off Tess to roll her over. “Tie her other hand up,” he instructed.

“How often does this happen?” Teagan asked, securing Tess' other arm.

“I've seen her go through little fits, but in Lothering it didn't last long. The darkspawn attack snapped her out of it.”

“So we just need a darkspawn attack. I'll get right on that,” Teagan joked uncomfortably.

“That's not funny. No, her legs go _together_ ,” Alistair stated. He took over at her feet. He tied the rope to the foot columns, with handkerchiefs he tied her ankles together, then tied her to the rope with the spare cloth.

“You've done this before.”

Alistair glared at him. “This is not something to joke about.”

“I'm simply stating you're experienced in tying people to beds.”

“Templars learn to tie unbreakable knots.” He looked at Tess with a sigh, and he practically fell into the chair in front of the dead fireplace. Teagan called down the hall for a servant to come light a fire. Alistair rocked with his head in his hands, to try to stay awake. “How is Connor?” he asked.

“He seems well enough, considering.” Neither of them spoke when the servant came in with a basket of firewood and kindling. After the fire roared, Teagan told the servant to bring up a platter of food and drink. He waited until the servant was gone, then said, “I understand you came out of desperation, Alistair, but you and your party will have to abide by rules while you are here.”

“I came prepared to talk, Teagan, don't doubt that. I just need to rest first. I've had _very_ little sleep for ten days. I have no issue talking, I just can't do it right now.”

“When you awake, then,” Teagan agreed. “There is a room across the hall you may use.”

“I'm sleeping in here. I'll sleep on the floor.” He stood. “I'm not stupid enough to leave her tied up helpless and alone.”

“You don't trust me, yet you came to me for help?” Teagan intrigued, leaving the room with Alistair.

“I don't trust anyone but my gut, right now.” They passed through the door into the main hall. “I'm going to retrieve my bedding, and then I'm going to try to sleep. Please be kind enough to show the rest of my party to spare rooms. The witch stays in the prison.”

“And...the golem?” Teagan asked curiously as they walked past Shale.

“The golem doesn't sleep. Maybe you should try entertaining it. I suggest that dance you did for Connor.” Alistair didn't sound nearly as snarky as he wanted when he was this tired, but Teagan agreed without resistance to hospitality. Alistair had honestly expected a fight from Teagan, but he was grateful for all the allowance.

Alistair and Po settled in Tess' private quarters, Po helping himself to nearly all the food on the tray before settling in front of the fire while Alistair rolled out his bedmat. He tightened the lock over the door and undressed out of his armor. _Ugh, he needed a bath terribly._ He knew how his morning would play out already. For now, he sat on the edge of the bed.

Tess wasn't even aware of him. She whined and thrashed, but she was slowing. She had been at it for hours already. “Tess?” he asked. She didn't even seem to hear him. He touched her face; she tossed her head about as if he wasn't there. He held her head still so he could lean down and put his lips to her cheek.

His heart cinched up inside his chest. He wanted to believe _so bad_  this addiction wasn't claiming her mind, but too much of her aggression was attributed to it.

After a moment, Tess slowed, the fidgets almost stopping entirely. Alistair breathed in relief when he realized she was responding to his breath and his touch. He sat up to watch her as he trailed his fingers down her face again, and then as he brushed them down her arm. She was trying hard to focus on him. _Finally, something he could work with._ As he continued to feather his touch, he realized this was also the same thing he'd done that night he'd given her his purity, and so many nights as he drifted to sleep. She had also responded to this same kind of stimulation the last time they'd visited Redcliffe together. He'd only associated this kind of touch with romance before, but maybe it could be more? Alistair tickled his fingertips up over her hand and down the other way, his other hand tracing her jaw and cheek bones. Her eyes locked on him; Alistair's breath stole away.

All at once, his heart and mind swelled with epiphany. He wanted to heal her, but the only way to do that was to get her to love herself as he loved her; it was the only way she'd stop being self-destructive. To do that, he had to calm her, tame her. _Calm her like he was doing now_. _He could bring her out of her withdrawal._ If he could _tame her_  just by caressing her skin, then he also had a way to changing her back into the woman he knew was in there. Just like Sten said.

_Alistair_ _could remind her who she was._

 

 

 

_***NSFW***_

_Alistair and Tesslyn; emotional and physical changes after her relapse **:**_

_** ** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by me.


	23. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair determines the best way to help Tess recover. He makes peace with Teagan, and argues with the dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music:  
> [Madness, by Muse](https://youtu.be/Ek0SgwWmF9w)  
> [Beyond the Veil, by Lindsey Stirling](https://youtu.be/Qg7L0OQiN78)  
> [ Demons, Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/LqI78S14Wgg)  
> [ Bleeding Out, by Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/gJEoxeW7JvQ)

His touch was calming.

Alistair fought sleep on the edge of Tess' bed, forcing himself to hold her gaze as she stared at him – and she was _finally able_ to. He danced his fingers over the veins and creases in her arms, stroked the contours of her face until her eyelids drifted shut. He sat for awhile longer, simply watching her. She had not been this calm for _days_. He was amazed he could do this for her, and amazed it had taken him this long to realize he had this power within himself.

For now, he bent. With a final caress down her face, he placed a well-earned kiss near her lips. She worked so hard to find him through whatever haze dampened her mind. He let himself breathe in her breath before rising from her side.

Po had settled on the rug between Alistair's bedmat and the fire. The mabari rolled over and leaned against him as Alistair lay on his back. He draped his arm over the dog and scratched behind his ears. Loyal to him just as he was loyal to Tess, since the battle at Ostagar, always awake with him when Tess suffered, always up when Alistair was up in worry. Po snorted a gruff, as if verifying that they could actually relax now.

“Yes, pup. She's asleep now. We can sleep now.”

 

Knocking woke him. Alistair sat up with a groggy _gimme a bit_. But as he rubbed his face while Po whined, he realized it wasn't the door. He got to his feet with a wobble and a groan and staggered to the bed. Tess was thrashing again, whining. The columns of the bed, though sturdy oak, shook with her jerking arms. Alistair took a deep breath and sat next to her again.

He hushed gently, returning his fingers to the patterns he'd drawn on her face...whenever he'd sat here last. One hand brushed her neck and jaw, the other tickled lightly down her forehead, across her cheeks. He drew circles around her eyes, brushing her brows. He drew the _Lightning_ rune on her cheek again, the exact same spot he'd drawn in at Ostagar, the same spot he'd drawn it again in Honnleath. This is what grabbed her focus.

 _Repetitive touch_. He could do this, there were plenty of things she only associated with him. He moved the hand on her neck down to her shoulder, circled there, spiraled his fingertips to her inner-elbow. Her jaw moved quivered in blocky motions, possibly trying to talk, and her eyes dizzied themselves trying to locate the source of esthesis. He could see her trying to process what was going on.

He leaned over to untie her right arm, the closest one, and he held her hand in his lap. He kept one hand at her face, feathering _Lightning_ ; she responded to that for sure; with his other hand, he folded her fingers in under his, tracing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. Her chest rose higher to fill completely, and slowly but surely she fell into an even rhythm. Her eyes zoned in on his, and he brought her hand to his mouth for a tender kiss. Whispered circles around her eyes brought her into slumber quicker than it had earlier; she was responding to his touch quicker now, consciously remembering his motions. Even though this gave him hope, he retied her wrist to the bed column, and he took advantage of the calm to finish sleeping.

This cycle continued a few more times, each time, Alistair able to coax her back to sleep sooner than the one before. After either the sixth or ninth round of calming her, he finally decided to just stay awake. He had no idea what time it was. He stoked the fire and stepped out into the hall, told Po to stay while he found a servant who could fill the bath for him. While he waited for the steaming water to chill, he filled the wash basin with water. The basin cooled while he sat on the bed and undressed Tesslyn. Alistair wrung the washrag and gently dabbed her skin; her scars were fully healed, _Maker_ , it had been that long since he'd seen her naked.

She woke with a jerk when he washed her middle and he had to suppress a laugh; he'd tickled her. His smile disappeared quickly, though, when her stare still founded with empty eyes. Though she was not fidgeting yet, this was still just an empty shell before him. He spoke to her as he washed her, careful to be slow and gentle, careful not to linger over her intimate parts, told her they were in her quarters in Redcliffe, that she was safe in her own bed. She started to fidget as he washed her legs and feet, and at first he thought it was because she was ticklish, for she was, so he laughed. But when she didn't stop shaking, when it grew worse far too sudden, he broke down right there at her feet. He just sat there for a moment with his tears dripping down her foot, rolling off her heel. He'd thought he'd had it all planned out; they'd come here, she could sleep off the worst of her withdrawal, and then they'd go to the Circle and have them...fix her mind, hypnotize her, prescribe something, whatever therapy or whatever spell they might do. After all the fighting and yelling, he'd thought the worst of it was over. Yet here he was, hugging her legs, crying into her feet because he couldn't help her without hurting her.

He pulled himself together enough when she started whining, wiggling to try to free herself of the ties. He moved the washing basin off the bed, laid down right up against her and hushed her through shaky breath; _I'm here,_ and _I've got you_ and _it's okay._ He caressed her face and drew the rune on one side while he whispered to her, planting kisses and breathing with her. He reached up and untied her opposite arm, sliding his arm under her neck so he could trace circles on her arm and cheek at the same time. He pulled the quilt up around her, tucked her in, humming as he pressed his lips to her temple, and held her hand to his face while he brushed his fingertips in spirals between her knuckles and wrist.

He hadn't shaved since they'd left Redcliffe. He wondered what she'd think of the beard blossoming on his face. He wondered if his mustache tickled her.

It wasn't long before her head rocked with her eyes. Her eyelids yielded under light kisses, and Alistair slowly ceased his airy massage on her face and hand, then untied her to to redress her. It pained him to tie her back up again, even though she slept through it. He ran his fingers through her massacred hair; it was actually kind of adorable on her, plucky, just like she was on her good days. He left a kiss with a whisper of love before he left her side.

Alistair let Po out of the room, told him to go run around or whatnot while Alistair stayed in to bathe. Alistair locked the door after the dog disappeared, and he climbed in the tub. He used a soap wrapped in paper that sat in the tiny cupboard behind the stone tub; it smelled like her, it smelled like she had at Ostagar, lilac and rosemary and lemon. That was the only time he'd ever smelled those scents together. It made him cry all over again. It was as if all the tears he'd been holding in through all the chaos and sleepless nights were finally breaking free at once. He hated crying in front of her. He was supposed to be the strong one, he was supposed to be able to shoulder everything for the both of them. He'd never heard of any man ever having to tie his woman up so she wouldn't hurt herself, though.

Po whining and pawing at the door snapped him out of it. Alistair stood and dried off with the terry cloth; nobles always used the good fabric. He let the dog back in, only to re-lock the door so he could dress, and he pulled the drain in the tub; still curious where the water went. He dressed in the ridiculous noble day wear Teagan had the servant bring in with the blankets. There was a single looking glass built into the inside of her wardrobe. Alistair cringed at his reflection. The brick-red of the outfit made his hair stand out like embers. He was fairly confident this was one of Teagan's outfits. Thank the Maker he didn't have to travel like this.

He told Po to stay with Tess, don't let anyone back in the room except for him. He made sure Tess was tucked in and kissed her forehead, and he closed the door quietly behind him. He needed a very strong drink.

Teagan was talking with Zevran and the dwarves in the main hall. Alistair brushed them off at first, going straight to the kitchen. He felt very uncomfortable when the two scullery maids bowed and begged his pardon for being in his way. They seemed more than happy to hand over a bottle of brandy – Eamon's favorite – and a platter of dried tomatoes, dried apples, dried fish and flat bread, and they said supper was cooking in the pot; apparently Sten had gone out hunting again. Alistair insisted on carrying the platter himself, and he took his meal straight into the Arl's study, letting Teagan know he'd be in there whenever he was ready to chat. The Bann followed him straight away.

“You aren't planning on locking the door again, are you?” Teagan joked, bringing a single lit candle in with him.

It took Alistair a second to remember that the last time he'd been in here, he and Tess had sung quite loudly together. He actually laughed, sinking into the chair behind the desk. He grinned before taking a drink from the bottle. “You're really not my type, Teagan, but I'm flattered, truly.”

Teagan chuckled as he lit the torches along the walls. “Ah...and now to ruin the mood...I assume you see why I chose not to wed her? The elf told me your absence from here has been...interesting.”

“Interesting is a kind word to use, and...no, I really don't see why you didn't want her.” He swallowed another mouthful of brandy and chased it with dried apple.

“You're joking, right?” he called a servant to bring two glasses.

“I don't expect you to understand.”

“The elf's account is she threw a knife at you, you had a _lovers quarrel_ , you've been sleeping apart since you left Honnleath, _and_ she hits you. And screams, apparently.” Teagan accept two brandy glasses from a maid. He filled the bulb of both glasses and slid one toward Alistair.

“I am going to kill that elf,” Alistair said. He stuffed a piece of fish in his mouth. “I'm not going to talk about my relationship with Tess. Not with you.”

“I think you _should_ , considering you intend to make her queen. If she openly hits you in court, she can be charged with treason and hanged, or beheaded.”

Alistair paused, and washed his hesitation down with alcohol. “I intend to get her help at the Circle. I know they have ways to help people heal. She has a lot of lyrium damage, I'm actually surprised she's so intact for being on it so long. _And_ she saw her family killed. She's _not_ a bad person,” he insisted. “I've had a lot of fun with her, actually. And I'm not even talking about...last time I was in this room. On her good days, she makes me laugh quite a bit. She knows how to talk to people, she's effective in battle, and she's not afraid to stand up for things she believes in. I'm _not_ taking chances, that's why we're going to the Circle as soon as she snaps out of it.”

“That may not be an option, Alistair. I don't know what exactly is going on, but something odd is afoot at the Tower. News is too vague.”

Alistair sighed. “Of course something is going on at the tower,” he said. “We don't have good enough luck to _not_ have something go awry. Regardless, I am...taking care of her.”

“And what of Eamon and the Ashes?”

“Haven isn't even on the map. I don't want to go hiking up into some mystery town without Tess at her best. She's a damn good rogue. The Ashes, and unfortunately Arl Eamon, will have to wait until I can get her the help she needs.”

“Just what do you think they can help her with?” Teagan asked.

“Are you aware of her history with Loghain Mac Tir?”

“I know he hired her to dispose of the young maidens in the country almost a decade ago. She fled to my home shortly after she'd killed the last. She was high on lyrium and some Tevinter stimulant. She'd come straight from Loghain's manor, she'd said.”

“She said nothing else? Just that she'd killed those girls?”

“You seem unphased with that knowledge,” Teagan noted.

“I've seen her kill quite a bit of things since I met her. Death _doesn't_ phase me, you're right.”

Teagan sighed. “I only know she killed the young ladies and she hates Loghain.”

Alistair swirled the brandy in his glass before sipping. “She has extensive internal damage, and I know lyrium only worsens it, not to mention she has the Taint now. I want to heal her. She deserves that much.”

“And when she snaps again?”

“I am...working on that. Some of that is lyrium, some of that is anger and pain.” He paused to down the rest of his brandy, and shook his head with a tart face. “Maker!” he coughed. “Eamon needs better drink!” he gasped. Teagan laughed loudly.

“I've been telling my brother that for over twenty years.”

Yet Alistair refilled his glass. “All right, look. I'm here to make peace between _you_ and _I._ I'm not sorry about the stables, though. I have _horrible_ memories of them, and I am very glad Isolde is dead. Maker's breath, I hope Connor didn't hear me say that. Where is he?” it all came out very quick.

“Are you drunk _already_?” Teagan smirked.

“I'll let you know when I stand up. We only have wine and un-aged mead with us right now. My _point_ is, it's not going to do me any good in the future to be at odds with my future Arl, so...this is me making peace.”

Teagan let out a laugh. “By drinking my brother's brandy and not apologizing for burning his stables?”

“They were long empty. That's still not the point.” He shoved fish and tomatoes in his mouth and washed them down with a sour face. “What was she like as child?”

“Oh, we're talking about Tesslyn again. She won't tell you?”

“She doesn't remember. But I need to know.”

“Why do you _need_ to?”

“Because I need to take care of her. I need to know my options. I need to know if she has any childhood fears I should be aware of. It's not going to do me any good now or down the road to accidentally trigger some other abuse of her past.”

“What? Abuse?” Teagan stared at him.

Alistair took another drink, and he felt a sort of static zip through his head and flow down his limbs and digits. “I am starting to see why Eamon drinks this,” he said.

“Alistair, _what_ abuse?”

“I just need to know. Me? I'm still afraid of lightning and thunder because of Isolde. Even though she's dead.” he was eerily aware that his voice sounded more far more cheerful than it should be. “I mean, it's not going to help _me_ any if she's afraid of giant spiders -”

“-she's not, I promise,” Teagan shook his head.

“Oh, yeah! That's right. She liked the ones lurking out side Lothering.” he gave an involuntary giggle. “Lurking in Lothering,” he sniggered. “It sounds like a _really_ naughty book!” Teagan sighed. “As I was saying,” Alistair said happily, “it's not going to help me help her at all if I try something that just brings back bad memories. Does she not like family holidays? Do pigeons scare her? Is she afraid of mages? Or Templars? Or – Maker, my head is starting to spin.” he marveled.

“All right, young man, that's enough.” Teagan called for a maid again, swooping the bottle away from him.

“No, no, Teagan. No swooping. Give that back.” Alistair somehow snatched the bottle back and refilled his glass. “Swooping is bad. Do you understand?”

“You're supposed to _sip_ it, Alistair. It's not for chugging.”

Alistair looked down in his cup, genuinely amazed that he could follow each spiral wave as he swirled his glass again. “It is when _I_ drink it.”

Teagan couldn't help a laugh. “So, your plan is to spend her entire recovery trying not to be sick?”

He shook his head. “I will never let myself lose that much control. I can't. She needs me too much.”

“She needs you? Or you need her to need you?” Teagan sipped his drink.

“I've been taking care of her pretty much since I met her. A few hours after, actually. Physically taking care of her, not...romantically, mind you.” He decided to try to sip the brandy this time.

“And what happens if you can't find the help you're seeking?”

Alistair took a deep breath while he thought on this. “Worst case scenario, I have a very quiet, very still wife for the rest of my life.” He didn't want to think of that, though. He swallowed a large drink.

“You're going to marry her even if she stays like this?”

“Even if she never speaks again, at least I would have her.”

“You'd try to make an heir with her in this state?”

“That's a  _horrid_ and _disgusting_ thought, and I am going to use this against you when I have to wear that silly hat in Denerim. _No!_ How can you think of that?” he asked in disbelief.

“It will be expected of you,” Teagan urged.

“I'll be _king_ , I can _change_ their sodding rules if I wish. I'm not marrying anyone else, and if she...if she never recovers, _Maker forbid_ , she'll...simply be...my silent, beautiful wife..” He took another long drink. “Besides, we're Grey Wardens. We are Tainted and can't have children.” He remembered his promise to Tess at Ostagar. “And I am going to kill Loghain.”

“Let me ask you something, Alistair.”

“I'd rather you didn't, to be honest. Besides, you haven't told me what I asked you.”

“What is she afraid of?”

“What was she afraid of as a child? What did she used to want as a child?” he clarified.

“Why do you need to be that specific?” Teagan eyed him curiously.

“Don't _oogle_ me like that, Teagan.”

As if he couldn't help it, “How _would_ you like me to oogle you, Your Highness?” Teagan joked with a chuckle. Alistair blamed the alcohol as he broke down in a fit of giggles.

“Maker's breath, don't say that to me when I'm wearing your pajamas!” he gasped. Teagan howled in laughter.

“Ah...may I perhaps interrupt?”

Alistair focused in on the elf in the doorway. “Oh. It's you. Yes, that's actually what you seem to excel at, isn't it? Your sole talent?” he took a drink.

“I am rather good at that, I agree,” Zevran said. Alistair wasn't sure if he was joking.

“What do you want, Zevran?” he couldn't hide the disinterest in his voice.

“While you are in a pleasant mood, I wish to take the time to assure you I never once touched her.”

Alistair immediately glared. “You should _really_ choose your next words wisely, elf.”

“It's true,” Zevran insisted. “I just want you to know.”

“You can't honestly tell me that. I watched you two wrestle.”

“Perhaps I should leave you two to it.” Teagan stood up, though he sat right back down when Alistair ordered him to.

“Ah, that was practice, Alistair.”

“So if you haven't touched her, why are you behaving like you want to confess?” Alistair said suspiciously.

“I think you should keep that in mind when Tesslyn wakes up. She is not...ah...what is the word...disloyal. No, is it _un_ loyal? Fereldan tongues do not wag loose enough for me.”

“Of course you went there!” Alistair muttered into his glass.

“It's _dis_ loyal,” Teagan offered.

“Ah! Good, good! Much appreciated. This may be useful to know in the future.”

“Even though you...she still never...” Alistair couldn't finish. One more thing he didn't want to think about.

“Even though I what? You seem to misunderstand. There was no touching. I have the strong impression she does not trust a gaze at her level.”

“Maybe this is the brandy talking, but that makes no sense.”

“Ah – my apologies. It was a Crow joke. _Never trust an enemy who can stare into your soul so easily._ Well, it doesn't sound like a joke, but we make it one well enough.” Zevran was astonishingly awkward at not flirting.

“That still doesn't seem to help me,” Alistair told him.

“Sounds more like a warning,” Teagan said.

“Are you saying she believes I'm her enemy?”

“No! No, that is not what I said. Did I say that? I _have_ been _drinking_ ,” the elf admitted. “Rather, I meant it as in...ah, assistance, in a way. You have caught her off-guard, my friend. You could not see through her so easily, so she saw through you first. If that makes sense?.”

“I heard you offer to give her a back rub in your tent.”

Zevran sighed. “Ah, yes. That would have been fun indeed. But alas! She denied me.”

“That tone had better be sarcasm,” Alistair warned.

“What? Oh! Yes, of course. I am being sarcastic!” Zevran told him quite cheerfully. “Another question, if I may?”

Alistair growled and took a very long drink.

“I'll take that as allowance, many thanks,” Zevran said. “Have you thought about draining her?”

“What?” both Alistair and Teagan asked.

“I believe it is part of blood magic, no? Drain from one arm and inject into the other. This would clear her of lyrium, would it not? It would require a victim, of course, a sacrifice if you will -”

“This castle has had far too many of those lately, no thank you,” Teagan interrupted.

“Blood magic is not the answer,” Alistair said firmly.

“Good to know you've changed your mind,” Teagan joked.

“Oh, Isolde would have died one way or the other, have no doubt about that.” Alistair finished the rest of his brandy with a strong wince and a shiver of his head. He pushed the bottle toward Teagan. “You need to catch up, old man.”

“Are you just going to leave her be, then? What happens when she wakes up?” Zevran asked.

“You don't need to know what's going to happen, she is not your concern.”

“May I suggest a leash? That way, she is only ever as far as your reach extends. Ah! She would be like a sword, no? Let her be your weapon. An extension of you!”

Alistair froze. _An extension? Was that possible?_ “But I don't need her to be my weapon. I want _her_ back. I already _have_ a weapon.”

“Hm...how to say this politically?” then he gasped in excitement. “Behind every great King is a sneaky Queen. No, wait, I think that is Antiva's proverb.”

“ _What?”_

“Ah, sorry. Did I mention I've been drinking? A hard whiskey, I was told not to touch it." Teagan clapped a palm over his face at the elf's admission. "Hm..." Zevran continued, "oh, I know! She needs rules, and you will be King! Yes? Orders are in order!”

“I'm not going to use my wife as a -”

“You're married _already?”_ Teagan asked in interest.

“I – no, but it feels like it sometimes and I am drunk, a little bit – _don't_ tell her I said that. But that _doesn't matter._ I'm not going to use her like a servant! She's...have neither of you ever loved someone? She has... _all_ of me. She's my other half. She is what I am not.”

“Exactly!” Zevran said with a smile. “An extension of you. You have what she does not. And flipsies.” Zevran looked at Teagan with frown. "Is that a word here?"

"Flipside, I believe," Teagan offered.

Alistair just stared at the elf. _Why did that sound so familiar now?_ Ostagar. No, Morrigan's house, after she woke up, _after_ Ostagar. She had asked _why_ , and he had told her _it's not about what we deserve, but what we need._

 _Shit. That was it._ “After the battle, when were at Morrigan's...Tess said...” he could feel his eyes zipping across every line of thought, trying to sort it all out as he was finally understanding it, “she'd had too many people, so the Maker sent her a Chantry boy...”

“What?” Teagan laughed.

“ _I_ have _never seen_ you like this. _What_ are you _drinking?”_ Zevran asked, peering into the brandy bottle

“No, that's not what I meant. I meant _balance_...” Alistair still thought, _that was exactly it._

“Sip it. _Don't guzzle_ it, like Alistair did. You're _supposed_ _to sip_ it,” Teagan instructed Zevran.

“We'd known the whole time, it just wasn't a problem until...” _But he couldn't just be her extension some of the time. It had to be all the time. She_ always _needed Alistair's method,_ always _needed the way he took care of her._

“What in oblivion are you talking about, Alistair?” Teagan asked.

“She is reckless, and when she finally woke up from her wounds at Ostagar, she said maybe the Maker had sent her to me because I need to work on my medic skills. She was just joking, but...I get it now.” _He could bring her out of her out of her haze by touching, but it had to be all the time, not just until she fell asleep. If he took care of her like he took care of their camp and making sure she was fed, watered - regulation. Taming. Just like he'd thought last night.  Tame her, regulate her by keeping her calm, train her to stay calm._

_He was her coherency._

_And in return she would be the consistency - the family, the nurture - he'd always wanted._ He pushed the chair back and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Teagan asked as Alistair wove around the desk toward the door.

“I am going to go run my hands all over my wife.” He made himself giggle a little; he wouldn't have said that if he was sober.

“Er...weren't _you_ the one who said that would be _horrid and disgusting?”_ Teagan called after him.

Alistair doubled back to grab the platter of food. “Don't be so perverted when I'm in your pajamas, Teagan.” He plopped a noisy kiss on the Bann's cheek, and Teagan pushed his face away with a laugh. Alistair giggled all over again.

“I'm serious. I'll take your new castle away,” he played.

“I'll just come live you in Denerim, then, and I'll wear _your_ pajamas,” Teagan said with a grin.

“So which one you is telling me this story?” Zevran asked.

Alistair filled his glass with brandy, but kept the rest of the bottle and pushed the glass to the elf. “There is no story, yet. Zevran, you have my permission to show the Bann a damn good night. This desk is actually sturdier than it looks!” His face nearly hurt from smiling so wide. Zevran gave a devious laugh.

“Alistair, you are coming awfully close to losing my vote at the Landsmeet!” Teagan joked. Alistair could only laugh.

He balanced the tray as carefully as he could on his walk back up to Tess' quarters, and only had to swerve to avoid a wall twice; the third time was a painting. Po greeted him with a lazy gruff as Alistair set the tray on the vanity, and took a drink from the bottle as he locked the door; the bitterness sent a shiver down his spine. He set the bottle down and grabbed a chunk of fish and a piece of apple, then knelt down in front of the dog. Po opened his eyes in interest toward the smoked fish.

“Yes, yes, I brought you a present. _But_ ,” Alistair told the mabari, “I need advice from an expert on Tess in return.”

Po made a dog sound, but Alistair was positive he understood it. It was like a simultaneous quiet bark and also _Don't look at me. She's your mate._

Alistair froze for a moment, and looked around. Did he really just hear that? “Did you just speak? Did you just sass me?” he whispered.

Po sat up and huffed, _I'll talk for some fish._ _Cook kicked me out of the kitchen earlier._

Alistair laughed quietly. “Oh, no. That's not how this works. Besides, this is very important. It's about Tess.”

Po yawned with a roll of his eyes, then a snort. _This ought to be good. How much did you drink?_

“I am not drunk!” he hissed to the dog. “Were you spying on me?”

Po gave lolling grumble, _I heard you kiss her cousin._

“Don't you _dare_ tell her! She'll want me do it again! She _likes_ that sort of stuff! Don't you remember what she said about Zevran?” he glanced over to make sure Tess was still asleep.

Po snorted again, then offered a quiet bark. _I thought you said this was important?”_

“It is. It's about Tess. I think I know how to make her better.” he paused. “I will pet her. All the time.”

Po cocked his head with a whine. _You'll do what, mate?_

“Yes, pet her. Like a – _no, not_ like a dog. Like a _human_.”

Po looked over toward Tess, then back at Alistair with his little doggy brows raised. _And you think she won't notice?_

“ _Not_ like _that!_ _Maker!_ What's wrong with you? _Everyone_ here has a dirty mind!”

Po barked. _You said it, not me!,_ and he stole the dried fish from Alistair's hand.

“Oy! What ever happened to _loyal mabari,_ eh? Is this how it's going to be _every_ time I ask you for advice?”

Tess made a noise from the bed the same time the columns shook against the wall, and Alistair stood up. “Oh, love…” his heart cringed for her again. He crossed the room to lie on his side next to her – always on her right side now, since her burn on the left wasn't quite healed - and lifted her head so he could slip his arm under. He hummed, pressing his lips the side of her moving head while he untied her other arm, tickling his fingers over her cheek in that familiar rune. He kissed her palm as he bought it to his face, and after awhile of murmuring and caressing small circles on her face and hand, her eyes found him. A new sensation washed over him as he gazed back; right now, he was confident he could do this, he could at least heal her foggy mind. _Practice your medic skills_ , her voice echoed inside his head. He smiled in that memory, watching her before him now without an ounce of fear that she might be lost forever. She made a small noise with another bout of rocking her head, and he cooed into a kiss on the edge of her lips. He continued to linger kisses, and when he pressed her hand along his beard, he feathered his fingers down her arm, continuing to let his voice roll sweetly off his lips into each tender peck.

 _I'm here._ He swore her face turned in toward him a little. _I love you. I've got you. Always, this time._

 


	24. Ask Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension eases between Alistair and Tesslyn as she realizes he's helping her. Sten bribes the Templar at the Lake Calenhad docks with cookies so they may cross the lake, only to learn they're being delivered into chaos at the Circle tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief PTSD breakdown about non-con/torture.
> 
> Mood Music:   
> On the Road: [Tiptoe, by Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/ajjj4pLnjz8)  
> 

The rest of the day was spent in bed. Alistair fell asleep lying next to Tesslyn, caressing her arm and tracing the shapes of her face, singing to her softly. He wasn't sure how long he'd slept, but when he awoke, Tess was looking at him.

She seemed herself again, sort of. She gave an occasional rolling twitch, but otherwise she was unusually still under the spell of his touch, and her eyes were not as empty as before. His first instinct was to dance his fingertips up in a rune on her cheek, then he brushed along her jaw from her ear to her chin. He asked if she knew who he was, and she frowned a little when her lips refused to pass her voice. He changed his question, asked her _who am I,_ and his entire body froze at her response: a single finger landed with a tremble on his face and drew crooked circles on his cheek. Somewhere inside, she was aware of what he was doing, and she was consciously associating him lulling her with circles when she was disconnected. He wondered if the tremors that shook her was her mind trying to take back control of her body. The darkspawn attack in Lothering had clearly rushed her recovery, last time.

He stayed in bed with her most of the day, or whenever he fell asleep next. When she slept, he woke up to eat and stretch for a bit, but he never left her for long. He always returned, and even in her sleep he stroked down her arms. By what felt like evening, he'd gotten comfortable enough predicting when she'd start jerking and whining, and he untied her from the bed to let her enjoy some comfort. He searched through the books in her nook and picked out a few, one of which he adored himself, _On Golden Wings,_ a fairytale on the original Grey Wardens. He sat behind her and read to her, taking turns holding the book with each hand so he could pave silent tracks upon her arms. As soon as she began to tense, he set the books aside and focused his touch on her face, shoulders, down her arms, the back of her hands. When he caught her fast enough, the worst she ever fell, even unbound, was a pulsing death-grip over his knees. He slept with her again, folding her limbs up so he wrapped perfectly around her. He drifted off drawing another set of rings on her hand.

Tess was sitting when Alistair awoke. She could barely talk, but she seemed to want to walk. Though her depth perception was clearly off, she kept trying to move toward the door. She didn't want to sit down to wait for him to finish waking. When she fell because she let go of the bed column, Alistair found himself having to lay down the first clear rule: _you don't_ _go_ _anywhere without me._ He swirled his thumb on the back of her hand and on her cheek whilst he told her, making sure she was looking in his eyes. _You must stay with me, always. It is not safe for you to_ _go off alone._ She frowned, frowned down at his thumb drawing on the back of her hand, but she let herself fall back against the wardrobe. He picked her up and set her back on the bed, then held her hand and let his fingers continue their path until the crease disappeared from her brows and her breath evened. Alistair lightly brushed his lips against her temple, a silent _thank you for listening to me._

He walked her around the castle that day, and she did not talk to anyone, not even him. Every time she frowned or tensed up, he took her hand in his and caressed in halos. The first day she was up and about, he held her and assured her _I'm here, I've got you_ with her hand to his chest while he drew. The second day, when she could walk better on her own and was starting to talk, he simply caressed her hand, sometimes even from a distance; he noticed the farther he stood from her when he did this, the sooner she met his eyes, and the sooner she calmed. It seemed she better understood his resolve to stay if she looked in his eyes while he marked on her hand.

The third day, she was finally herself. She walked without any assistance, she was eating again, even sassing people, mostly Teagan; Alistair recognized this as her trying to regain control in her life when she had just been absent from it. After her second attempt to agitate Teagan that day, Alistair immediately pulled her in as soon as she started mouthing off, and he forced her to stay against him. He held her hands to his chest while he traced his little loops, which kept her eyes focused on him even though she was fighting eye contact. _It's okay. Just breathe with me. I'm right here._

Alistair told everyone to get to bed early, they were leaving in the morning. They all spent the rest of the evening gathering up their belongings, Teagan had the servants pack spare furs and quilts, spare tarps, fill empty barrels with dried fruits and nuts and potatoes, and a few bottles of brandy for Alistair; _sip it, don't chug it._

Alistair had a servant boil water for a bath while Tess went through her family's belongings in the other rooms for anything of use. Alistair packed up what was in her room while the bath cooled, stuffing it all in the chest that was in her room. When she didn't return, he sought down the hall, and found her crying in front of a painting of a man and woman. She wiped her eyes with her palms as he went to her, and though she still cried, she gave an obvious sigh of relief when he signaled circles to the back of her hand. As soon as he settled on his knees, she fell into to him with a trembling pout. It felt good to hold her again, rather it felt better to hold her when she was in her mind than it did when he cradled the mindless shell.

He looked at the painting while he gently rocked her. He recognized the man and woman instantly, though he'd never actually seen them before. Tess had exactly half the face of both people. “These are your parents,” he marveled quietly. She nodded. It dawned on him as she shook with a silent sob, that he'd never get to meet them. He didn't know his own mother, he never had a relationship with his father. Her parents were dead, now, too. Alistair studied the faces. “How old were they here?”

“This was after their wedding. Mother was seventeen, father was twenty.”

“I hate to say this, but I'm sort of glad I can't meet your father. I am _far_ too familiar with those lips,” he tried to joke. She pulled his shirt collar around her face and muttered _that was terrible._ He softly laughed and pressed his mouth into her head. “It's not small. If we take it with us, we run the risk of rain damage,” he said.

She turned out from him with a sniffle. Her lips quivered as she reached for both faces. “What if I rolled it up? Could I take it then?” she was asking permission. The last time they were here, she would have told him they were taking it. He hoped this was a good sign.

“Yes, you may. I'll find something to wrap it in. But, we'll do that in the morning. Your bath is getting cold,” he said. She frowned a little, and he immediately drew on her hand. “We don't know when we'll have a hot bath next. Come, up.” He stood, and she hesitated; she looked up at him like she didn't want to leave, but he drew another circle and she stood anyway. He took the painting now as acknowledgment of her compliance.

He bathed her, got her ready for bed. He even combed out what little hair she had left. He asked her if she wanted to sleep alone; at first she said yes, but she grabbed his hand as he turned from her. She actually looked a little panicked when he looked back. She immediately changed her answer, _no._ He turned her hand over and swirled his thumb, and her shoulders rose and fell in breath deeper than a moment ago. _Ask me._ When she didn't respond, he insisted, _I need to know it's what_ you _want._ She met his eyes and asked him to sleep next to her, and so he did, just as she requested.

The morning brought a groan of regret from the entire party. Sten secured Morrigan, who apparently had been checked on periodically by Leliana, and after the wagon was packed, Alistair thanked Teagan and led the party out of the gates.

Travel in this new silent arrangement was an interesting experience. At first, Tess walked by his side, but as the sun rose higher, she started testing water. At first, it was simply walking at arms-reach; her arm. Alistair only watched, curious to see what she would try. When she asked if they had food left, because she was hungry, Alistair grabbed smoked fish and cheese and dried apples from the back of the wagon for her. She hesitated before rejecting it all, saying she didn't want any of that. Alistair wondered if this was a test; would she start doing that? _Suit yourself._ She froze, then looked directly up at him, and Alistair had to shove a chunk of fish in his mouth to hide the smirk on his face. She had expected him to make her eat it.

She didn't stop there. She walked a few feet out to her side - away from him, and after a few steps from that distance she turned her head and met his eyes. He popped an apple in his mouth for an excuse to purse the amusement away. She held his gaze while stepping another foot away. Half amused and wanting to let her test and learn, half uncertain of the distance between then - _they'd hardly been out of reach since her Taint settled in_ \- he broke her gaze to watch ahead of him, keeping her in sight from the corner of his eye. _I can deal with this distance._ He felt her steady gaze for awhile, but when she sharply put even more distance between them, he couldn't help a chuckle. He grinned at her; _I know what you're doing._ She frowned and looked straight ahead, and put another few steps between them, then a few more.

Alistair lost his smile. He could feel her the strength of her Taint diluting, that's how far away she was testing from. “Tess,” he called after her. She glanced over to see him hold his arm out for her to take. She kept her eyes on him for a moment, then made an obvious show of marching further out. A sort of panic settled inside of him. He had felt her Taint for so long that it was his normal comfort, now, so to have it dim so suddenly felt wrong. But he didn't have to call out to her a second time; even as her feet planted beyond the limit, she stole weary peeks into the far side. He saw her diffidence in the rigidity of her movements, the way her shoulders literally turned away from the _beyond_. She came straight back to him, gripped his arm, and the panic evaporated from within him. The breath that left her body might as well have spoken, _that was a close call._ He unbuckled and pulled off her glove and gave a few swirls of his thumb. Her eyes met his timorously as he brought her hand up to his mouth. Feeling his Taint had apparently become her comfortable zone, as well.

“That's as far as you go,” he told her softly, resuming the spiral massage on the back of her hand. “It's too dangerous. If I can't feel you, I can't get to you in time.”

Her brow knotted some. “I could protect myself if I had a weapon.” Testing from safety, now.

He smiled. “If it really comes down to it, you don't actually need _extensive_ weapons, do you? You're a weapon all on your own.” The more he put this into practice, the more he understood what the elf had said. An extension of himself.

“It hurts to kill things with my palms, Alistair,” she said. He couldn't help a little laugh.

“Then an even better reason to stay where I can shield you. Yes?” he said. She searched his eyes in reply, and he could tell this was where her struggle was. It had been only her for so long, and her mabari was just another _extension_ , which explained why she gave in to the lyrium to escape. “You can trust me to protect you. But you have to stay where I _can_ protect you,” he laid down his conditions, “if you can't feel me anymore, you've gone way too far.”

She stayed within reach the rest of the day.

They pressed on as far as they could, but with only slivers of the moons out, they ultimately had to stop about three hours outside of the Lake Calenhad Inn and docks. Tess stayed close by him, with Po at her heels. When Alistair orchestrated a roaring fire, Tess took a deep breath. Alistair watched as she stood curiously straighter than she had in weeks. She took another deep breath; she was building up courage. He had to force a smile down as he got to his feet.

“I want to sleep in my own tent,” she stated. She looked like she was trying to appear and sound possibly braver than she secretly might be. Her reaction to whatever she was thinking was what amused him.

“Very well,” he agreed.

She instantly sighed, and he couldn't help a grin as he walked around her to grab the poles. “Wait, that's it?” she asked incredulously.

“What do you mean _that's it?”_ he looked at her.

“For someone who's used my hand to _curtail_ me for the past three days, it's suddenly just... _very well?_ And this morning with the food it, it was _suit yourself_.” Her eyes were wide yet brows crushed. She was truly perplexed.

“You're not ready to sleep with me again. That's fine,” he told her. He threw a bedroll down and drove a pole in around the head corners.

She paused. “Really?”

“Of _course_ really.”

She paused again. “May I go sit off by myself for a while?” she asked.

He did a double-take at her. She looked like she was trying to hide worry. “Of course,” he told her. He stood. “Tess,” he said softly. “Do you want to talk?” he asked.

She hesitated. “N-not yet.” _Something's wrong._

“I'm _here_ , Tess,” he reminded her. She nodded, yet turned and walked away from the campfire. She stayed within the boundaries of his Taint, even though she sat with her back to him.

While she sat off thinking, Alistair set up the tents. He wasn't sure if how cold it would get during the night, there were storm clouds way off north toward the islands of the Waking Sea. Summer storms were the worst, lightning and thunder; he shuddered in the thought. He'd have to carefully plan out where to travel so they could camp under trees if it rained. He just hoped the clouds didn't roll in tonight. Tonight, they'd have to settle with the fire.

He looked at Tess. Stone still, hugging her knees. He wanted her close during the night, always wanted her close at night. But she wanted to sleep by herself. He watched her for a moment, then he built up his tent right next to hers, slightly tilted to absorb heat from the fire. He arranged the tarps and leather so that both entry flaps opened to each other. This would force her to sleep with her head toward the opening; she wouldn't risk him tickling her feet again. He then laid out a fur like a rug in between their tents and the fire. He placed a couple potatoes in the in the cooler coals of the fire, and set cheese, dried apples, nuts and some salted pork in one of the wooden bowls Teagan had sent them off with. He was sipping from a brandy bottle when Tess returned to him.

She paused when she saw the facing flaps. She opened her mouth a few times, biting her tongue with a frown at the proximity of their tents. “Apparently I need to be more specific when I ask for things,” she muttered. He grinned from the campfire. “Is it too late to change my request?”

“Yes it is. If you leave opportunity open, I will play,” he teased.

“Says the man who's been using my right hand as a rein for the past three days.”

“It's not a rein. It's...more like a switch, wouldn't you say?”

“A switch. Yes. Lovely.” she made a cracking noise with he mouth as she flicked her wrist, hand curled as if holding a riding crop.

He laughed. “Not that kind of switch. You know, like, _on_ or _off._ Like in a mad-alchemist's laboratory."

“Not….any better...” She was tense, though. She even started to pace.

He patted a spot on the fur next to him. “Come sit and eat.”

She paused again. “Alistair, I need to talk to you. Please. It's kind of important.” she said. He looked up to find her frowning, hands trembling a bit.

“Come sit where it's warm, and then tell me,” he said. She came to settle next to him on the fur and took a few deep breaths, each more shallow than the previous. He took her hand and turned in to face her. “Tess, what's wrong?” he urged tenderly, feathering circles for her.

“I can't...I can't go back. I can't go back to the Tower.” she wouldn't look at him. Her jaw was tight and she blinked too often.

“We have to. We have a Treaty to make them honor.”

She shook her head. “I can-can't!” She was escalating already. This was exactly what he was trying to avoid by habituating her to circles.

“It's okay, it's okay,” he assured her, rubbing deeper into hand. He reached up and traced the rune on her left cheek; _right hand, left cheek._ “Look at me,” he said. She blinked a few times but followed his words. “Right now, it's just you and me. There's no one else, there's nothing else. Alright?” She swallowed and nodded, searching his eyes. “I know you don't want to go. I'm not fond of the mages myself. But we _need_ to.” he winced a little. “And we need to see if they can help you. You are fighting the lyrium, I can see that.” he insisted, “but it's fighting back as well. They can help..”

She shook her head faster. “No! No, no, _no mages! Please?”_ she begged in a whisper.

“Why not mages? You love the one we have here. _I_ _need to know_ , Tess. I can't just avoid them when we need them.”

She gasped out breaths and lost her eyes contact with him. “When…” her eyes quickly filled with water. “It was a mage,” she whispered, “when I was fourteen. When Loghain had me...” Alistair frowned. “tied down,” her jaw quivered, so tight its muscles bulged by her ears. “A mage made the potion, and he...had my legs tied open -” Alistair was instantly grateful he'd tied her legs together in Redcliffe. Her eyes darted and her hands shook at his wrist like she was trying to grab at something that wasn't there. “the mage -” her pointer finger zipped sideways with her eyes, even though he continued to rub circles on her hand, “he put -”

“Shhhh, you don't have to say anymore,” he told her. He wove her in between his legs and held her against him. Continued the circles on her cheek while he cradled her, gently rocked her, tucked her up between his limbs. _P_ _ure emotion,_ Duncan had said; _Intense,_ Alistair had agreed. She had damn good reason, though. Alistair's blood boiled. Did Loghain even care what he still did to her?

“Please don't make me go back!” her tears wet his neck. _I'm going to kill him, all of them._ He hushed into her head as he smoothed her wild hair. He pulled back just enough and held her face so she would look at him. _Scared little girl._ His _scared little girl._

“I _have_ to go in, I _have_ to do this. And I can't leave you outside by yourself,” he told her. Her jaw and bottom lip and head all shook again. “Shhhh, no, no, _listen_ to me, Tess. _No_ one will _hurt_ you, I _promise_. I'll keep my arm around you the whole time, I won't leave you.” He brushed her hair off her face.

“But you said...” she reached up and tapped her head. Alistair's heart crumbled.

“I didn't mean it like that,” he assured her. “I want them to take the _lyrium_ away. You deserve to be free of it. But I will _not_ let them hurt you. I promise this. _No one hurts you._ You are _mine,_ remember?” she was still shaking in his arms. “Right?” he pressed. She nodded. “ _Everyone_ goes through me to get to you.” he traced airy loops on her cheeks with his thumbs. “That's what I'm here for. I'm here for _you._ This?” he took her right hand and drew circles on it; it always ended up her right hand. “This is me _here_. I'm here, I have you. You're safe.” He held the back of her head while he pushed his lips to her forehead, still traced on her hand. “I won't let anyone get close enough to hurt you.” he looked at her. She took deep, slow breaths, trying hard to still herself. He massaged the back of her hand with both thumbs now. “Deep breaths,” he said. “I'm right here. I'm not leaving. I'll keep you safe.”

After he calmed her, she asked if she could get drunk. He told her she needed to eat first and then she could have three shots of brandy. She frowned but agreed, and he offered her the wooden bowl of fruit and nuts and meat, and the potatoes from the coals when the skins wrinkled. She didn't speak again until she finished eating and asked for the brandy. He smiled as she sniffed the bottle and made a face. “Where did you get this?” she asked.

“It's Eamon favorite, according to Teagan.”

“How much is three shots?”

“We don't have glasses, do we? Hm…” he watched her. “Eight drinks.” She glanced at him, apprehensive almost. She choked on her very first drink, and Alistair grinned with a quiet giggle.

“Maker's breath!” she coughed. “No wonder he's sick in bed!” she wheezed. He laughed loudly.

“You don't have to drink it,” he told her, grinning so big his cheeks hurt. “We still have wine.”

She breathed hard with wide eyes. “No, I can do this.” She took a second drink as if she had to dare herself and shook from head to her hips with a sour face, and he only laughed harder. He took the bottle from her and somehow managed to take a drink in between giggles. His chest was starting to tighten around his heart. He felt like he had waited so long to feel like this again.

“I've missed you,” he told her as he passed the bottle. He didn't need to elaborate to know she understood. She gave a wince and a sigh. “I know, I know. Alistair the fool fell head over heels for the first woman who actually gave him the time of day,” he said. It didn't hurt to say it this time, though.

She shook her head before she even took a drink. “I really tried to warn you away, Alistair. You are you too good of a person for me.”

“It's not about what we deserve,” he started. She rolled her eyes.

“It's about what we need, yes, I know.”

He couldn't quell the laugh that spilled out. “Did you just _sass_ me with my _own pick-up line?”_ Maker, he couldn't stop laughing. She started to smile, but turned her head and pressed her arm to her mouth, but he immediately grabbed her arm down. “No, don't you dare hide your smile from me.” He wasn't mad at all, far from it. “Maker, Tess you are like the _sun_ when you smile. _This_ is what I've missed. _Laughing_ with you. Teasing you, _making you_ _laugh_. Here, hand that back if you're not going to drink it.” He reached for the bottle already, grinning.

“What? No!” she leaned away and drank out of his reach, then wiggled from the taste. “You said I could have eight drinks. I have four more left.”

“Then hold it for me so I can have a drink,” he said. She hesitated, then leaned over. He kept his eyes on hers while he drank, then as soon as she pulled the glass from his lips: “Can I have a kiss?”

“Is that...wise when we're drinking? I mean, given my current state.”

He giggled. “I can think of far worse things to do when we're drinking.”

“Oh, Maker help me!” she breathed, but let herself laugh a little.

“Just one?” he asked.

“Is this an order?”

He thought about this. “No…this is a genuine request for affection from your future husband.”

“ _Husband?”_

“Yes, wife?” his smirk nearly hurt his cheeks.

“That's not...that was a question, not a...” she shoved the bottle to her mouth to hide her amusement. “Okay, what happened to leading me around by my fingers?” she asked.

“I don't need to right now. This is all I wanted,” he told her.

“You wanted to spend the night drunk and begging for kisses?”

He smiled. “I wanted my best friend back. I think it's safe to say she's back right now.”

“So...as long we're...like _this_ , I'm not on a leash? What happens if I don't want to _be_ on a leash? Are you going to tie me up? Like you did Morrigan?”

“Why? Do you want me to?” he grinned.

“Andraste's knickers!” she hissed, turning her head. She was actually blushing. “Are you drunk already?”

“I'm not drunk. I only had a couple sips before you came back. I just feel really good right now.” he watched her take a drink, and he smiled when she brought the bottle to his mouth again. He caught her hand before she could pull away, and he left a kiss on her fingers. “I love you because of this. Because of how you make me feel at times like this.” he didn't move from her eyes. “Yes or no?” he asked when she didn't answer.

“It's that simple?”

“It's that simple. It is your call. I promised you that back in Lothering.”

“That was, what, six years ago now?” she joked. He laughed.

“It feels like it, doesn't it?”

She frowned in concern. “Just one kiss?” she verified.

He hesitated. “If that's all I'm allowed, then yes.”

“I don't... _just_ the kiss. I'm not...it's not a good idea for anything else.”

“Just a kiss,” he agreed.

“Okay...” she nodded. She searched his face all over when he didn't kiss her immediately. “Well?”

“Ask me,” he told her.

“What?”

“You just broke down over a memory of being touched without your consent, Tess. I need to know you want it. It's hurts too much to have you mad at me,” he said.

She stared for a moment. “What….what's this?” she reached up hesitantly and touched his beard, as if she were reaching to pet some unknown creature.

He grinned. “Never seen one, eh?” he teased “Very popular Grey Warden trait. It's how we can distinguish each other members from normal travelers. It's either beards, or a bushy mustache.”

“I've _seen_ beards before. I meant... _why_ are you growing it?” She seemed to like touching it at any rate. He was glad for this, but she hadn't touched him in so long that every stroke now flooded him like foreplay.

“It's seemed kind of trivial to worry about how my face looks throughout all that's happened the past week and a half. Do you not like it?”

She frowned a little, puzzled. “Is it going to tickle?”

He grinned with a little laugh. “We could find out.” She instantly met his eyes.

“And if it does?”

“Then I am _definitely_ keeping it”

“Then...may I have a kiss?” she asked, timidity blending with bravery. _Of course;_ he wasted no time closing the distance between them. He gently held her head, and she met his eyes as he parted his lips. _Maker, it had been so long._ She tasted like Redcliffe brandy, but she felt just the same as he remembered, soft, plump, caring. His heart was too big for his chest again, and when her fingers found his beard, her touch sent a jolt straight to his groin. He bit back a groan and used the sudden need for air as an excuse to linger on her.

He hung his head at her shoulder when she broke from the kiss. _I love you._ He held her right had to his chest so she could feel what she did to his heart. “Don't shave,” she said softly. His laugh rolled him right into her, felling them backwards, and he nuzzled his beard right into the crook of her neck. At first she giggled, the wiggle of her body heating his groin more than he should allow himself, and she tried to hide her neck from him. Then she grabbed his hair. “Stop. I'm…please. I'm...not ready for this yet...” she took a deep breath. _Holy Maker_ , she was just as aroused as he was.

“ _Oh,_ ” he said, sitting up with a grin that he couldn't hide. She tried to hide a smirk as he pulled her up. “I am _certainly, definitely_ keeping the beard,” he teased her. She glared at him from the corner of her eye, and took two drinks in a row from the bottle before making the silliest face he'd ever seen on her. He laughed at this, too.

“Here. That's eight,” she winced, handing the bottle back to him. “And...thank you. For listening when I said stop.”

He smiled softly. “You are welcome. It is always going to be your call. I promise that,” he told her. “If you are happy, then I am happy.”

“Really?”

“Of _course_ really. I know enough of you to know what makes you happy. That is the whole reason for all this...” he reached over and traced the rune over her cheek. “I only ever want you happy. And actually, you being happy is in _everyone's_ best interest,” he teased. She tried to fright a sheepish smile, and he smiled again. “Will you tell me when you're ready?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I appreciate that.” He leaned over and brushed his lips against her cheek.

“Is it all right if I go to bed?” she asked.

“That is probably a good idea for both of us. We have a...fun day ahead of us tomorrow.”

She groaned, accepted his hand when he offered to help her up. “I think you mean _agitating_ and _nauseating_. Unpredictable irritating hippie mages.”

“That is _exactly_ what I meant by fun!” he joked. He gave her hand one last caress for the night, along with a tender kiss upon her forehead. “Remember I'm here, all right? Just reach over and grab me,” he told her. He fed the fire and climbed in his tent after she was in hers, leaving the flap open to watch her settle in. She left her tent open, as well. After a moment of staring back, she reached out for him. Alistair smiled once more before drifting off with his thumb on the back of her hand.

He woke up before her. Po had nestled in between them, his head in her tent and his hind and backside in Alistair's tent. Alistair carefully slipped his hand out from underneath Tess' to rise and start the day. Sunlight was barely peeking. So far, no movement from the other camp. He stoked the fire and added another log before wandering off to relieve himself. He watched the Circle Tower off in the distance; it would take them all of three hours at most to arrive. Teagan had mentioned trouble at the tower. If it was trouble that spilled out into traveling gossip, then something had happened to the Templars there, which wasn't a good sign.

He grabbed his blanket and wrapped up in front of the fire with the waterskin, dried apples, and their gloves and her sharp, diamond-coated dagger. Tess woke up just about as soon as he dug the dagger into the back of her glove. She called out for him; _I'm right here, love, at the fire;_ she crawled out to him before her eyes were even fully open. He watched her as she swayed with her eyes closed, then set the dagger and glove aside to pull her in his arms when her head fell in sleep.

“I'm awake,” she mumbled against him. He laughed softy.

“I can see that.” He moved the blanket from around his shoulders to drape over her, and he worked the dagger into her right glove around her as she slept. Her breathing matched up with his, pressuring against him when his chest rose; _he missed this, too._ He cut the leather from the worn-down indents where her knuckles would be, in as close to a circle as he could get, down to where her wrist would be. To his own gloves, he cut off both thumbs and first fingers.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Making it easier for both of us,” he said. He held her glove up so she could see, and after a very still moment of staring, she slid her head along his shoulder to look up at him. “Yes?” She nodded.

“Thank you,” she said, nestling her head back into the crook of his neck. _I love you,_ he told her with a kiss to the side of her head, and he spent the next few minutes simply circling the back of her hand while he held her.

As soon as the others were up and moving, Alistair tore down their tents and packed up. Tess put on her armor while he packed their things up on the wagon, minus her daggers and her bow and arrows. He brought those back to their campfire. She just stared at the daggers when he held them out, as if she wasn't quite sure what they were.

“Take them,” he insisted.

She looked up at him blankly and blinked. “What?” He smiled and held them out closer to her.

“Take them.”

She frowned unsurely, but took the daggers anyway. “Why?”

“Because you have earned them,” he insisted.

“And...what do I do with them?”

He grinned. “Have you forgotten how to use them already? Somehow I doubt that,” he teased. “You may _use_ them. In fact, you may use them against any naughty mages we encounter.”

Her brow dropped even further and with the way her lips pursed, she looked even more confused than before. “You want me to _kill Morrigan?”_ she guessed. He laughed loudly.

“I meant at the Circle.” he took each dagger and sheathed them into her belt. “But if she misbehaves again, she will be dead one way or another.”

Tess looked around her waist with her arms elevated. “I feel like I'm going to cut myself.”

“You've worn those for weeks, and other for years,” he reminded her. She stood still while he hooked her bow and quiver on her back.

“Are...you sure about this?” She was scared of something, perhaps lashing out at him again?

“I have confidence in you,” he told her. She searched his eyes for a moment, though her gaze dropped with her brows. He took her hand and rubbed through the hole in her glove. _I'm here, don't worry._

Tess was quiet throughout the rest of their walk. The closer they got to the Kinloch Hold – the official name for the tower – the deeper she frowned, even fidgeted. Alistair kept her hand in his the entire walk, rubbing her skin inside the open circle of her glove, though he was aware that each step only heightened her anxiety. When their caravan finally stopped at the Lake Calenhad Docks, a tiny spot in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a small tavern and an official designated patch of grass to clean and hang fish, Tess was ticking. It was like her initial withdrawal symptoms had become her body's only comfortable way of dealing with stress.

Alistair brought Tess with him when he spoke to the Templar guarding the only row boat at the only tiny dock.

“I'm sorry but you'll have to turn back. I have strict orders not to let anyone pass!” the Templar announced before Alistair could even say anything.

“Why? We need to get to the tower,” Alistair said.

“I was told to come out here to make sure no one goes across this lake, so that's what going to happen. Goodbye, now!” he feigned cheer.

“Well, then let us across, and you go right back to being bored out of your mind,” Alistair dished back.

“No! I've got one job and one job only, and by the Maker's shiny gold cutlery, I will do it.”

Tess frowned. “The Maker doesn't have cutlery.”

“Somebody's been skipping his lessons,” Alistair joked to his woman.

“Oh, I suppose the Maker Himself told you He doesn't have cutlery, has He? You're still not getting across."

“We are Grey Wardens, and we seek the assistance of the mages. You cannot deny us,” Tess said, embracing her noble pride for a moment.

“Oh, a Grey Warden, are you? Prove it.” the Templar crossed his arms over his chest, and Tess frowned harder.

“We have documents,” Alistair said, rubbing her circle of skin down at their sides. _I've got this, don't worry, I'll take care of it._ She looked up at him, and he shared a quick glance of assurance for her.

“Documents? Let me see them.” Alistair sighed, but dug the Grey Warden treaties out of his purse and unrolled them. He held them up, but did not let the Templar touch. “Hm...Oh, a Grey Warden seal. Aha! So you're claiming to be one of those. I'll have you know I've got documents of my own. They say I'm the Queen of Antiva. What do you think about that?”

“Hm, no, that is impossible,” Zevran spoke up, suddenly on the other side of Alistair. “The Queen of Antiva is dead. Her own son hired the Crows to, er, _remove_ her. She was a stubborn woman. But good in bed, I hear.”

“Don't question royalty!” the Templar spouted.

“You are in the presence of the Prince of Ferelden, and I am Teyrna of Highever. Outside of that tower or a Chantry, you hold no rank I can't overthrow. More importantly, we are Grey Wardens and tread above Chantry guidelines. The Maker Himself sees to it that only the worthiest can become Grey Wardens. You cannot hold us back. Either you let us through, or we will carve our way through,” threatened Tesslyn Cousland, embodiment of Fereldan nobility. Alistair didn't bother hiding a smirk, neither did Zevran beside him.

“ _Why does not she play this card_ all _the time?”_ Zevran wondered.

“You can't prove who you are, and my orders are clear. Now run along, shoo! _Toodaloo!_ It was nice chatting with you! Right now. Go.”

“Lady Cousland and I are both former Templars. Surely there must be some way we can reach a peaceful agreement. I'd really hate to have to cut down a Brother,” Alistair said. “That sort of stuff weighs down on the conscience at night, you know?”

“Hm...I don't know….You know, though...I am feeling a bit peckish. Your traveling caravan looks like it ought to have something tasty aboard, yes?”

“Really? You want to us feed you?” Zevran asked. “A moment ago it was _I am a Queen!”_ he imitated.

“Nicely done,” Alistair muttered approval.

“Thank you,” Zevran accepted brightly.

“Even more of a reason! You don't want to be the poor saps who have to be the blunt end of bad jokes because you didn't feed Her Royal Highness!” the Templar said.

“ _Pashaara!”_ Sten interjected harshly from behind them. They all turned to look at him. “Here! Munch on these if you like.” Sten thrust forth a handful of baked sweets toward the Templar.

“ _Ooh! Cookies!”_ the Templar grabbed them with a grin.

“If I must part with them to save us from this fool, so be it.” Sten grumbled.

“ _Where_ did you get _cookies?”_  Tess asked bewilderedly.

“There was a child – a fat, slovenly thing – in the last village we passed. I relieved him of these confections. He did not need more,” Sten told her.

“You stole cookies from a child?” Zevran asked curiously.

“For his own good.”

“Clearly.”

Alistair looked at Tess. She stared at Sten like she couldn't believe he hadn't shared. She met Alistair's eyes and huffed with a finger pointed clearly toward Sten's face. “You did not ask,” Sten replied to her silent complaint. She huffed again. “I assumed that meant you did not care for them.”

“I lived in Orlais for three years, I practically lived on cheese and cakes!” she hissed.

“Cheese and cakes? Cheese-cake? Is that even possible?” Alistair joked, “I mean, without breaking the known laws of nature?”

“I have had cheesecake before,” Zevran pipped up. “Very rich, but just perfect if topped with berries and jam.”

“Really?” Alistair asked, very interested in this experience he'd apparently been missing out on.

“Indeed. Denerim is bound to have some for sure, granted there are any visiting Antivans,” Zevran assured him.

Tess whined. “You know what? Just take us. We fed you, we went out of our way to feed you. Thank you, Sten, you have a compassionate heart.”

“Only if he holds his end of the bargain. Otherwise, he is just a human who ate my last cookies.”

“All right, all right. Mmm! Yummy indeed! All right, hop in the boat. I'll take you over.” the Templar walked to the end of the short dock to usher them into the only boat.

“Give us a moment,” Alistair told him. He turned to look at their party. “Sten, Leliana and Po, I guess set up camp again...I'm not sure how long this will take. Stay with the dwarves, and the prisoner.” Morrigan shot him a death glare.

“Does it occur to you that I may actually be of _assistance_ in a tower full of mages?” Morrigan retorted.

“If she tries anything, feel free to shut her up in the most imaginative way you can think of,”Alistair told Sten. “Shale -” he paused, though, and glanced unsurely at the rowboat.

Shale laughed loudly. “If I step in that, everything goes straight down.”

“Good point!” the Templar called over.

“But I can walk across the bottom, if it must have me along. Will it allow me the smashing in of soft pigeony heads?” Shale asked.

“If it comes to that, you and Tess can go at it to your hearts' content,” Alistair permitted.

“Very well. I shall meet it on the other side.” With a few heavy strides, Shale thudded across grass and dropped right off into the lake.

“Alistair -” Tess said, furrowing in concern toward the place Shale disappeared from.

“Don't worry. I know how to swim. If your golem goes missing, I'll go find it,” he told his overgrown child. He put his lips to her forehead while he drew a spiral on her hand. “Come on, love. The sooner we get this started, the sooner we can get come back and get drunk.”

Alistair, Tess and Zevran climbed into the boat, and the Templar equaled the three of them in weight in his huge, heavy armor. “If Knight-Commander Greagoir asks,” he told them, “you knocked me out and then stole the boat. Oh, and good luck getting past the main hall. The mages went mad as rabid nugs a couple weeks ago. There's abominations running lose all over past the entry!” he warned all too cheerfully.

Tess dug her nails into the seat of the boat with a glower and tight jaw.

“What did the rock call it? Oh, yes. _Bird-smashing._ It's a good thing I sharpened my daggers last night,” Zevran said.

 


	25. Disaster at Kinloch Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair, Tess and their party arrive at the Circle Tower to find it has been overrun by abominations. Both Templars and Mages resist Tesslyn's return. Alistair finds himself allowing Tesslyn to make extreme calls, in order to wipe away any influence from her past that may hinder their future together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abuse, threats of death.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> Circle Tower: [ Ready Aim Fire, by Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/yOSYr0jM-aY)

They met resistance the instant they pushed open the doors of Kinloch Hold.

“Halt.” the graying Templar in front of them held up a hand; Alistair recognized the aged man; Knight-Commander Greagoir. Shale's feet scraped to a heavy thud behind Alistair and Tess as the small party paused their steps. “The tower is closed, and _you_ are not welcome here.” Alistair didn't like the way Greagoir glared at Tess. It was like the Maker readied a switch within him:  _Protector. Protect Her._

“If you think I am here on leisure, Knight-Captain, I assure you I have more fascinating things to do.” Tess glared back.

“It's Knight- _Commander_ , now, and you have ten seconds to turn right back around, or I will resort to violence.”

“That's not happening,” Alistair stepped between the Templar and Tess. “She is with me.”

“It doesn't matter who she belongs to. She could belong to the King of Ferelden for all I care, and I still won't let rabble wander about, not at a time like this. And I suggest you investigate before you decide to blindly follow sketchy noble women around, lad. She probably didn't tell you this is the Circle for Magi or her history here.”

“Don't tell me everyone has forgotten my face? This is getting old.” Alistair glanced at Tess.

“Ah, yes, the _other_ troublemaker. My answer remains the same. She alone created _enough_ chaos; months of interrogations and tracking down dangerous magical items. But there is plenty trouble as it is without _two_ of you here,” Greagoir motioned for them to turn around and _shoo._

“It sounds like the trouble was your own doing. Normally I'd offer to help, but I don't appreciate the tone you're taking, and we have more important things to do.”

“I assure you our problems are grander than yours.”

“Not likely. A Blight threatens the land, and I've come to make sure the Mages honor the Grey Warden alliance treaties, and because the Templars are sworn to protect the mages, it is also your duty to follow them into service,” Alistair told him.

“I repeat, we have trouble here as it is. There are few of us left, and we have no idea if any of the mages are even alive,” Greagoir said.

“Carroll mentioned abominations.” Tess said. “Not even I can cause this much trouble. You will ruin the balance, then refuse to help set something right?”

“Senior Enchanter Uldred arrived a week after that horrible battle at Ostagar, and things have gone downhill since. At first we thought he was helping us root out blood mages, but then people died, and abominations burst through the doors. The ones who survived long enough to bleed out in front of us said Uldred was behind it all,” the Knight-Commander explained.

Lines of caution hardened Tess' face. “Uldred supports Loghain.” Code for _Uldred dies_. Alistair watched her march off toward the interior doors.

“Shale?” Alistair turned his head to look at the stone golem.

“Is it allowing me to crush heads now?” Shale almost sounded eager.

“No! There will be no crushing! Everyone out!” but Greagoir's voice was interrupted by a great crash. Tess kicked the door, breaking only the wooden planks that barricaded the hall into the apprentice ward.

“Yes, Shale, that's exactly what I'm saying,” Alistair told the moving rocks. “And it looks like Tess may need help with the door,” he encouraged. If Tess believed this Uldred helped Loghain, then Uldred must die; one more part of her past to erase, one more slot of her future left wide open for Alistair to inhabit. Not to mention rid a blood mage powerful enough to turn an entire Circle into abominations. He drew his sword and followed Shale, Zevran trailing after.

Greagoir cried out as Shale beat open the double-stone doors with two heavy punches. “You are not allowed in there!” he stormed after their little party.

“I do not think the Wardens or the giant rock person care where they are not allowed,” Zevran said pleasantly.

“And I don't care if anyone's a Grey Warden! This is still my tower, and I will not let you risk infesting what we have left by letting in abominations!” Greagoir drew his sword; Alistair didn't see it, but he heard the slick ring of metal gliding fast against leather followed by the press of a cool, sharpened tip to the back of his neck. "You and your party leave will immediately, or I will brand you a threat and slay you here!”

Alistair slowly turned, not realizing Zevran wasn't next to him anymore until a mop of golden hair and large ears appeared at the crook of Greagoir's neck from behind. The elf had a dagger wedged under Greagoir's jaw, the other dagger poking the gap in metal at the seam of the armpit. “Tsk tsk. I do not think you understood any of us before. This is a shame. Tell me, do you know what happens if I cut you here?” Zevran gave a twist of the dagger under the arm, however sly enough to not pierce the skin. “There is a large artery, and when it is cut, the blood flees from your body like it is a desperate ex-lover caught in betrayal. At first, you simply lose feeling in your arm, then down to your elbow, and before you know it you cannot hold that sword. And then you will simply bleed to death. I promise you I can drain you faster than you can cut my friend, here.” Alistair stood impressed as the Knight-Commander lowered his sword. “Very good.” Zevran released his daggers from the Templar's body and stepped away. “It seems you will be of most help if you wait out there by the door, yes?”

Alistair met the elf's eyes as Greagoir turned and left with a scowl. “Is there really an artery there?” he asked, not quite wanting to give Zevran full victory yet.

“ _Yes_ , of _course_ there is. How _else_ would I know about it? Do you want to see it? Big Templar-man, wait!” Zevran called after Greagoir. Alistair let himself smirk.

 _“Thank_ you, Zevran.” Alistair and the elf followed the voice to see Tess with her bow ready, an arrow now resting casually on a pointed finger.

“My pleasure, I assure you.” Zevran gave a slight bow.

“So, it is a bird that sneaks up on things with sharp objects?” Shale asked Zevran in suspicion.

“Hm? Oh! A Crow! Yes, in fact our illustrious leaders are a rare example that I am _normally_ quite good at killing.”

“Hmph. I find this suspicious and offensive.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Zevran told Shale.

Alistair smirked as he met up with Tess. “I think they are starting to get along,” he joked. He brushed a kiss on her forehead and a loop on her left cheek. “I told you, you didn't forget how to use those.”

“I almost killed him.”

“I know you would have. I believe most men aren't lucky enough to have a woman who would kill for them.” he smiled for her, as they walked again. Alistair literally took five steps only to have another voice arrest their walk.

“Come no further!”

“Oh, great.” Tess immediately readied her bow.

“Wait, Tess -” Alistair pushed her bow down gently. “Wynne?” he stepped forward.

“Stop right there!” old woman commanded. “Grey Warden or not, I will strike you down where you stand!”

“Wynne, calm down. We're not here to fight you,” Alistair told her.

“I don't believe that. You destroyed that door -”

“Actually, _I_ destroyed that door,” Shale interrupted. “The squishy Warden couldn't manage.”

“It doesn't matter who did! You still broke through the door and held the Knight-Commander at knife-point! And _she_ is here. None of you can be trusted!” the elderly female mage said.

“Please just let me kill one of them,” Tess said.

“What exactly did you do while you were here?” Alistair glanced from her to Wynne.

“I was trying to find a way to...  _fix_ myself... down there. I may or may not have stolen their information on a Tevinter Magister who gained attention researching Time-Travel magic."

“Oh. _Oh!”_ he remembered Ostagar. “Right after your Joining! When you were drunk, you mentioned time-travel magic! Did you _find_ anything?” Alistair was more curious than he was worried an experienced mage might zap him.

“Enough!” Wynne said. “Why are you here?”

 _“He_ is here for Treaties, _I_ am here to kill someone,” Tess said.

Wynne lowered her arms. “You're here for Uldred, then?”

“And others, if needed. It sounds like it's needed.”

“No!” Wynne's frown returned and she raised her arms again. “You will leave this tower! I won't let you through!” her voice escalated, “You have already done enough damage to this Circle while you were here, I will _not_ let you-”

“That is _enough_ , Wynne!” Alistair raised his voice. “I don't care who you are, you do _not_ yell at her! Lower your arms!” He ordered. He could feel Tess watch him.

“That will not happen!” Wynne's hands ignited, her staff absorbing the flames like an extended limb.

“Don't even think about,” he said darkly. “I will Smite you until you have no strength left to stand.” He sort of wished he'd brought Morrigan along, now. He may need lyrium just to keep the mages off Tess.

“This is what she did to you, I see.” Wynne glared at Tess, who kept her bow lowered as Alistair had told her. “You used to be a reasonable person, Alistair. A little careless, but at least you followed rules. You were not here when she was, you didn't see what she did to us! She cannot be trusted! She will kill _any_ survivors even if they're innocent!”

“This is exactly the point I was trying to make!” Greagoir's voice sounded as heavy armor clanked back their way.

“Shall I?” Zevran pulled out his daggers again. “I can show you how that artery bleeds, now.”

“I believe it is _my_ turn to kill something,” Shale argued.

“Not now, you two.” Alistair said, and looked from the Knight-Commander to Wynne.

“We don't have the numbers to defend the rest of the tower! There are important documents and artifacts in the basement, as well as the First Enchanter's study, and if we let someone like Little Miss Nobility run amock, we will lose everything!” Greagoir stood where he could see both Tess and Alistair.

“We don't care about any artifacts right now. There is a Blight going on, in case you have both forgotten.” Alistair reminded. His body was tightening in reaction to Tess tensing next to him.

“Then there is no need for you to be here!” Wynne said. “The last time this girl was here, we lost six apprentices! If we let her loose, we will lose even more mages! There could still be survivors! I can't let you pass knowing she won't hesitate to kill the last of us!”

“If the First Enchanter still lives, this woman can't be allowed. He's the only who can restore order to any possible surviving mages!” Greagoir added.

“If there are abominations running around, then there is no possible restoration,” Tess interjected. “Only _mages_ can create abominations! I personally mean to kill Uldred, but abominations must be stopped, whether they look like your apprentices or not.”

“You will not!” Wynne's flames grew.

“Lower your hands, Wynne! We are not aiming for you. _She_ is not aiming for you.” Alistair defended his woman.

“We will remove you if you don't remove yourselves.” Greagoir drew his sword.

“ _Now_ can we interfere?” Zevran asked. “Shale really wishes to smash something.”

“The plucked bird is right. I can remove this entire obstacle with a good pounding,” Shale agreed.

“No one gets past me!” Wynne was firm.

“You don't have a choice! You have no tower left! If you let this spill over into the entry, then abominations working for the man who arranged the death of King Cailan will break loose on Ferelden,” Tess said. “Sooner or later, they will overpower the only resistance that can _actually stop_ this Blight! That is Alistair and myself. You don't get to decide that our actions here won't help us do our job!”

“You will kill every innocent mage who is unlucky enough to stumble in your path!” Wynne predicted. "I can't let you!"

“And every Templar still possibly alive up there!” Greagoir added.

“ _Enough!”_ Alistair bellowed. _“That is enough!_ The two of you will lower your weapons – your _hands_ , Wynne! _Put out_ _your hands_ , or I will let the golem smash everyone in this room to jelly! _None_ of you are in _any_ position to insult the one person who wants to do you a _favor!_ And I will _not_ stand here and accept revilement toward my wife! Keep in mind I will remember your next actions when I take the throne! Your next steps and words are _vital_ to whether this tower remains standing when I am your King!” he glared in his tirade “If I cannot rely on your cooperation as a Grey Warden, then I will have no use for either order when I make all the rules! _Have I made myself clear?”_ His pulse raced so fast he could feel the veins in and around his eyes. He heard his own heartbeat; and another heartbeat, a rhythm that didn't match up with his. Pulsing that continued even as his echoes faded. Only then did he notice how loud his voice had been. He looked down to find Tess frozen, his only indication of her fright were the glistening tears that threatened to jump from her eyes. He inhaled and took her hand. “I am not mad at you,” he told her gently, massaging tender circles. He traced a light rune on her face. _It's okay. I love you._ She nodded through a deep breath. He pulled her in closer, observing the small group of mages led by Wynne and the seasoned Templar. Half the surviving mages were children barely old enough to dress themselves; they, too, looked frightened by Alistair's yelling.

“So... we are _not_ killing anyone after all?” Zevran asked. Shale sighed in disappointment.

“Your threats have no power here yet, Grey Warden,” Greagoir said.

“And you will have no power at all if you don't let us pass. How many abominations do you suppose there are?” Alistair asked.

“Worst case scenario, if every mage is turned… everyone.”

“Many are dead,” Wynne said, “but neither threats nor birthright will allow you pass. I won't risk you killing off innocent survivors!”

“If you let us kill Uldred, your tower is returned to you. Do you not understand that?” Alistair looked at both. “This is your home, and you're just letting it crumble because you're afraid of one woman who has _nothing_ to do with the present catastrophe! This is not what Templars represent! Templars are in place to protect mages, not only from themselves, but other dangers that threaten the safety of the entire Circle. Let us through, or we leave and you'll be lucky to survive another day out in this hall.”

“Not a chance. Your treaty calls for mandatory cooperation of battle aid, not the invasion of our home.”

Alistair looked down. Tess watched him earnestly while he thought. “I think it is time to fetch your witch,” he told her softly. Her eyes searched quicker, silently questioning. “Shale and Zevran, stay here and guard the front door. We will be back shortly.”

The two hurried from the tower, startling the testy Templar in the boat to row them back across. Tess held Alistair's gaze the whole ride, not even protesting when he laid down rules for Morrigan: _do as you're told, when you're told._ However, worry bloomed all over Tess' face. Alistair silently agreed Morrigan looked a disaster. Tess met his eyes. Before she could ask, he caved, allowing her to attend to her witch. Despite not trusting mages, Morrigan had captured Tess' heart. So, Alistair patiently waited while Tess gave her witch a quick wash and a change of clothes.

By the time they arrived back at the tower, almost two hours had passed. Shale complained of immobilization. Zevran suspected the Knight-Commander of preferring men because _he keeps riding my backside like a rabbit in spring_. Alistair led Tess led and Morrigan straight to the hall where Wynne and the children lingered.

“Morrigan, remove this barrier,” Alistair said, gesturing to the shimmering wall of magic between them and the next hall.

“You are not getting through, Alistair. Grey Warden or not, I cannot let you, not with her. If she stays, then _you_ alone may go.” Wynne readied herself again.

Before Alistair could speak, Tess aimed at Wynne, the bow taut and ready to fire. “That would _kill_ him.” Alistair felt his chest puff up as his bones accommodated his swelling heart. He was always ready to kill for her; she was finally ready to kill for him.

“If you shoot her, I will melt your skin,” another female mage declared, sparking up her hands with violet lightning. Alistair unsheathed his sword, but he was not the only one to stand between Tess and the mages. Morrigan and Zevran stepped up.

“'Tis not a wise path if this is all that remains of your Circle,” Morrigan told the mages.

“You will not take her up there! You did not see her destruction, Alistair! She will obliterate all that is left of us!" Wynne's confidence seemed on its last leg.

“If there are abominations in this tower, sending Tesslyn would be a favor,” Morrigan insisted.

“The _Templars_ will only be kind enough to apply the _Rite of Annulment_. That's _worse_ than death, _right,_ Wynne?” Alistair groaned, impatient and beyond irritated with this place. “Morrigan, I freed you for a reason. Take care of it.” Morrigan scoffed, though after a glare his way, the witch stepped toward magical barrier.

“Don't you dare!” Wynne interrupted.

“Then take it down yourself. We have _business_ with the mages, which means we need to _first_  stop Uldred.  _Let us through,_ that is the _last_ time I will say it!” Alistair told Wynne. Then a thought struck him. “You could always join us, Wynne.” Tess groaned. “We will need a healer up there. Besides, Morrigan needs lessons on healing.”

“Oh, first it's _Morrigan's plenty capable of counteracting a magical barrier,_ and now we are back to _What good is Morrigan?”_ Morrigan scoffed again.

“You will learn healing spells, Morrigan. You can't afford not to, right now. These mages will lower their hands or Shale will crush them all, and then Wynne will unlock her pretty magical door and join us.” He was speaking to both Wynne and Morrigan, however only looking at the old woman. “Right, Wynne? That way you can make sure everyone who _can_ be saved _is_ saved. That's why you will let us through, even Tess.”

It wasn't until Shale stepped up, feet heavier than normal, that Wynne agreed. She persuaded the other mages to stay with the children, and she took Morrigan to a corner. Alistair kept an eye on the two of them while he drank from his water-skin.

“I don't like her,” Tess said quietly. He looked at his woman before pulling her in.

“I know you don't.” He brought the water-skin to her lips and tipped it for her. “But she is a strong healer, and she can teach Morrigan to heal. Morrigan likes you, she will heal you. And Wynne will use defensive magic for you if she thinks the alternative is letting you go crazy.” He leaned back against the wall. “Were you really going to shoot her?” he mused.

She frowned. “I don't like her at all. You don't tell people to go face a whole tower of abominations alone unless you want them dead.” He smiled for her, and after setting the water-skin away, he danced his fingertips on her cheek. She closed her eyes and breathed wholly. “They can't live, Alistair. Anything that survives with abominations can't live.”

“There may be people fighting still,” he whispered just for her to hear. “We need numbers.”

“I'd rather take the Templars,” she said.

“As would I. Unpredictable mages make me uneasy,” Alistair told her.

Tess gestured off toward Wynne. “All mages are unpredictable.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, though thinking more of Morrigan.

“So why aren't we killing them?” she queried like it should be an obvious answer.

“Together, the Templars and Mages will be a decent force.”

“ _If_ there are any left. What about blood mages?” Tess was determined to convince him to let her kill something.

“They can die,” he agreed. He took notice of Wynne and Morrigan approaching. “What is the problem?” he asked the two mages. “You are supposed to be learning _nice_ _magic_ , Morrigan.”

“She has it down, she needs no more training. Basic healing spells are taught very early on to our youngest.You _do realize_ I had this barrier up for a _reason_ , right?” Wynne said.

“To keep bad stuff out,” he said wryly. “There are a good few of us, I assure you we can handle it. I'm honestly surprised what's left of _you_ , Templars included, didn't send the children across the lake to the inn and come back here to clear the tower. That's the most logical solution,” Alistair told her.

“There are more than a _few_ abominations, I assure you,” Wynne shot back.

“You worry too much, dear lady. Do not fear, our Grey Wardens are very good at fending off attackers. Speaking from experience, here,” Zevran said.

“Very well.” Wynne hesitated, then raised her hands toward the magical barrier. As soon as each shimmer of the barrier lifted, rolling odors of burning wood, melted candle wax, and infected, rotting flesh invaded the hall; one child vomited without pause. Alistair rushed his party into the next hall and, through a cough, ordered his mages to re-seal the room. Magic shimmered and lit up the hall as Wynne and Morrigan erected another barrier together. Wynne said there was nothing she could do about the smell.

They stepped over two dead Templars to get through to the next hall. They had no time to hesitate in the library, one abomination after another joined while they were still fighting the first encounter. Grotesque distortions of men fused with cloth, swollen flesh protruded, making them tower over everyone but Shale. As they fought between burning books, Tess cursed at Wynne, scolding her for letting the library fall; Zevran took the moment to ask if anyone would miss a book on poisons. Almost as soon as they destroyed the abominations, a flaming demon and more cursed monstrosities attacked from the other end of the library. Like an enormous pit of of cooling lava heightened by a tornado with arms and a head, it left a trail of flames. Crossing the floor set carpet aflame, igniting piles of text, exaggerating the heat if battle. Tess yelled at Morrigan to _freeze the damn thing before it burns all the books._  She sighed against a bookcase when the fight was over, ignoring Wynne's complaint of misguided priorities.

"It whines too much. I prefer the inanimate, noiseless books by far. Why _wouldn't_ it want the books safe and people dead? Can I crush it now?" Shale asked. Considering the state of the tower, Alistair agreed wholly. At least books couldn't summon demons. 

The abominations didn't seem to end. They had to fight another handful just to reach the stairs. As far as Alistair knew, only mages could become abominations. Dead Templars already littered the floor. This wasn't looking good at all. Alistair wondered if there would even be anybody left to invoke the Treaty upon.

There was a Tranquil mage on the second floor. Owain, Wynne addressed him. The look on Owain's face was eerily reminiscent of when Tess was coming out of her withdrawal. He told them he'd tried to escape but encountrred the magical barrier, so he returned to the spot he was most familiar with. Quicker than Alistair could blink, Tess tensed up beside him and spun, backhanding the elderly mage.

“You insisted _I_ would kill everyone! _I_ would have helped _him!_ I would have helped anybody who actually _needed_ help!” She didn't stop ranting even when Alistair held her back by the elbows to keep her from smashing their best source of healing. “But _you_ have no problem locking the helpless out! First you don't properly train him so he agrees to Tranquility because thinks the only safe place is hiding in an empty mind! _You don't know what it's like!”_ like she was warring inside to scream or not, struggling so hard to free herself that Alistair had a hard time holding on. “You don't know what it's like to be lost inside yourself and not be able to get out! To be unable to _scream for help!_ _But I do! And you locked him out!_ The one person actually _worth_ saving in a tower full of abominable blood mages!” She lurched forward so hard it almost pulled them to the ground. As soon as Alistair regained his footing, he picked her up and moved her into a corner, blocking her view of anyone else. “She deserves it!” she said defiantly, not looking at him.

He pressed into her, holding her right hand to his chest to caress spirals. “I understand that, but right now, we have bigger problems than one hypocritical old mage. Right?” he tilted her head by her chin, and she met his eyes. “You're absolutely right, I'm not disagreeing with you. But I need you to stay focused right now. Yes?” he told her gently. He traced a loose rune over her cheek, searching her eyes.

“All right,” she agreed quietly.

“Thank you. I know this is hard for you, and for that I'm sorry. But it looks like there will be plenty for you to kill without our most reliable healer fading out of the picture.” he paused, and let out a tiny chuckle. He didn't even have to explain, _Get it? Because mages go to the Fade,_ for Tess to groan a sigh, _that is a terrible joke._ Alistair couldn't help grinning. He glanced back. Zevran was trying to calmly explain something while Morrigan and Wynne bickered, then the elf shook his head and backed away with a gesture for Shale to step in.

“There's no guarantee she'll heal us if we get hit, Alistair. She'd rather kill you just to warrant a chance to _try_ to kill _me_.”

“Hey.” He moved her head up again so she would look at him. “That's not happening.”

“The only guarantee we have right now is that if we kill _everything._ _Then_ the problem ends.” She made a good point. But they would not make _any_ progress with a domestic fight between her and the old woman when Tess was so worked up.

“Do you remember what this is?” he asked her, tapping her right hand before marking it again. She nodded. "What? What does it mean?”

“You're here. You have me. I don't have to... to worry.” her chest rose and fell in a deep sigh.

“That's right,” he praised softly.

“If I had known it was this bad, I never would have come in here,” she whispered.

“I have you,” he echoed her. “I won't let anything hurt you. I promise.”

A new rule had to be established: no one talks to each other unless someone needs assistance or healing. Mostly, this seemed to work. Scouting the tower was quiet between them otherwise, aside from the occasional remark of humor from Zevran or Shale complaining of people disgustingly reminding it of pigeons, which Alistair let slide because it loosened some of the tension.

They came upon blood mages, which Alistair let Tess kill without questioning, and surprisingly Wynne agreed. Abominations and undead littered the other floors, along with living Templars who had been possessed by desire demons and more blood mages. Alistair's concern of finding capable bodies to call to the Treaty increased the further they climbed the tower. They had to kill every one of them because killing just the demons or the blood mages did not release the Templars at all.

The only Templar that hadn't been hostile was possessed anyway, however the desire demon that held him was shockingly domestic; the man wanted a family and the desire demon provided one from inside the Templar's mind. Alistair had to persuade Tess to let the demon take the Templar, for if not, they'd have to fight two additional, powerful beings, plus... if given the chance to live in peace with the woman he loved for the rest of his life; _Tess seemed oblivious to his stares and contemplation;_ Alistair was positive he would take the offer. Tess herself was the reason he let the demon take the Templar.

When they entered the fourth floor, where the Templars slept, all but Shale grew nauseous. Bleeding raw flesh grafted on to the walls and to pikes at makeshift altars, almost bubbling up from seams in the walls like pus-filled boils deep under a surface wound. The Senior Mage quarters below didn't have nearly this amount.

“I shall the crirical one, here, and point out its failure, shriveled mage,” Shale said, “It seems this where all its wrinkle-less youth pigeons and pigeon-cages have scuttled off to.”

“Maybe you don't notice the stench, but please don't make conversation until we are out in fresh air,” Wynne said.

“I am not trying to make conversation. I am simply pointing out its failure,” Shale stated.

Despite lack of breathable air, they still had to fight. The sleeping areas were overrun with more possessed Templars, led by one last desire demon. Alistair silently thanked the Maker for his Templar training, for he had so far been able to predict and deflect incoming blows and knew where to swing his sword. It seemed Tess at least still remembered where to stick her daggers.

“For having once convinced the Chantry and Circle you were a Templar, you have none of the abilities,” Wynne criticized Tess.

“Wynne, _do not,”_ Alistair warned. He wiped blood off his gloves to open the water-skin.

“I'm only pointing out the obvious. Apparently that is what all of you do best.”

Tess rolled her eyes. “Okay -” Alistair cut her off with a drink. “- what if I _say_ she was blood mage?” she asked Alistair.

“We will see,” he muttered to her.

“I used to sleep over there,” she pointed to the opposite corner when she turned. “This was the womens room then.”

“It was the mens when I left.” He pointed not far from where she did. "That was was mine." His old bed was still there, though splattered with blood between overgrown flesh pods. “Can you imagine if we'd been here together? I would've kept you up all night,” he teased. The hesitation on her face and the slight twitch of her eye held all the reaction he needed. He giggled and leaned down to kiss near her mouth. “Can I see you in a Templar gown one day?” he breathed.

“ _Oookay!”_ she said through a laugh. “Somebody is getting delirious from all these wonderful smells.” Alistair brushed his lips again and pulled back with a grin. “Did you drink one of Morrigan's potions?” she whispered. He laughed while Morrigan grumbled in disgust.

“This is pointless,” Wynne said. “Can we just finish this? Uldred should be up top. The door is through the next room.”

“I agree. I am already nauseated as it is,” Morrigan insisted. She pressed the door open and froze, then readied her staff. Alistair rushed forward to find a single abomination standing over the body of a gaunt mage.

“Oh, look, visitors. I'd entertain you, but... too much effort is involved,” the abomination said.

“Be gone, foul beast!” Morrigan sent out a jolt of ice, but the abomination deflected it with a lazy wave.

“Beast? Such manners!” it gave a rather effortless scoff.

“If you were looking to hand out thanks, I think we've earned it. Got rid of the noisy neighbors for you.” Tess had her bow ready between Alistair and Morrigan.

“Who is that? Niall!” Wynne gasped. “What have you done with him?” she, too, readied her staff.

“Please. We're all friends. Why so much angst? He's just resting, see? Poor lad,” the abomination looked down upon the still mage. “He was only tired. So very, very weary.” It returned its gaze to them. “You want to join us, don't you? I can tell you've had a long day. A nice nap would do you all some good. You look like you could just lay down and... forget about this place. Sounds nice and quiet, doesn't it? Wouldn't you like to leave it all behind?” A swirling of pearly gold streamed out in wispy ribbons from within the abomination's body. Alistair instantly felt drowsy, like he hadn't slept in days. The demon-abomination thing was right, he needed a nap.

“Frozen again. Lovely,” Shale said.

“What?!” Tess cried out.

“No..if you think you can... make me lie amongst blood and... gore, you are... mistaken...” Morrigan swayed a bit. Alistair felt himself sway, too. What was going on?

“My head...” Zevran murmured, “I do not appreciate being... forced into participation..for the... right price, I would agree...”

Alistair reached out for Tess. His hand brushed something, but he wasn't sure what. He tried to say her name, but from within his own head it sounded like drunken slurring. “Don't... Tess...” _What was going on?_ He _felt_ drunk, like he'd drown himself in liquor, bathing in it. Everything blurred around him and every time he moved his head, he felt like he was falling. He tried to say her name once more, tried to tell her to run. Dizziness embraced him fully, and in a whirl of smeared colors, he felt himself fall.

 


	26. Lost in the Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tess endures the Fade alone, battling symptoms of withdrawal and memories she regrets as she tries to find Alistair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING*** Recall of inflicting harm upon others. Substance use/withdrawal.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Beyond the Veil, by Lindsey Stirling](https://youtu.be/Qg7L0OQiN78)  
> [ Shatter Me, by Lindsey Stirling ft Lizzy Hale](https://youtu.be/49tpIMDy9BE)

_Tess:_

_Drunk. Feels like drunk. Different, like drunk and something. Can feel its nose. Nose is fuzzy, like fresh mold sprouting. Can't step. Eyes are drunk. Whole room spins. What's that? Can't see when it's busy. Colors. Head doesn't like colors. Colors busy, too. Blurry like spilled paint in rain. Can't see. Nose is drunk. Or maybe ears? Can't hear with ears. Must be eyes, then. Why? What is sound? Teeth? Teeth drunk, too. Dancing teeth. No. Stomp? Is that feet? What is it? It feels of hymns and resolve. It calls like breath underwater. Where? Turn head. Head spins heavy. Look, lights. Feet move. Feet? Yes, it has feet. Singing feet that go to the lights. Tries to drink, but font is not font. Mirror? Remembering faces. Honey? Honey like bees. Glowing coals. Mirror-font makes faces talk._

_Something sings. Where is it? Song knows. Is it Home? Sings sweet. Feet move to song. Fall to song. Blue. Bright blue. Fire? Cold fire. Home fire. Hearth that sings. Fire bed songs? Tries to grab it. Falls. Hard thing on face, then hand._

_Burning! It burns! Like smashed fire rocks! It exploded, the blue fire exploded and...breath. Cool air, like mountain mornings. Like a fresh breeze on my face. Maker, I can breathe! Was I not before? I just want to rest. It feels like I've been running for weeks. It's light. Even when I close my eyes it's still light. But I can breathe, now. My bones don't even hurt anymore._

_I still feel...hazy. My hands...these are_ my _hands? It's like I'm not really here. Where is my definition? My hands look like a charcoal sketch downed by smudge. Do you hear that? What is that ringing? Somebody's whistling? No, it's this. What is this? It's beautiful, and it makes me gasp when I touch it. It's like static, like when the clothes' line was struck by lightning and I ran through the waving bloomers the next day. Static that burns, though. I can feel it seep in through my fingertip like bleeding dye. My chest feels lighter as it circulates behind my ribs, it makes me sigh. Lyrium. My oldest friend and darkest foe._

 _Alistair is_ not _going to like this._

_I look around. Where...where is Alistair? Shale? Morrigan, even? It feels like I'm stepping on cotton, though it's...I think...hard ground beneath my feet. Worn, paved rocks make up the walking path. Pillars, great columns connected by vast arches high above, time-worn paintings on the ceiling. Where am I?_

“ _Ah, there you are!” he says warmly. Who is he? I turn to find a man wearing...isn't that Alistair's old armor? There are two other men, also wearing Alistair's old armor; why are there so many? My feet move in his direction. I don't know where else to go. “I was wondering when you'd be about. You seem to be getting around by yourself just fine. How are you enjoying Weisshaupt?”_

“ _Weisshaupt?” I repeat. Weisshaupt. Where have I heard that? Alistair? Gryphons! I feel my eyes widen. Grey Wardens! “I'm in Weisshaupt?” I look around. The pillars – carvings at the base, gryphons! And on the faded ceiling painting too! Where is Alistair? He would love this._

_The man chuckles. “Yes, Weisshaupt. I know it's not as grand as the old tales tell. It is an ancient fortress. But it is stable, and you will be safe here.” Duncan. The voice is Duncan. I don't remember him well, but the voice fits, I suppose._

“ _Duncan?”_

_He laughs again, his smile warm and comfortable. He remembers me, it seems. “I suppose I should be glad you still know my name. Many recruits are often so upset they tend to brush me off after their Joining. How do you feel? You took a fever after the battle. I'm surprised you're on your feet.”_

“ _Battle?” I don't remember a battle. No, wait. I do...mages. Abominations. The thought shoots a shiver down my spine. “The Circle,” I say. “Has it really been that long?”_

“ _The Circle?” he laughs yet again. “No, no, dear girl. I'm talking about Ostagar. You and your faithful hound made it out alive! According to the Teyrn's men, you took an arrow to the shoulder; this was the culprit behind your fever, I'm afraid. Thank goodness the tower of Ishal was safe inside! But, you performed your duties better than planned, considering they were, ah, quite dull, which I do apologize for. In most cases, you'd normally be required to fight down with the bulk of us. But you lit the beacon, and Teyrn Loghain's -” this name pinches me from deep inside. Why? “-army charged in. If it had not been for you, we'd never have defeated them all!”_

“ _Who is Teyrn Loghain?” it nearly burns just rolling over my tongue. Why do I know this name?_

“ _Oh? My apologies, my Lady. I assumed since your father is also a Teyrn, you must know each other.”_

 _This can't be right._ How-  _comes to mind. A hook nose and shifting eyes. A man constantly growling under his breath like a bear. Blood in the dark and under the moons. The Bear! The crest of Rendon Howe! “No, my father is dead.” Images flash into my mind like a deck of cards shuffling backwards into the pile. Dairren, sweet Dairren...opened the door and greeted with an arrow. Po killed them while I found my weapons. I can still remember the unbound chaos of my bosoms as I drove my dagger into the neck of the one who reached for his sword even upon death. “No, there was blood. My family is no more. My father was...” my words trail into nothing as I search Duncan's eyes. “You were there. You know father died. Why do you say this? Where is Alistair?” I look around again, crossing the stone stage that looks too much like where I met the boy with amber eyes. Sweet freckles. He is not outside of the windows. No one is outside the windows. “Where is Alistair?” I repeat myself._

“ _I'm not sure who Alistair is, child. Is he one of the Teyrn's men, perhaps? Or a mage?” I can't tell if Duncan is sincere and simply confused on how to break an awful truth, or if he is playing me like a pawn...which makes me consider, could this all just be a game? Am I in a game? I look around again, follow the seams of the stone tiles, I count the pillars. No, there are only six pillars. Chess has more than six pawns right? Or are these meant to be castles just poorly sculpted? No, too many._

“ _Alistair! Son of Maric!” I feel the lyrium song boil slowly up out of my bones. “Ginger, freckles, tall, lone – a lonely boy.” This makes my eyes wet and blurs my vision. “He doesn't deserve me. He needs better than me...” Have I failed him? Did I let him down – again?_

“ _I think you are confused, child. I'm terribly sorry, but I don't know any Alistair.”_

“ _Cailan's brother. He said you were like a father to him. Where is he?” I step swiftly back to to Duncan. “Please tell me. I don't care about anything else – that there are no other people here at all. Just please tell me where he is!” I beg, “I owe him my life so many times over! Please?”_

_Duncan frowns at me. “Why must you mutter hallucinations?”_

“ _He is_ not _a dream! He is_ real! _Why can't I see him?”_

“ _You can't just be happy with victory? Why must you contend war? You_ always _create war wherever you go. That is your history, Tesslyn. Great Lady-Who-Kills-Her-Friends. Destroyer of Lives. Deceiver of Fools; fools like Alistair. Darkness Amongst Beauty. A Thorn Amongst Roses.”_

_Alistair's rose? The rose on my dagger? He'd said a thorn bit him...that was me?_

“ _Do you not remember_ why _you were given to the Grey Wardens? Your father could not contain you. All the nobles in Ferelden learned of your sloppy secrets. Killing nobles? Tsk tsk. It's obvious, is it not? Your father paid for your recruitment.”_

“ _No.” I shake my head. “This not true! Father did not want me to leave! He gave you Ser Gilmore instead! And Howe's men – they killed father, and mother and Oren! They got my Nan! And now you...this is_ not _real._ You _are not real!” it comes out before I even realize I already knew it, all along._

Duncan _unleashes a sword before I can reach for my blades, and my feet stumble when I try to back up. Pain doesn't ensue like I expect it to when I hit the ground, nor does it have temperature. There is no gush of wind as his sword slams down when I roll away, not even a spark or clank. I jerk my bow off my back, but I don't have time to set an arrow. Duncan swings again, sideways this time, forcing me to jump away. Clear, smoking vines shoot past me without noise, no shattering when they hit the stone wall, the same to an arrow that is not mine. The two Wardens are attacking!_

_Duncan lifts his arms above his head, so I raise my knee to shove my foot at his middle. He doubles over, giving me time to pull an arrow back into position toward the mage. I almost hear Alistair's voice scold me as I stare at what was the mage just a moment ago – he evaporated, like fog; where in oblivion am I??? - pain without pressure greets me as an arrow strikes clear through my arm. I curse, no time to cry out as Duncan swings again. I sprint, but there is nowhere to hide._

_Maker, help me! I haven't been in a fight by myself for so long. Where is my pup? Oh...I've left him with the dwarves. Then where is Alistair? I could use a shield right now!_

_I pull another arrow as I close in on the other end of the stage, and I steady it as I spin. Duncan comes charging with his hands up at a shoulder to balance the weight of the greatsword. Another arrow flies by; the archer must go. I release my arrow, only to have it vanish in a puff of winding colors with the Warden. Duncan crashes into the wall when I dash toward the ramp. I spin again and shoot, three more in fact, each one silently flying straight. He finally falls with a fifth arrow._

_Dammit. I fall back against a pillar and slide down. I look at the arrow in my arm. And look. There is no blood. Pain, yes, Maker it hurts worse than...no, compared to that dwarven Quick Heal stuff, this is just a pinch. It hurts like a pinch, then. I reach over while I press my arm flat against the stone with no temperature. I take a deep breath, though not sure how possible. Grab the arrow and bend. Breaks with no sound, but arm flares hot._

_Oh no. Can feel slipping. Drip – no. No, drop. Dropping like drunk again. Fuzzy colors. Blue. Where is blue? Some bright, like day time. Head stuffed like pillow. Puffy head when turn. Where blue? Blue! Something moves. It moves? Blue moves. Blue glows. Mine. Thing moves, touches._

_Ahhh! Burning! Cold burn! Fire inside again. Breathing again. Deep breaths. It almost hurts breathe. Feel the strings inside move my lungs. They burn like when I first had dry lyrium. Trying to breathe makes my eyes leak. I fall back against the wall near the twisted horn of pulsing, glowing lyrium. It hurts too bad to move right now. I remember this pain, this is every time I have to take lyrium; it always hurts when the last gets used up, and it always burns to take it again. Alistair has made it better these last few times._

_I catch myself rubbing circles on my right had with my own thumb. Alistair's mark. It doesn't work the same without him. Tears spill out like I'm tossing handfuls of rain. This. This is exactly what he's been trying to stop. Blubbering like a sloppy Antivan thief with only half his tongue cut out. Can't see where I'm going, can't take care of myself. I don't even know how to fight anymore. When have I ever gotten hit before?_

_I look down at my hands; I'm still drawing. It does nothing, but I hope it will. It's so different when he does it. His skin is like a healing spell against mine. I got hit with one once. It feels like the warmest blanket on a snowy night, like when hot, hard tea trickles down from a careful sip and blossoms everywhere. Like inside my chest is being cradled by the bubbling hot springs of Par Vollen. His skin does that to me. And when he makes his circles on my hand, or draws that rune on my face...it's like he's anchoring me right into a spell. I don't want to move, it feels that good. I have never felt that good before. He says it's his way to let me know he's here, but it's more than that. It's hypnotizing. I feel safe when he does it. It reminds me I'm home._

_Maker, and I_ hit _him! Water is raining from my eyes now. I hurt him, so many times! I hit him when he was trying to stop me from falling drunk within myself, and he never left!_ Why _doesn't he leave? Maker, what is_ wrong _with me? He's trying to fix me so I don't hit him again. I do not deserve him. I don't know why he doesn't just leave. He's so capable, he_ can _just leave, but he stays...for_ me? _I can't take care of myself anymore. I didn't want him to see I was losing it, so I hit him. Why would he want that? He's the only reason I'm alive right now, I know that, but I also know fear of dying is no excuse to hit someone like him. He's only trying to keep me alive._

_...am I alive? My hands shake as I wipe my eyes. I don't even know where I am. Alistair is definitely not here, so I know already this will not go well._

_There's a pedestal, now, where I'd first seen Duncan, or whatever shade of Duncan that was. How long has that been there? I take a deep breath and get to my feet; I try to remember to apologize to Alistair later. The pedestal looks like a birdbath, like the one in the Denerim palace gardens. It has a unique perch, though, maybe a rune? Alistair would know, he's good with this stuff. I reach over to touch it, but this is a bad idea. It pulls me in by my finger, like its sucking me down a drain pipe._

_The Fade. The blasted, unforgiving Fade. That's what the mouse calls it. He doesn't even listen when I say I'm not a mage. I shouldn't be here at all! My insides shrivel up when the mouse gives up on life. I become the Mouse. The sodding Mouse. He said it would help me sneak by demons, but it doesn't. They see me with every tiny step I take. Rage demons. Fiery and more fierce here than they were in the tower. I honestly have no idea how I get past them._

_This place is a labyrinth concocted by someone like Morrigan; holes so small I_ have  _to be the Mouse just to fit through, doors that mice can't open, doors that even humans can't open – doors made of fire. Maker's breath, this is_ such _a Morrigan thing! If I ever find out this whole thing was her doing, I will skin her and tan her hide in Denerim's market center so everyone can see, maybe tattoo my name on first. Boil her eyes; someone once told me those are actually tasty, but you can't cook them long or else they lose flavor and juice. The thought of eye juice makes me shiver, but if Morrigan set me up in this place, I will drink her fucking eye juice._

 _I am ready to be done with Darkspawn. There are far more than enough here. It's strange, though; here they don't make my veins buzz like they do outside the Fade. It's like a breeding pit, they just don't stop coming. These ones are tough, too, and very unkempt – blood stains all over the place? Unrefined, even for darkspawn. They even have a few mabari, darkspawn mabari; Barkspawn; I giggle at this because it ridiculously sounds like something Alistair would make up._ _There is a Templar here, rather the spirit of one. I have to become the Mouse simply to reach him. Like the mouse, he speaks unclear nonsense before allowing death to overcome him; the death of this spirit turns me into a wispy, gliding...creature? Spirit?...of some sort. I rather savor this. My body feels free for once, no pain in the core of my bones, no sore parts. I see things I couldn't before. I see doors now, where before in their same places I saw only pale shimmers of rainbows, if that._

_I find Morrigan next. I'm not quite sure how, but here she is after I touch the pedestal. I am so relieved to see something familiar that I rush up to her begging in humility._

“ _Please forgive me!”  My face is wet again. “I'm so sorry! I'll never eat your eyes! I promise! It wasn't real!”_

“ _What are you on about? Can't you see I have_ _bigger problems?” she gestures over, and I only then notice Flemeth._

_Flemeth?! I whip out my daggers and ready them. “Morrigan, no! Get back! This isn't real!”_

“ _Of course this isn't real! This is the Fade,” she sasses. Is she getting snappy with me?_

“ _You already know?”_

“ _Of course I do! I'm a mage, remember? All mages recognize the Fade. But enough about that! Don't you see I've bigger problems at hand?” she gestures to her mother again. Before I can ask why she is here with Flemeth, the old hag slaps my witch across the face. Just like I did once to Alistair._

_It feels like I'm attacking myself. Not physically, of course, it's all symbolic. Maker, I slash at her, though. Not that I will ever trust Flemeth, but I'd rather kill what she represents right now: the abuse I've unleashed on someone I've pledged to take care of._

_I don't even bother with my bow, even though I feel self start slipping. Try cut anyway. Hard hold daggers. Morrigan cries surprise when fall. Something sharp, something pain. Something wiggle and tick. Wet on mouth, more pat. Shake. Blue! See blue. Thing moves. Limb moves. Blue fire again. Blue burning! It hurts! Help!_

_Morrigan hovers when eyes focus. Does not look happy, but not mad either. “Alistair is going to tie me up again.”_

_Something splashes down when I sit. Tears, again. Even through breath, it burns. And I remember when Alistair tied her up. “Hopefully it stays here,” I say. “How did you know it's the Fade?”_

“ _I am a mage, Tesslyn. Did you truly forget? 'Tis been a whole blink of a moment since I cast a spell. I'm more curious how_ you _know 'tis the Fade?”_

 _I look around. I don't recognize this part from the places I've been already. “The Mouse told me. Then he...died, and now_ I'm _the mouse. Same with the Spirit man.”_

“ _Oh, you're a Spirit Mouse now. Of course you are.”_

“ _Have you seen Alistair?” I need to find him. I can't do this without him. I don't believe I'd need the lyrium if he was here._

“ _I'd truly be lying if I said I was looking for him,” she answers._

“ _Have you been here the whole time?”_

“ _You mean, have I been arguing with my mother the whole time? Indeed I have. Seems there is more than one demon at work here.” She hesitates. “Tesslyn, are you aware that you stabbed yourself?”_

“ _What?”_

“ _You fell on your dagger, just now.”_

_That must be what the new pain is from. I look down to my middle to see a clean slit in my armor. No blood still, but the cut is there, and so is the pain. “I got shot, too.” I groan. “I don't suppose my body is bleeding out right now? Or I'll bleed out when we wake up?”_

“ _I do not believe that is how the Fade works, in fact, the opposite.”_

“ _Oh? I'm regaining health, then, eh? At Qunari-speed, I suppose?”_

“ _Now you're absurdly sounding like Alistair!” she scoffs._

“ _All right, then. You're the Fade expert. What do we do? How do we get out?” I ask._

“ _As to that, I have no idea. 'Twas that abomination we encountered last, just past your old sleeping quarters.” She stands and reaches down, and I let her pull me up. “How did you come to be here? How did you find me?” she bends to grab my daggers from the strange ground, but as she holds them out to me, she shimmers. She offers a squint of alarm; something I have rarely seen from her._

“ _Morrigan?” My witch grows more transparent by the moment. “No! Stop! Where are you going?” She moves her mouth but nothing comes out. A last shimmer takes her, and my daggers, completely out of sight and sound. I scream for her, but only silence responds._

_Damn this Fade! It's taken Morrigan, it's taken my – Alistair. My chest drags my feet. He called me his wife. He told the old mage and the old Templar I am his wife. I stagger back toward the pedestal and ask myself if he feels that way. Is that how he sees me? Truly? Even though I'm hardly domesticated?_

_I touch the pedestal again. It takes me someplace completely new, now. It's on fire, literally. This entire next floor or neighborhood or whatever it is sodding called is completely engulfed with the exception of a few paths through the center of each hall. There are burning dogs here, even. I can sneak by the burning Templars as the Mouse, but not the dogs. Maker, I'm so glad Po isn't here to see this, my poor pup. This whole place seems like a great place for an ice mage like Morrigan to be, but I am not a mage. I don't even have ice-enchanted weapons!...but I can use magic as the Spirit. It's easier to breathe like this, as well. I honestly believe this is the first time I have ever thanked the Maker for magic. I find another Templar here; his is dreaming and I have to wake him, and then I sigh when he frees himself. I feel myself explode like crashing stars, and it's hard for my eyes to focus for a moment. Then I see only flame. There are shapes beyond the flame, of course, but it's as if my eyes are protected by combustion. Tiny flares instead of eyelashes, and they draw me toward waving shapes of fire. This burning body lets me walk through other fires! Though as learning the Spirit form allowed me to see other doors, I realize there is more ground of this Fade maze that I must cover, possibly before I'm allowed out. This means becoming Mouse again, and Spirit._

_Why would the Maker allow this to happen? I am not a mage! I'm not even supposed to be here! No one gains access to the Fade simply by taking lyrium, no matter how long, not even Templars who've taken it for twenty or more years. It simply doesn't happen! So_ why me?! _Is this to test my resolve?_ What _resolve? I'm not even sure I have one. I was already on a path to gather forces against the Blight. So why? What is my purpose here? I have… I have Alistair, but I don't have to do much else to make him King. He wants to make all the rules, now, because of me and what I've done to him._ Oh, Maker... _is this punishment, then? Not an accidental placing in the Fade, but a punishment. My last chance to do right by a single person, and I butchered the purity of it. I have no idea where I am, but I sink down against a wall and clutch at my chest. Am I really stuck here in the Fade because I tore out the heart of the King? This is not a resolve, then. The Maker provided a final offer of absolution and peace, and now I'm forced to dwell in the memory of my abuse. This is me involuntarily realizing my crimes against the Maker's innocent. Punishment in itself._

_Not even the Spirit removes the pain from my guilt. Oh, Alistair…_

_I decide that maybe –_ maybe – _if I can find him and make it right, perhaps I can leave. I hope. The plane I am transported to next is another nightmare in its own: mages. Mages fighting each other, to be precise. I am able to remain the Spirit for a moment, though not for long. There is a single string of fire between myself and the battling mages. I amaze myself and squeeze back down into Mouse as soon as I cross the flaming border, and I hide under a table until the mages demolish each other; how much time goes by for my body while I wait for this? I need to be strategic about this. The surviving mage is no struggle for the Spirit to overcome, however the next hall is full of powerful apprentices and even more mighty instructors. There is yet another dreaming person, a mage this time, and when he gives up his existence, I stretch and harden into...my hands are stone as I look upon them. Stone hands and arms, compiled of pebbles and rocks. My middle and also my legs and feet are made of stones, as well. I feel no different inside as I swing my arms, though my body itself reacts slower than I'm used to. There is a door I cannot unlock, but a single thrust of my stone fist creates a dent so hard that the warped metal door flies completely off the hinges. This reminds me of Shale opening the door in the tower lobby for me… sweet mother of Andraste! Am I a golem? I'm a golem! Where is Shale?_

_I find Shale. Though the familiar, cleverly-composed pile of rocks is standing as still as the statue I first found it in, I do find the golem, and I am ridiculous, like an excited child during Santinalia. Shale thinks I am only an illusion, though. Shale is frozen, but there are no people around; I can't tell if this is it's nightmare or a dream come true. I have to remain myself to convince Shale that this is the Fade, and even after it's no longer a statue, I've only just returned to my Golem form when Shale shimmers out of sight, just like Morrigan had._

_The old mage is the next person I find. I am starting to lose hope, and clarity. Lucky, though, find lyrium horn before I can't move. Crawling before realize I fall. Speaking somewhere. Condes...cond...mean talk. Hear rude speak. Blue glow sings more loud than talk. Burning! Bright glow burning! Hurts deeper this time. Feel it down inside my bones again, even though it lets me breathe. Wynne is still berating me when I am able to stand again. She accuses me of interrupting the death of her students, of making a joke of her attempt to mourn. I can't believe she doesn't recognize the Fade for what it is. Morrigan could, so why not Wynne? I tell her, too. I absolutely let this old mage know she is an idiot for refusing to see the absence of truth around her. I remind her that some of her precious mages were responsible for causing me to fall further into lyrium dependency, the ones who smuggled in deals from Orzammar via traders and secret packages. Mages were just as much a cause for my need to crawl to these musical lyrium veins like a hungry foal seeking its mother's teat, just as they are the cause of the trouble in the Tower. I remind her the Fade is a place for mages, and if she had anything to do with us all being trapped here, I will pound my fists into her face until her skull is a shattered mess, that I will coat my hands with her brains and paint a mural of this Fade maze on the back of her head bone. I even raise my hand to hit her._

_Alistair's face flashes before my eyes. He is the only reason I stop. I want nothing more than to see her scream before my hand shuts her up permanently, but Alistair is right there in my mind. If Wynne is even slightly willing to heal him, then I cannot destroy her. The lyrium boils from within as I lower my hand and step away. My legs stagger when I turn away. I return to the pedestal and the leave the old woman to her own prison. She can find her own way out._

_The pedestal takes me to a desire demon. Maker, I hate these things! I can't believe Alistair didn't let me kill that other one! These things are vile, they use the darkest recesses of the mind to hold in a prisoner, or the brightest dreams. They know how to manipulate the psyche in ways no living mortal can. I have faced a few physical manifestations before, once in Tevinter, and two others from the last time I was here at Kinloch Hold, not counting the ones I've seen today. This one is vicious, as I'm learning from this experience in the Fade that this is what unconstrained desire becomes; me and my actions._

_The other person I expect to recognize a ruse when they see it does not. Zevran's nightmare – or is it dream? The elf is still an unknown – has him strapped to a stretcher. He insists this is his Crow initiation. He doesn't trust me when I say this is the Fade, nor when I demonstrate I can become Mouse, Golem, Burning Man and Spirit when I am not a mage. I have to attack the other “elves” present for him to see he is being tricked by demons. He seems grateful enough when the last falls. He asks me where Alistair is, but he shimmers out in a fog before I can ask if he's seen him. This Fade is taking everything I have left from my mind._

_Oh, Maker, isn't that just what Alistair said to me after I had Morrigan cut my hair? This whole damned labyrinth is just one big arrow pointed right at me, hollowed out and filled with everything I've stolen from the one person who had already willingly offered all of himself._

 


	27. A Dreamy Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tess finds Alistair within the Fade, and in her dream they live how she thinks he wants them to. But her dream turns to a nightmare when the others find them to seek a way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW; oral and marital sex. 
> 
> WARNING: Possible trigger for Rape victims; reminiscing of physical torture via vaginal poisoning. Because of the location on the body, this MAY or may not trigger memories of Rape for readers. The focus is being poisoned to cover up evidence.
> 
> [art](http://replicajester.tumblr.com/post/142008364131/eleonora-based-of-these-screenshots-of-alistair-by) by me.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Beyond the Veil, by Lindsey Stirling](https://youtu.be/Qg7L0OQiN78)  
> The Girls: [Caribbean Blue, by Enya](https://youtu.be/Jl8iYAo90pE)

_Tess:_

_I don't know where the pedestal has taken me. It looks like another person's dream, but I don't recognize the lady. Her hair is a shade similar to Alistair's, and there are children running about. She stands at a cauldron raised over a fire. I don't have anywhere else to go, now, so this woman is my best bet. She doesn't notice me as I approach. I open my mouth, but a knot of people tumble down a tiny hill to my left, including a laugh that sends my pulse shooting through my body like a Templar's exploding Cleanse._

_Alistair! His name falls from my mouth in a mixture of relief and surprise. He looks up at me from under a tangle of tiny arms and legs with the biggest smile I have ever seen on his face. He is happy. I have never seen him like this before. He is happy...without me…_

“ _Hey! What are you doing here?” he asks. “If I had known you were coming, I'd have asked Goldanna to make a pie!”_

 _I look to the woman. This is...Goldanna? Who is Goldanna? He's happy with her? He has children with_ her?? _It is suddenly very hard to breathe. My feet back up before I can instruct them to. It's blurry. The already hazy colors blur together again. This is what he wants? He wants a woman to give him children – many children? I can't do that. He knows I can't do that. No. No! He said that didn't matter to him, he said he would find a way to fix me! He promised!_

“ _Where are you going?” he calls after me. I only stop walking because something has blocked me. “Don't you want to stay? She can stay for supper, can't she, Goldanna?”_

“ _Of course your friend can stay, brother.”_

_Brother?_

Not _wife?_

“ _Hey! Did you hear that? She said you can stay! That's great, isn't it?” Alistair says, still happier than I've ever heard him. Even if he's only some other woman's brother, he is still happier than he is with me…_

_I can't be here. Not like this. Not with him like this. Not knowing he will never be this happy with me. It's raining on my face as I turn to seek the pedestal that brought me here. I don't stop when he calls my name, and I'm truly surprised he remembers who I am. There is pressure on my arm when I reach for the knot in the center of the pedestal, and he comes into focus after a blur of colors stop spinning._

“ _Where are you going?” he asks. “Tess, you're crying. What's wrong? I thought you wanted to visit?”_

_It doesn't register as my own voice when I echo, “Visit?”_

“ _Well, yeah...isn't that why you're here? I mean, I'm sure Goldanna will let you stay for a day or two if you need to, but...don't you want to see me?”_

 _I can't look at him, though he is stuck in my line of sight. I can't look in his eyes. “Who...who is Goldanna?” It hurts to ask this. I'm afraid he's going to call_ her _wife, even though she addressed him as brother; it's not terribly uncommon, I've heard chaste-marriages within the Chantry refer to their spouses as brother and sister. But_ I _was his wife...supposed to be his wife once we get to Denerim._ I _am. Not some other woman._

“ _Goldanna?” he sounds surprised. “My sister? I never introduced you? I – I thought you knew, I'm sorry. I suppose my manners could use some work.” he hesitates. “Maker, are you_ jealous _, Tess?” I can see a grin break out on his face. “You're jealous over my sister?” He lets out a laugh. “You thought I'd left you for another woman? Oh, Tess!” he giggles and holds my face, and kisses me. Without asking._

 _This is wrong. This is not Alistair. Not_ my _Alistair. I search his eyes, now._

“ _You never have to worry,” he tries to assure me. “You are the only woman for me.” He presses his lips against mine again, and my closed eyes flood. Too many things are happening at once. He is content without me. He thinks my fear is jealousy, and it amuses him. He no longer worries if I'm ready, and yet as he invades my space to kiss me, I realize I miss this. I miss him. I miss the love that pours from his lips. I miss the gentle scrape from the tiny hairs on his face. I haven't tasted his tongue for so long that I forgot it was possible to. But even as I long for more, he has not asked… since this is the Fade and his good dream, does that mean_ this _is what he wants? He wants to be able to touch me and kiss me as if he owns me, as if I am his right? This is what he truly wants from me? This, too, makes tears seep out. This is not what I like about him. He used to want me because...I realize I don't even know why he wants me. I only remember that he used to wait. He used to ask if he could kiss me. What I did with my body used to be_ my _choice. Yet here I am, letting him, because I am too ashamed of my instability to initiate romance myself. Right now, this seems like the only way I will ever feel this way again._

_But I have to stop him. He leans in further when I pull away. “Alistair.” His breath tart and sweet as he squishes his lips to mine. He is softer than I remember. Tender and precious with me, even though he radiates desire. He pulls me against him; his groin bulges into a spot level with my womb, and a reaction I do not expect steals breath from me. He still wants me. It feels like it's been years since I let him create that knotted itch within me. How is this possible in the Fade? Even more proof this isn't actually happening. I say his name again, tell him it's not real._

“ _What isn't?” he secures his mouth back to mine before he finishes his question. A hand runs roughly up my side, and as he cups my breast with a squeeze, he slides his tongue over mine._

_It takes effort I'm amazed I have just to turn my head away from his mouth. He latches on to my neck with a flick of his tongue, withdrawing another gasp from me. “This isn't real. It's the Fade.” I hate myself for telling him. I wasn't even aware I could burn like this. I didn't realize how much I miss the pressure of his body. But I try to convince him anyway; I repeat it's the Fade, it's only a dream, none of it's real. I'd rather have him alive in the flesh, where I can smell him, feel actual heat from his skin than relive one last attempt at love. I think this is what I really want. Is it?_

_He finally breaks from me. My eyes water all over again with the loss of his touch. “What do you mean, it's the Fade?” he asks. “How can this not be real?”_

_Something growls from off in the distance. The sister. If that word wasn't poison enough before, it certainly is now. It screeches like a banshee that I can't have him. It gets down on all four limbs like an animal and pounces. Alistair is the one to react. I can't move at all. I've paralyzed myself in regret. I hear him grunting and yelling as he battles the forms that convinced him they were family, while my legs wobble beneath me._

_Is this what I really want? Do I really want to go back to my body where I am weak? Where I can't do anything but hurt this man who wants me even in his dreams? He's fighting his sister for me right now. I can't have him in the flesh like I can in here. I am not...fit to love him outside of the Fade. I know this, he knows this; he wants me to get treated by the First Enchanter outside the Fade, to get me cured. I can't be his wife out there, I could never take care of him like a wife should attend to her husband. But maybe...in here, I can…_

_He says my name and I turn my head to see him reaching out. He gives off no heat when I take his hands, but they otherwise feel the same. Astonishingly soft for being calloused. I make up my mind even before I close my fingers around his._

_As soon as I am on my feet, I throw my arms around his neck and pull him down. His lips hug mine without questioning my sudden change, and he makes a sound as I taste his lip, his tongue. I can have him here. Here is good._

_I don't remember taking off his clothes, but suddenly we are bare. His hands scrape down my back like rough silk, and when he reaches my hips, the knot tightens just above my womb. I forget to breathe when I see his bare chest, save for a small whine when I let myself have him. His body is hard beneath me as I tangle my fingers in the hair on his chest. The itch within grips me. I trace the muscle of his breast, and he pulls my hips in to his with a greedy kiss. I find his nipples with a gentle pinch, and with a grunt he picks me up. He wraps my legs around his waist to walk, whispering, “I love you.” For the very first time, I notice he has freckles on his shoulders, and a few on his ears._

_We land with a bounce on something soft, and he laughs deep from within his throat when I fasten my arms; I did not expect the fall. “Orlesian mattress,” he says; it's a bed, so much better than the floor. I pull him down for another kiss and try to hook my legs around him, but he breaks away. “Not yet,” he whispers. He kisses me still, in a trail, though. He forces my breath away with tiny pressure dotting my skin. It tickles and excites my entire body at the same time. His facial hair drags against me every time he lifts his lips._

_Every kiss feels like a gentle tickle of love, leaving behind an icy hot trail of lust and longing. His hands at my sides are comfort in the form of desire – his?, or mine? – and it feels like he's trying to explore every inch imaginable. He takes my breath away when his mouth detours from the center of my chest, and each kiss makes my hips writhe even before contact; the anticipation is dreadful already. He breathes over my nipple, running a shudder through me. He brushes his lips just in the right spot, and a second shudder ricochets down even between my legs, showing him just how much I appreciate this, and I truly do. I never thought I would have his touch like this again._

_His tongue wets my entire nipple and areola, and his breath provides the only breeze I've felt all day. It chills me through tiny crevices of my nipple that I didn't know I had, drawing it up into a pebbled mound, preparing for him to suckle. He tightens his grip on my breast, and when he wiggles the tip of his tongue across my uneven skin, it shocks straight through my belly; it freezes me, I can't even gasp. My hips are wiggling on their own beneath him, searching for the chance to be whole with him. I don't feel like I deserve this, but his tongue is melting me. I can't help but want him._

_So many sensations happen at once. He keeps his hips out of reach when he makes mine buck, turning me into the epitome of desperation. His fingers feather down my legs, tickling everywhere I'm sensitive, the kind of tickle that makes me curl in to find the rest of him. His other hand kneads my opposite breast, forefinger and thumb dancing with each other around my nipple, pausing every so often to hug with a pinch, or nick with the bare edge of nail. The hand on my leg traces down my inner thigh to my heel in tendrils of lust that make me gasp all over again, and then up between the balls of my foot; the crook between the joint of the first and second toes drive me crazy in the most breathtaking way, sending a shiver right up to my womb._

_He fills his mouth with as much of my breast as he can stuff, sucking hard enough to arch my hips even though he's not teasing with his tongue. I close my eyes as my vision starts to blur, and in need for relief, I try to pull him up with my thighs. His laugh sends waves wiggling through my breast as I push on his shoulders. He swallows while I'm still full in his mouth, and when he releases me, his lips smack. His giggles come as tiny blasts of air on my wet nipple and send another shiver down my body. This time, he holds my hips when they shake. He keeps his eyes on me, grinning in satisfaction as he makes his way down between my legs, making me wonder if I should fear what he's about to do. He drops kisses along my front, stopping to nip at the skin above my belly button. He trails the underside of his tongue down from my navel, and the breath from his nostrils chills me straight down to my centre. He pauses only a moment to move my curly hair aside, and I gasp. Is he really going to…?_

_I can feel his breath down there. He is...what is he doing? Staring? It's not like it's going anywhere, or moving...is it? Without warning, something wet prods between the outer lips of my labia; it's a such a shock that I scream before I even know I might need to. His mouth stretches against me and he breathes in puffs as he laughs. His tongue rides up and down between the folds, three or four times before pressing deeper to the walls of my other creases. I tense, tighten around nothing, and he forces me to make even more foreign sounds when he grazes the entry to my core. He holds my legs open around his head; my thighs tried to smother him twice, just now. The short hairs of his mustache and beard prickle, tickle against my softest skin. His nose brushes against my clit as he...shit...as he tastes me inside, forcing another sound from my throat; I have to remember to breathe, just breathe. His tongue hardens and hits that fleshy pillow inside, causing literally all of me to cinch up toward him. I feel my womb loosen, my walls glaze, preparing for him; I know he feels it gush to his tongue. Maker, this is almost embarrassing. It's been so long...is this supposed to happen?_

_The way he drinks me up is almost startling. He was the virgin, not I, but right now, he knows everything about me down there, and I’m so anxious for everything that I twitch at every slight touch. He's down there moaning, as if he's licking clean a pie pan, but for me, this is all so new, it's like...feeling, actually feeling anything for the first time. I don’t know what to expect._

_I clench tighter when he pulls back his tongue, but quickly forgive him when a wet blanket covers my clitoris. He presses harder until he draws a moan from me, and then pulls back to give a sharp flick; a jolt of heat pours from his touch. His tongue mimics a candle flame in a breeze, and he quickly finds a spot that makes my thighs shudder around him. Maker help me, I'm embarrassed! But I also don’t want him to stop. The heat spreads from where his tongue peppers like hot tea in my belly. I feel him smile and keep on that one spot. He likes it when my legs go all shaky? Where did he learn to do this anyway?_

_He slows his tongue to give a full lick, then returns to flicking the tiny head of my clitoris. My breath matches the pace of his tongue, quick and shallow when he's dots in fast, slowing enough to mewl when he wets it for a full lap. He swirls his tongue carefully and lets go of my right leg, and in an instant, he pushes a finger inside; here's another pitch I don't remember knowing how to make. He slips in another finger and keeps his tongue tender at my small nub._

_It doesn't seem to bother him that my hips keep fidgeting around his face; I can't help it, yet he continues to hold on to the moving eye. He turns his fingers inside and curls up, at the same time flicking with his tongue again. The sensation is like an instant explosion that makes me lurch up toward him. Inside me, he tumbles, beckoning more with coils and waves, each push sending a ripple of pleasure in all directions. His tongue caresses airily, and he plants little kisses in between gentle nibbles. I hiss and gasp when closes his teeth, though it far from hurts. I can feel my clit protruding far enough for him to do this. He's trying to work me until I cave, and he knows just how to keep the knot inside clenched down tight. When he makes me wiggle faster, I barely care; it feels like I'm about spill out everywhere, and I can't come fast enough. He has me squirming so hard the bed shakes, and he releases my other thigh to hold me still enough. He forces nectar from inside, also around his mouth, and for a moment I'm horrified. It doesn't startle him, though, he offers a tender caress on my hip. He's...drinking from me, slurping, even, and for some reason this is just as arousing as when he kisses down my front. He doesn't stop until my voice quits._

_He kisses my centre, wiping his mouth as he sits back up. The starry gaze in his eyes when he looks at me almost hurts. Do I really deserve someone who adores me this much? My arms still shake when I reach for him, and he comes down with a smile to match the look emanating from his face. I can taste myself on him, a little bitter, salty, just enough honey to make the rest bearable. His skin is warm against mine, now, almost hot. His fingers comb through my hair as our lips dance slow and sweet._

“ _I love you," he breaks for a kiss, "my wife,” he murmurs. His voice doesn't waver. He is confident of this._

 _Wife. Yes, I will be his wife. I_ am _his wife. “I love you, husband.” Why does it feel like I don't say this enough?_

 _A smile plays on his lips through another kiss, and whatever I worry about is gone. He is perfect. He is whole. He makes_ me _feel whole._

 _Through tender kisses, he reaches down one hand at a time, bringing my legs up around his waist, and breathes in my sigh when I feel the crown of his erection close in on my core. He teases for a moment, rubbing his small head along my leaking gloss. I feel his bottom clench beneath my heels, and he fills me completely. We both pause in loss of breath for a moment, he holds his forehead to mine. He thrusts slow at first, as if he needs to give me time to adjust. Maker, I have missed him, I've missed_ this. _This is where home is, where his body locks into place in mine._

 _He creates another itch within me. My hips roll up to chase him as he pulls,_ _making_ _me whine for his return. I_ need _him. He pushes up and rolls his back,_ _hitting_ _the cushion inside me again. His brow i_ _s_ _clenched in purpose, but he never leaves my eyes._ _With each thrust he raises his back, diving deeper upon return_ _, and through the_ _friction, my breath catches;_ _I don't even realize I'm holding it until my lungs beg for release_ _._ _I didn't know I needed_ _to be freed_ _again._

_His breath quickens when he picks up speed, sweet on my tongue when I swallow. The pit in my belly contracts, and it feels like he's growing inside me. He feels hotter, harder even, and though he never fully pulls out, I try to keep him in. His arms hook under my knees and he buries himself completely, causing our skin to slap together. He makes me curl up all around him; the angle he hits sends shock-waves of blinding ecstasy throughout my body. I accidentally bite his shoulder, forcing a growl from deep in him. I don't even have breath to apologize._

_He pushes faster, turning mewls into steadfast wails that only encourage. His shoulder steams up at my mouth, and the knot within nearly bursts when his teeth find my ear. Breathing in the trench of my ear has every part of me tangled up inside. The bed rocks beneath us like he's trying to drive it across the floor. When the tip of his tongue darts in my ear, I lose it all, locking around him in hard release. His constant thrusting heightens my climax, shaking my entire being into oblivion. Suddenly he freezes, so deep I feel him reach my womb. His arms tremble to keep him up, and his eyes never leave mine as he tightens and jerks within. I feel the pressure of his orgasm shoot strait to where his seed should plant. He whines a song of love into my own._

_His head is back on mine as we find our breath. Lips dance slow in tender circles while our cores finish rocking the last spend of love-making. His removal plays a sigh from both of us, and he settles right against me with another kiss. He pulls the quilt up over us after sliding his arm beneath my head, and hidden from the world, he is all the heat I need. At first he speaks of love, worships aloud how my body makes him feel, how lucky he is that I love him out all the men in the world._

_A thud and crash sound from up the stairs, and our eyes meet uncertainly. He suddenly throws the quilt over our heads. “Prepare yourself,” there is a hint of laughter in his voice._

“ _What are you doing?” his behavior makes me giggle. I love how playful he gets._

“ _Well, if we can't see them, they can't see us, right?” he asks. It's dark under the heavy blanket and I can barely see him, but his eyes are sparkling mischievously. A set of young giggles sound from somewhere above, followed by creaks. Alistair grins with his finger to his mouth. He is so adorable and silly that I can't help but smile. He silently puts his lips to mine as the tiny giggles creep noisily closer. He bites his lips to hold in a giggle that shakes his shoulders, and pressure at the end of the bed occurs in horribly stifled laughter. I can feel them; tiny bodies. Alistair's eyes practically glow, and when they reach our knees, he throws the quilt back with a yell of surprise._

 _Two young children shriek in squeals of happiness, and they tackle both of us, as if they know us. “You two are_ horrible _rogues,” Alistair teases the children. “When I said to learn from your parents, I rather meant your_ mother _. Da is the_ worst _sneak in the world.” He pulls one close to kiss the side of its head._

_My chest grows far too tight too quickly as I look at these children. One is tow-headed, like me, the other a ginger like Alistair. Both have his eyes, but the ginger as a faint ring of emerald on the rim of her irises. The blonde has my chin and freckles all over her face, and they both sport his beautiful mouth and dimples. The ginger has his nose and chin, they both have my cheeks._

_These are_ our _children, mine and Alistair's; there is no mistaking that. We have daughters. I'm a mother._

I'm _a mother._

_My eyes water and I can't find breath. I pull one in for a tight hug, and I realize I already know her name. Carlyn, my little blonde princess. Eleonora is her father's daughter for sure, but she leaves Alistair's arms to join my hug._

“ _Mother, are you sad? Did we scare you?” Eleonora asks._

_I can't help a laugh that shakes through my tears. Was it all a dream, then? It must have been. I wasn't actually barren, not damaged at all. It was all just a dream, a nightmare. I have the evidence right here.“No, precious,” I kiss my eldest's freckle-less face. “Mother just loves my Princesses.”_

_I look to Alistair to see him shining at me with a love and adoration I have never received from anyone before. He gathers the three of us in his arms and cradles us, and pulls up the extra quilt to tuck the girls in around us. He whispers to me, “I love how you love our babies,” and I melt into the kiss he plants near my eye._

“ _Da, can I have a brother this time?” Eleonora asks, looking up at her father. Alistair's brows jump. He purses his lips in the cutest look of serious contemplation I have ever seen._

“ _You know, I've been asking your mother that for nearly five years now,” he teases. Eleonora pauses, then frowns. Alistair laughs at the scowl on his daughter's face._

“ _Da,_ I'm _nearly five!” she protests._

_He laughs again. “All right, all right, I'm sorry! Stop looking at me like that!” yet he can't stop grinning. “Seriously, love, I need another man in the house. I'm surrounded by women. The miniature ones are even bossier than the full-grown one.”_

“ _Is that so?” I can't help my own smile. He giggles as he offers a kiss that begs of forgiveness._

“ _Keep in mind I was_ praising _you.” He kisses me again. “But I still want a boy.”_

“ _I can't guarantee the sex, Alistair.”_

“ _You can't guarantee sex?” he fully pouts on purpose, and I swat him gently with the back of my hand._

“ _Not in front of the girls!” I hiss, but his laughter has me tittering before I can finish. A series of bumps from my lower belly cuts off my breath, though, and I look down to realize I am further along than I thought. Much further._

“ _Is brudder kickin'?” Carlyn asks with wide, hopeful eyes._

“ _Ooh! Yes. Oh, that one was rough!” I breathe through my teeth._

“ _See? Even he's already feeling outnumbered,” Alistair played._

“ _Stop it!” I manage through a laugh._

_Alistair lays on the bed with the three of us about him, no rush for anything more. He strokes my arm as I hold Carlyn, and I feel his love and devotion in every graze. My husband's happiness is infectious. This moment is perfect. I want every morning to be just like this. “I was thinking about a picnic today,” he says. “What do my girls think?” he gazes at our children, and despite all the teasing, I know he wouldn't trade our daughters for anything in the world. He tucks Eleonora's hair behind her ear, though it doesn't stay; her hair has a spring to it like my father's hair, and it bounces right back._

“ _Yes! Yes, can we?” the girls cry out together. “Are the berries ready yet? I can bring my bucket!” Eleonora says in excitement._

“ _We can certainly check,” Alistair tells her._

“ _Can I get turts?” Carlyn asks._

“ _Can you get what?” I ask my spotted child._

“ _Da says I can get turts,” Carlyn explains._

“ _Oh! Shoot them, sweet cake. Shoot them, like mother does,” Alistair elaborates._

“ _You told our three year old she could shoot turkeys?” I ask my husband._

_He laughs, though. “I meant when she's older! I swear it!” he pauses. “Like when she's five.”_

“I'm _nearly five! Can I start practicing?” Eleonora interjects. Alistair grins for all three of us, and I immediately fall for it. I can't resist the joy on his face for the life of me._

“ _Ten,” I barter. He laughs again._

“ _Six,” he only slightly raises his bar._

“ _Eight,” I say, “and I think that's awfully reasonable, considering they still like to wear your shirts as ball gowns.”_

“ _I happen to very fashionable among the ladies,” he teases. “Seven.”_

“ _Da, what are you and mother talking about?” Eleonora has her father's famous animated brows. Maker, could our children be any more perfect?_

“ _Da likes to wear pretty dresses,” I tease. Alistair laughs through another wide grin, and I close in to kiss him. He beams like the sun, I practically see the rays of love emanate from him. He brings his other hand up to brush the back of his fingers along my face. His kiss is sweeter than anything I have ever tasted._

“ _Will you two stop that kissing stuff? We're right here!” Eleonora says stubbornly. We break in giggles to spy our eldest daughter suddenly fold her arms over her chest and stick out her bottom lip in the second biggest pout I've seen my entire life. I point at her mouth and look at my husband._

“ _Would you like to guess where I've seen that before?” I tease him. He giggles ferociously, and oh Maker, I do fall all over it. “All right. Seven.”_

“ _Yes! Oh, sorry, girls, mother says no arrows until you're seven.”_

“ _What about my dagger?” Eleonora pouts again._

“ _Maker, please help me refrain from tying my gigantic husband up in my apron and leaving_ him _in the kitchen while_ I _go chop wood for the day!” I joke. He giggles and squeezes me tighter for another kiss. I love him. My heart has been constantly sighing since we made love, and I know it is because I love him._

_Carlyn says she's starving; Alistair has taught her that word. Famished, I correct her kindly, Starving is something only Da's do. Alistair shoos our daughters off the bed so we can rise and start our day. The girls rummage through our wardrobes, and they dress their father in the silly faded green pajama pants he absolutely despises. He wears it anyway, pretending to be thrilled at their choice in his attire, and the happiness on his face nearly breaks my heart. We have both wanted our own families for so long; I am honored I am the one to give him this collection of love._

_I giggle as our small reproductions drag my husband off toward to the kitchen. He is their gigantic puppy, or maybe their gigantic man-servant,  or preparation for a little brother, I suppose. I know he adores every moment._

_I climb out of bed with a sore back, and I feel myself...waddle my way to my wardrobe. I dare to peek at my reflection in the mirror that hangs from the inside of the left door. Ohh...Maker, preserve me! I look like a bronto! A bronto who ate another bronto! Was I this large with the girls? I can't remember how big I should be right now. Don't I still have four months left? Sifting through my clothes isn't easy. I settle for a loose dress, blue, like pale sapphires, with a sewn-on broach of a familiar two-headed Gryphon on it. Alistair had the broach made for me. He loves those old stories about the gryphons in ancient times, and their mysterious Grey Warden riders. He doesn't even have to hold the book anymore when he reads to the girls, he has every tale memorized. My gut flops a little. He's going to want to name our son Gryphon, isn't he? How long exactly do I have to either come up with a new name, or accidentally have another daughter?_

_He stops what he's doing when I meet my small family in the kitchen. “Look, Da! Mother's wearing your Gryphon pin!” Eleonora tugs on his arm._

“ _Mother? I love your beautiful dress,” Carlyn says._

 _Alistair picks her up._ “Mother _makes the_ dress _beautiful.” He leans over to kiss me. “Mother is always beautiful,” he says into my mouth._

“ _I love you,” I breathe. It rolls from my lips like my first language._

“ _And I love you.” he kisses me again. “Our own little gryphons want to help me annoy the chickens.”_

“ _Hm. You are a fine teacher for that,” I tease through another kiss._

“ _I happen to be the_ best, _thank you,” he jokes, kissing me again._

“ _Please stop doing that,” Eleonora says._

_I giggle in to my husband's lips. “I think your daughter is jealous of your wife.”_

_He grins and slips in one more kiss before stepping back. He sets Carlyn on a chair to tie tiny sandals to her feet; both girls wanted shoes to match their Da. I have to hold Po when Alistair helps our daughters into the chicken hatch, other wise he'll ravish all the eggs; he's already done that once._

_My perfect morning continues as the sun rises over our cabin. Breakfast is simple as always, eggs and toast with Alistair's favorite fresh jam, and tea, though the girls prefer hot milk from the goat, and Alistair always eats enough for all four-and-a-half of us. I make another loaf of bread today, and Alistair and the girls try to help for awhile, but when the flour and dough turns into pretend snow, I kick them all out of the kitchen. Alistair is messier than the girls! He comes back to steal a kiss before running off to bathe our daughters, and I pinch a sticky clump of gooey dough from his hair before he can leave. When I hear him shriek and giggle as loud as our daughters, I realize I am not married to a man and have two children, rather I have two children and am married to another, really big child._

_After everyone is cleaned up, and the picnic packed on Alistair's arm, my perfect family steps out into the sun. The beach is not far away, but Alistair's fence has so far kept the girls from escaping. We settle outside of the fence for our picnic today; Alistair loves to watch the ocean. As soon as Alistair sets out lunch, a voice I do not expect for another few months sounds off._

“ _There you are!” Morrigan declares. Alistair sighs and hangs his head, then meets my eyes._

“ _Did you invite your 'sister' for a surprise visit again?” he asks me._

“ _Auntie Morrigan!” Eleonora squeals._

“ _Aunnie Mohgan!” Carlyn tries to echo. My husband watches our daughters scurry off toward three people I welcome, and one I do not. He almost looks betrayed, but when Morrigan freezes stiff as the girls attack her in a hug, his expression changes._

“ _Morrigan looks terrified.” he gives a pretend sniffle and wipes a fake tear from his eye. “A father's finest moment.”_

 _I try to hold in a giggle and a grin, but I fail. He helps me up when I stand, and lets me lean on him. He knows just where to rub when the baby makes my back hurt. “I didn't invite Wynne, though. Did you tell them four_ months _or four_ days?” _I ask._

“ _Don't look at me. You're the one who wrote the letters.”_

_Zevran approaches with Wynne as Carlyn ambushes Shale. The elf turns with a giggle as Morrigan attempts to walk with Eleonora latched on to her hip; Alistair tells me he is extremely proud of his daughter right now. Zevran starts to speak, though freezes as he sees my belly. He looks from me to Alistair, glances back at the girls; Carlyn swings from Shale's arm, tiny feet kicking to try to gain footing to climb. Zevran is speechless for a moment. Wynne, thankfully, is also at a loss for words._

“ _Er...it looks like you have been busy, my friend,” Zevran tells Alistair._

_My husband frowns. “For the sake of my children, I'll pretend you're talking about the fabulous lunch I made.”_

“ _As if things couldn't be any worse,” Morrigan calls over with a grunt, as Eleonora babbles against her, “I'm shocked you would let Alistair prepare food for your children, Tesslyn.”_

 _Alistair unmistakably glares at my witch. “I happen to be a_ great _sandwich-maker, thank you,” he retorts as civilly as I can ever expect him to be with Morrigan._

“ _I suppose_ some _credit is due, seeing as you've obviously evolved from that stew you used to make,” Morrigan tosses back._

“ _I require assistance,” Shale says. My husband and I laugh when we see Carlyn sitting up on Shale's shoulder._

“ _Your daughter absolutely,” Alistair praises me with a gentle squeeze to my hip._

“ _Yes, she is,” I agree._

“ _No, no, no! That is dangerous! Come down from there!” Zevran is suddenly Ser Nanny. He swoops Carlyn off of Shale swiftly, and she squeals in delight._

“ _He is swooping my daughter,” Alistair says flatly. “It's not funny!” he giggles when I laugh._

“ _This is not safe for little rogues, what are you thinking?” Zevran holds my daughter and looks at her elbows, palms, knees and ankles. “Shale! You have scratched the tiny Warden!” he scolds. Zevran looks at us sternly. “The golem has scraped up your daughter's little knee! See?” he holds up her knee to show us._

“ _It is not_ my _fault,” Shale grumbles._ “It _attacked_ me _first.”_

“ _What a sloppy excuse! When they are this young, you train them! You do not punish them!” Zevran argues as if he and Shale are in a domestic partnership._

“ _Zevran, if you teach my daughter to cry at a scraped knee, I will teach her to hang you from our chimney by your ankles,” Alistair states._

“ _No, no, not until she is of age!_ What _is_ wrong _with you?_ I _see what must be done._ I _will_ stay _. Someone needs to train these small females properly._ I accept _this burden. Come, girls! Uncle Zev will show you the_ right _way to do these things. Come, come!”_

_Alistair points in a gape of confusion, his finger following the elf who escorts our daughters back inside the house. My husband looks right in my eyes. “Did that really just happen?” he asks. I am too amused to stop giggling._

“ _You did say this morning you wanted them to be better rogues,” I tease. I see Zevran drawing a doorway, or maybe a getaway route, in the air with both hands and glancing down before pointing to either side of him._

“ _I was talking about_ you _,” he groans, watching Zevran laugh at something Eleonora says with a bounce and a grin._

“ _How long has it been preparing to hatch something?” Shale asks. “Did I miss something?”_

“ _You are not missing a thing, Shale,” Wynne says, “She is not truly expecting. This isn't really happening. You know that, don't you, Lady Cousland?” she speaks wryly._

“ _I don't appreciate your tone, Wynne. It's not polite to show up at someone's door unexpected and then mouth off,” Alistair says in my defense. “I'm not sure why you all are here, but I was about to have a lovely lunch with my family. I would like you all to leave.”_

“ _This is not real, Alistair, surely she told you that. Or maybe she's working with the demon now.”_

“ _That is_ not _helping!” Morrigan turns Wynne swiftly by the shoulders. “You go wait over there before you make this worse. Now, or I will scorch you as terribly as I can in here.”_

_Shale sighs. “The miserable, shriveled mage is right, I'm afraid. If it truly likes those...things making the painted elf dizzy, then it should really listen. I daresay listening now will ensure it can actually hatch more swinging things later.”_

“ _You are wasting your time, Shale!” Wynne calls. “They are fallen under the spell! She likes it, too, from the look of it! She has two children and one on the way! That takes some effort on their part.”_

“ _That is enough, you old hag!” Morrigan yells. “Away! Be gone, or I will melt your head when we return!”_

_I don't like the sound of this at all. Alistair feels my concern and holds me closer to him. “What spell is she talking about, Morrigan?”_

“ _Yes, 'Aunnie Mohgan'? What spell?” Wynne agitates the wound she's trying to inflict._

“ _Void take you, hag!” Morrigan shouts over her shoulder. “I see now there are worse things than being stuck in the Fade carrying the spawn of an idiot!” The look on her face when she turns back to us is instant regret. “I...Tesslyn, I am truly sorry. And...Alistair, for_ her _sake,” Morrigan shoots a nod toward my husband._

“ _Will all of you stop beating around the bush and just tell us what is going on?” Alistair demands._

_Morrigan looks over to the little girls that clearly belong to Alistair and myself. When she meets my eyes, I believe she feels remorse. “I want you to know that I believe you are a wonderful mother,” she says. I fold deeper into Alistair before I know I want to. “And...you, Alistair. I still don't care for you, but...” she glances toward Carlyn and Eleonora. “They seem well-cared for, and loved...”_

“ _I do not believe stalling is the answer,” Shale tells Morrigan._

“ _We are all in the Fade. Tesslyn, you freed me from my nightmare, do you remember?” Morrigan asks me._

_Alistair looks down at me. I shake my head and press closer to him, trying to hide. “No. No, that's not true...”_

“ _It freed me, as well,” Shale adds. “And unfortunately the wrinkled mage. It showed me it learned how to turn into a Golem. Does it remember that?”_

“ _People can'_ _t turn into golems, Shale, that's preposterous,” Alistair says. He braces me with both arms, holds me a little off to the side so I am partly hidden. “I really want you all to leave. Come on, we can eat inside today. It will be fine.” He turns me around and gives me a gentle nudge toward our cabin. “I'll be right in, love, I promise.”_

“ _No, no, no!” Wynne comes back over. “We cannot linger here!” she insists. “This is the_ Fade _, which means our bodies are all_ outside _of the Fade in the real world, and if we stay here our physical bodies will decay. We will_ die _. Do you understand?” the old woman says._

_Morrigan scoffs with a roll of her eyes. “Shale, are you at liberty to obey me?”_

“ _I am not bound to any but the Warden,” Shale tells her._

“ _Even in the Fade?” Morrigan fishes._

“ _I'm honestly not sure how a golem can_ be _in the Fade,” the bunch of rocks say._

_This Fade talk is horribly familiar. I don't like it. It's chewing on my nerves like an anxious mabari with fleas. “Why?” I turn to look at them. “Why do you do this to me?”_

“ _Tess, love, please go inside. I will handle this,” Alistair says to me._

“ _No, I need to know why!” I push. “I have finally gotten something in my life right for once, and all you want to do is tear it apart._ Why?” _I plead with our uninvited guests._

“ _I do not wish to slap you awake, Tesslyn,” Morrigan says._

“ _What about a good pounding?” Shale offers._

“ _This is a dream,” Wynne insists. “Don't you wonder why you can't smell the ocean? Why there's no breeze or why the sunshine isn't warm?”_

“ _I feel the sun on me right now,” I tell her. “I_  do _hear the waves_ and _smell the water. Why can't you?”_

“ _Those children are made up. The Fade exists within the possibilities of our imagination. Outside of the Fade, you are a Grey Warden and have no children. You can't get pregnant.” Wynne steps closer._

_I look to Alistair. “Can't...no!” I shake my head. They are unwelcome now, I want them gone._

**You realize you're forcing my hand here, don't you?** _Who is that? Whose voice is that? It sounds familiar. It chills my spine. It doesn't belong here._

“ _Please go,” I tell them. “None of you are welcome here anymore. Just..leave us be.”_

“ _Alistair, you can't seriously_ _believe this?” Wynne asks._

“ _I think all of you need to drop the subject,” happiness is lost from my husband's voice. His tone is different, deeper, firm._

“ _We don't know the way out. Tesslyn is the only one who has navigated this plane of the Fade,” Morrigan says._

 **Bind her hands. No, with this,** _the eerie voice says. I see a flash of stained cloth._

 **You deserve this,** _a sultry feminine voice drawls,_ **You know you do.** _No! Stop! Who is this? Stay out of my head!_

“ _What's wrong?” Alistair looks at me in concern._ _I shake my head._

 **That's the most you have on you**? _How do I know this man's voice?_

 **No, Teyrn. Anymore might kill her though** , _a voice I don't remember._

 **Double it. I won't take chances here,**   _the eerie, familiar voice speaks._

“ _\- not matter what you think!” Alistair is saying. “I am choosing to stay! That's final, end of story!” He waves his hands out from him in a sharp line, demonstrating_ enough!

“ _Even if you rot out there?” Morrigan challenges._

“ _Maybe you misunderstand the situation,” Alistair insists, “This is not like we ever had something that left, and this is just us remembering it.”_

 **You struggle when rough hands hold you still,** _the sultry voice tells me. No one else seems able to hear this._ **Rough hands that yank on your arms. Calloused hands force your legs open. You still remember how it feels to have his fingers trace your thighs.**

“ _You're not listening!” Alistair bellows. “We can't have this outside of here! We aren't privileged enough to just try again! We don't have that option! This is the_ only _way for us!”_

“ _Alistair...” I try to search his eyes. What is he saying?_

“ _It's nothing, love. I'm sorry. Please, go inside. I promise I'll be right in. Forever,” he adds._

 _What? Is he saying he...knows? He's saying this is...what they're calling it? No, this can't be fake. No! I won't accept it! I'm pregnant! I have children! I made them breakfast. They_ are _real!_

 **Shut her up,** _the voice says._

 **You remember the gag well. It was aptly summoned** _ **,** the sultry voice recalls for me. _**You weren't very good. You had to be quieted.** _That did not happen! I don't know what you're talking about!_

_I freeze when I step inside my house. Where are my daughters? Where is Zevran? They were right here! “Alistair!” I turn around to run back out, but I hit something. I stare up into a face I hoped never to see again._

_Black brows loom above eyes like the moon over lake water at night. Long black hair that doesn't gray like it should. I try to back up, but my legs are bound. I have to lift my head to see my feet; when was I tied? This is not my bed, this is not my room. I can't move my arms. I try to yell for Alistair but something hard, large, round fills my mouth behind my teeth._

**Don't try to scream, you'll only strain yourself.** _Loghain has the nerve to brush my hair off my face._

_Alistair! Help me! Where has he gone?_

**The potion is ready, Teyrn.** _A mage in turquoise robes, white lining, embroidered with designs in maroon and black._

 **You remember every detail,** _the sultry woman tells me._ **Of course you remember. This mage bears the hands that make you unworthy to call yourself mother.**

 _No! No! No! I try to kick and wiggle free. This never happened! It was a bad dream! It's not real! It's_ not! _This can't be happening!_

 **Oh, child, hush. You'll give yourself silk burns, and then what will we say?** _Loghain sips Antivan brandy from a glass far too large for his hands._

 **I can't, Teyrn. She moves too much,** _the mage says._

 **You,** _Loghain motions for two guards._ **Hold her knees, keep her hips still. This will be done one way or another.** _Stay away! This isn't real! Please let me go!_

_Padded hands pull on my knees, on my legs that are already tied down, and then on the bones of my hips; pain rips through that entire area before the mage even bends down. They have pushed too hard in directions my joints just can't make in these angles._

**Looking might make it worse. Just a suggestion,** _Loghain tells me. I try to curse at him;_ _he just chuckles._ _I try to yell that I will come for his daughter while she bathes! I will cut her throat with my dullest blade and make her beg for her –_

 _Sharp fire rips through the walls at my centre._ _I_ _scream in a voice I don't recognize. A bomb! It's like a bomb explodes! It hurts!_ _Please, stop!_ _Tears blur everything._ _Combustion of_ _shrapnel through to the bone. Someone tell_ _s_ _me I have earned this with all my hard work. I brought this on my self._

 **You believe him. Their eyes rolled around, oozing on your glove before you set them on the table for him to see. Proof you have been a good girl. _His_ good girl; enemy to the people. You betrayed your cousins, your closest friends. You gave him control of your destiny when you took their eyes. This is your reward. You are lucky he doesn't take your eyes in return, ** _the woman coos,_ **this is reward indeed. Offspring would just hinder you, take away your liberty. You want this. This is true freedom.**

_Something presses in before the fire stops scattering. I don't even have time to catch my breath before acid rushes like a geyser straight into my womb. Venom attacks so quick, so harsh it steals my voice. I feel it cook my womb, entire layers peel and crinkle, like hog skin fried over open fire in its own juice. I am frozen, save for spasms that ricket my body; a pain so unimaginable all can do is quake. Red and yellow dots blind my sight. There is no need for the gag._

_A hand that still inflicts fear pats me gently on the head._ **That's a good girl** _ **,** Loghain says, as if soothing me through a bad dream._

 


	28. Kill Them All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Tess try to recover from losing perfection in the Fade as they battle Uldred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accompanying chapter from Templar Cullen Rutherford's point of view revolving around his interaction in the blood magic prison: [See My Lady Home](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6033973)

Alistair had a hard time sitting up. His head felt full of heavy fog, like he drank an entire bottle of rum and only chased it with a short nap. His stomach growled as he sat. How long had he been out? How long had it been since he'd eaten? What _had_ he eaten?

His insides all pinched together as flash of images rushed to the front of his mind. Jam, egg, chickens...little girls…Tess...they had children. They had daughters together in the Fade, and a third child on the way. They had a home, their very own family; a happy home. She had loved him.

He looked around to find Tess pushing herself up, and falling back down with wobbly arms. She gave a sob, and Alistair suspected he knew what from. When he reached for her, though, she cried out in fright and backed away quickly on all fours. She screamed when she bumped into a flesh pod on the wall, startling the others awake, and she fell back again trembling hard. She curled herself up in the middle of the room directly across from Alistair and cried.

“Tess.” He scurried over to her, but she swung an arm wildly while she covered her face. “Tess, it's me,” he told her. She unsheathed her rose dagger, but he caught her arm before she could slice it around. “Tess, stop. _Look_ at me!” he pried her dagger from her hand and struggled to pull her arm from her face. When he finally freed her face, she shook her head wildly. _Something's wrong, something worse than the Fade._ He caught her chin and forced her still, forced her head toward his. When she met his eyes, she froze. Her pupils contracted to nearly nothing as she held her breath. Her brows clenched and her eyes searched his so fast he had trouble keeping up. Just as quick as her pupils shrank, they blew back out, threatening to take complete control. Water filled her eyes, and the fear and torment that pulsed from her body shook his very essence. Alistair needed no words to know she was recalling their time together in the Fade: their love, their marriage, their _children,_  their home – _their_ home; and knowing it was all gone, fake, a trick. He had never experienced anguish so harsh as he was now, in witnessing it in the woman he had tried to waste away with.

His arms trembled as he brought a hand up to brush her hair off her face. He didn't know what to say. _I'm sorry we lost our babies? I'm sorry it was all fake? I'm sorry, you were just dreaming?_  There was nothing he _could_ say. A scant apology scraped off his lips. He dropped everything, unarmed himself, unarmed her. He gathered her in his arms right there and held her as tight as he could, tucked her entirely up. She shook violently as she cried into his neck. Her grip on the collar of his armor was so tight it pulled his neck down.

He had no idea what to say or do to comfort her. He had loved their daughters, too; he _still_ loved them. It didn't matter how big the lie was, _it was real enough._ Their daughters were perfect, their family was perfect, their love was perfect. She not only dreamed of living happily with him, but of giving him children; _him._ She dreamed they looked like him, acted like him. He was _her husband._ And he had tried so hard to forget he knew it wasn't true. He was ready to spend the rest of his life with her in her dream, let his body waste away. Proof of their love, unlimited, unbound...it was all completely unobtainable for them from now on.

His chest hollowed and caved. Alistair buried his face into her hair and mourned children that never existed with the woman who was never really his wife.

Eventually they were roused. It was Zevran who reached out to them. Alistair looked up into the eyes of the elf who had accepted his daughters as family without question, without prejudice, who had willingly worried over something he, too, knew to be deception, a trap; the elf had also decided to stay, to help them. Zevran kept apologizing. He offered Alistair a handkerchief from inside a small purse on his belt. He explained they had to keep moving. They couldn't risk another infestation, they had to clear the rest of the tower so nothing like this could every happen to them again. If they stayed here, they would just be overrun. They had to move on, to kill the rest of the abominations so they could leave the tower. That was the only way they'd ever have a chance at life again.

Alistair understood; Zevran was trying to give them a reason to keep fighting. But Alistair could not go yet. Tesslyn could not be calmed, so Alistair could not go, not yet. The only thing he had left in the world was Tess; he would not let her down so easily again.

The others started arguing beyond them. Alistair didn't want to look, he didn't want to get involved, and for the moment he could ignore it. Tess had his complete attention, from her every shiver, the hollow mourn in her cries, the way her clutch on his collar wrung a burn around the back of his neck. Her tears had their own little creek running down the slides of his skin, underneath his armor and underclothes, down the very center of his chest. How could he just ask her to get up and move on? He buried his face in her head and rocked her, told her he loved her, whispered apologies so broken that half the words never left his throat.

Wynne's voice interrupted several times, distinctly calling them both out. Alistair refused to turn away; Tess would always be more important than whatever awaited them through whatever next door. He heard Morrigan cry out at the elderly mage, and for that moment alone, he was grateful Tess  had befriended the wild witch. Morrigan rebutted in Tesslyn's favor: aside from fact that she just lost her children, none of them had any idea what Tess had gone through after they'd been separated from her. They'd all experienced a nightmare of some sort, and also a dream; they had found Tess in a dream, a fantasy, and Morrigan's logic pointed to Tess suffering a nightmare while they were all off battling the Sloth demon.

Alistair hadn't even considered that. His hold tightened around Tess in instinct, folding her further within his protection. But his heart dejected in a whole new depth of regret: Wynne was also right. They could not remain here, not even as long as it might take for Tess to spend her last tears.

He felt his breath moisten the bone of her cheek as he took in and expelled the sour air around them. He pulled one arm from around her and slid it between their bellies to find her right hand; nearly the instant his thumb glided over her skin, her chest began rising  higher, to allow her fuller breath. He murmured in against her, _I love you, I'm here, I have you_ , repeating them without end as he re-positioned his other arm so he could reach her face while he held her. He drew circles on her hand, made the best lightning rune he could on her cheek. _I love you, I'm here, I have you._ Slowly but surely, she softened against him. Her grip at his collar relaxed, and her sobs slowed to occasional gasps between quieting breath.

He was proud of her. This is exactly what he had been trying to train her body to do, transfer over her anxiety and grief to him, let _him_ take the weight of it for her. Train her to allow herself peace when she might otherwise lose it, or when she had no time to sit and work through it, like now. He was absolutely taking hold of her burden; by accepting it, by drawing this calm to her surface, her peace was now his responsibility. It was his job to make sure she could breathe, so she could think. For now, that meant pushing what they had lost to the Fade to the back of his mind until _he_ was in a position to deal with it later. And for now, he was her strength. The relief that shook her with each breath gave him goosebumps, even; always so intense.  He was extremely proud of her.

He stroked her hair and laid soft kisses over her face. _I'm here, I have you, I love you._ When she sat up, he kissed the tears off her cheeks, swallowing her sadness before it had a chance to seep back in. Her hope still ebbed when she met his eyes, but he retained his role. _Husband; Protector_ of the most intimate kind, when she had not even spirit to hold herself up. He was fairly confidant he didn't need words to tell her how he felt, at least right now, but he did anyway. _Wife. I love you. I'm here._  She closed her eyes and breathed with him until her body stopped trembling and despair waned. He didn't even realize he'd completely tuned out the bickering behind him.

“Are we ready to go kill some mages?” he offered a smile for reassurance, still caressing her face. She nodded with a sigh, a deep breath, and she let him raise her to her feet. She stopped him, though, squeezed him round the middle and curled into him. _Thank you_ , she breathed when he held her again. He ignored the complaints of the party and let Tess determine when she was ready to continue. It was the least he could do for the woman who secretly dreamed of including him in a family of her own, and then lost it all.

They found no more abominations on that area, thankfully. From the body of Niall on the floor, Wynne had retrieved a scroll magically imbued with some spell to protect them against blood magic, the Litany of Adralla. With a stern look from Morrigan, Wynne handed it over to Tess.

“Why are you giving this to me? I'm not a mage. I can't use this.”

“You don't need to be a mage to use that, Tesslyn,” Morrigan spoke kindly to her, kinder than her voice had ever been. Perhaps the children affected her, as well. “You stretch it out and recite it, and it should form an aura against the dibilitator.”

“Shouldn't someone who knows how to read it hold it, then?” Tess looked up at Alistair.

“How did you ever get by in the Circle not knowing how to read runes?” Wynne challenged.

“Do not even start, Wynne.” Alistair pointed at her with sword. “I am dead serious.” He gently unrolled the scroll in Tess' hand. “Tevinter runes. Interesting.” He pointed to the bottommost rune. “You know this one,” he encouraged, looking at her. She studied where his finger was; he drew it in the air. He saw every part of her face freeze, and when she turned her head up to him her eyes were wide, pupils small in recognition.

“That's mine,” she whispered. He smiled for her.

“Yes, Spirit.”

“ _Tempest_ , Alistair.” Morrigan could not hide her disapproval from him, though.

“Not here, I believe...” He went through the other runes. “Barrier, Evasion, Diligence...Spirit. It has to be. This one, for Diligence, is about seeing the bigger picture, persevering through it; the All-Seeing eye. It doesn't makes sense to cast as spell against an All-Seeing Lightning Bolt, Morrigan.” He glanced at her. “You're a creepy mage with a creepy mage mother. Why don't you know this?”

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “'Tis about casting a spell against a _storm_ , you oaf.”

“I still think you're wrong. This is protection against Blood Magic, that's what Niall said. Blood Magic is affected by the mind, and in order for the Mind to work properly, the Spirit needs to be intact.” He pointed out the runes for Tess. “Protection, Evasion, Diligence, Spirit. It's calling for protection to avoid the mind being manipulated by unconventional magic. Since it refers to the Spirit, that means...the Fade? Which makes complete sense, considering demons are encountered when the Veil is torn. _Above_ the Spirit...the Eye sees all from Above. That's still popular belief where the spirit meets the Fade, _above_.” He looked at Morrigan. “See? I'm right, you're wrong.”

“I suppose this is Templar training?” Morrigan said.

“Not at all. I was the bad little Templar, always getting into trouble and causing mischief, like sneaking into the library to read about all the ways to hex a person when you aren't a mage.” He looked at Tess. “Unfortunately, I can't speak Tevene. I know what the runes mean, but I'm horrible with languages. I can _barely_ speak _Fereldan,_ as it is.” He looked at Wynne. “You need to help with this one.”

Tess was much better at languages than he was. She picked up almost instantly on the dialect Wynne taught, even through Morrigan confusing the lesson with her own interpretation. Tesslyn never left Alistair's side, though, even as they ventured around through the rest of that floor.

They encountered one more set of demons and undead, but oddly that was not the biggest issue, nor was the tussle of coming out of the Fade. At the foot of the stairs that led into the Harrowing chamber, a Templar knelt within some sort of magical prison. The Templar recited bits here and there from the Chant of Light in between pulling at his hair and growling and covering his ears. He rocked,  just like Tess did when she was upset. After a few verses from the Templar, Tess gasped.

“Cullen!” she rushed forward, only to let out a sharp hiss when her glove sizzled upon meeting the magical barrier. Alistair immediately took her hand, and cursed; whatever the prison was made of burned clear through the leather of her glove. Alistair started to call Wynne over, then changed his mind and ordered Morrigan to heal Tess; the witch would heal Tesslyn far better than the old mage would. While Morrigan attended to Tess, Alistair stood and focused his breath, pulled his energy into his fingertips, though his Cleanse did nothing to the prison.

“Whatever it is, I can't break it. Blood magic, maybe?” Alistair guessed, glancing over to see swirl of pearly light disappear into Tess' palm. He didn't speak, but for Tess' sake, he gave a – curt – nod toward Morrigan in acknowledgment.

“I am not sure he can hear us...” Zevran seemed curious about the barrier. “He is not acknowledging, anyway.”

“Cullen?” Tess approached wearily, now. “Can you hear me?”

“Stay back! I know what you are, demon! You will not fool me again! I will stay strong!” the man was distraught.

“He's been addled,” Wynne said. “Cullen, it's me, Wynne. What happened to you?”

 _“Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift, and turned it against His children,”_ this Cullen recited of the Canticle of Transfigurations. His voice strained, like he had been speaking for days without end.

“This boy is exhausted.” Wynne stared down. “I've never seen anything like this barrier. If Templar powers can’t take it down...”

“Cullen? Do you remember me?” Tess asked.

“Enough visions! I refuse to play this game!” the young man said.

Tess paused. “How do you know him?” Alistair asked her quietly. She met his eyes, but turned back to the Templar.

“Cullen, where is she? Where is Amell?” she inquired.

“Amell? Why would you be asking _him?”_ Wynne asked. Tess ignored her. Cullen stopped rocking when he heard the name _Amell._

“Where is she?” Tess repeated.

“Stop your games! I will _not_ submit! Too far! You have seen too much already! _O Maker, hear my cry, guide me through the blackest nights! Lift me from a world of pain! My Creator, judge me whole: Find me well within Your grace!_ Be gone from me, demon!” this Cullen opened his eyes and looked at them, and stood in bewilderment; Alistair finally recognized the man before them.“I don't understand, that's always worked. Why aren't you gone?”

“I am no demon, Cullen,” Tess insisted. “Do you remember me?”

Cullen frowned. “All too well. The Pretender. They don't like you, you need to leave, they have orders to detain you.”

“I remember him,” Alistair told Tess. “Not well. He was quiet, and he was only here for a few months when Duncan came for me.”

“Where is Amell?” Tess asked again.

Cullen looked from her to Alistair to Wynne, and back to Tess. “Gone.” He paused again. “Just as you should be! Even without the chaos you caused, you should be gone! There is no one left! This place is not safe!”

“I know. We've cleared the floors. Where is Uldred?” Tess was truly concerned for the man in the cage. It seemed the Fade had changed her.

Cullen instantly hardened. “He's there -” he pointed toward the door, “in the Harrowing chamber, with the entire seniority of mages. I alone fought may way and survived this far! There is no one else left to keep them in place, they have all turned to blood magic and become abominations, I _know_ it! You must kill them!”

“What? No!” Wynne cried out. “If Irving is still alive, we can't kill him!”

“He's right.” Tess looked at Wynne.

“I _knew_ this would happen!” Wynne said through her teeth. “You can't kill the First Enchanter! He's the only person able to hold the rest of the mages together! Greagoir himself knows this!”

“You can't spare them!” Cullen argued. “There are no more Templars! They have killed all of us! They can't be allowed to live! They are too dangerous!”

“There are no more Templars?” Alistair echoed. “You don't think any got inside with them?”

“If they did, they are gone now! Uldred himself shut me away here! Blood magic! Demons! They are all abominations! I've watched them come out of the Harrowing chamber! They are monstrosities! They _have_ to die!” Cullen insisted.

“We can't just kill them! What if the other mages are being held prisoner?” Wynne asked.

Alistair didn't like the sound of any of this. Cullen made a reasonable argument, but so did Wynne. The Treaty would only be useful with numbers, though...would he risk blood mages to try to save Tess when it came down to the Archdemon?

“If they've been in there with demons and survived, then they are already part demon,” Tess concurred with Cullen.

“You have to kill them all! Only demons can survive with demons!” Cullen tried to convince someone apart from the only person who was already on his side.

“No! Maker's breath! You aren't really considering this, are you, Alistair?” Wynne looked at him in exasperation.

“You have to listen to me! Listen to _her!”_ Cullen gestured to Tess. “If you don't kill them all, you run the risk of them leaving the tower and taking over Ferelden!” Alistair couldn't deny this risk was huge; he'd already been wondering what might happen; Tess had brought this up with Greagoir, even.

“I can't let this happen. Alistair, if you agree to kill Irving and other innocents, I have no choice but to stop you!” Wynne stood her ground.

“Maybe you aren't aware, _mage_ , but _your kind_ are responsible for the destruction that happened here.” Tess' voice began to escalate. She ignored Alistair when he said her name. “A corrupted mage put us all under a spell and sent us to the Fade. A _mage_ that had been given leniency by someone like _you_ who thinks nothing wrong with letting someone go free simply because they were born dangerous.” Morrigan looked as if she had been slapped. Alistair reached for Tess' hand, but she stepped out of reach. “No! No one is convincing me otherwise! Cullen is right! The mages need to die! I refuse to chance all over again what just happened!”

“Tess, we need numbers,” Alistair explained gently.

“Then we gather the remaining population of Ferelden and spend the next few weeks training instead of worrying whether every remaining mage will suddenly turn on us! You weren't there, Alistair -”

“I _was_ there,” he stepped toward her but she backed away. “Remember? I was with you.”

“No, _no!_ I mean when you _left!_ You weren't there!” she was shaking again.”You don't know what they're capable of! They will _kill_ us, after using us for some Maker-forbidden ritual!”

“You need to listen to her! She's the only one making sense!” Cullen said.

“You are not helping, please stop,” Alistair firmly told the caged Templar. He turned back to Tess, but Wynne spoke first with a blaze of her fist.

“This is not up for debate, you can't just go around killing everyone!” Wynne told them; _Teagan had said the exact same thing._

“Put that out, or I _will Smite_ you, Wynne, I swear it! Do not threaten her again, or I will _let_ her kill everyone!” Alistair turned back to Tess. Each time he took a step toward her, she moved back. “Tess, stop.”

She shook her head. “I can't! I can't walk through that door and just _let them go!_ Mages are the root of evil! I can't do half the damage a single mage can! They have no allegiance except to the bidder who can offer them the strongest power! That _always_ means a demon! You've _seen_ that! We _don't need_ them!”

 _“I_ need them,” he told her.

 _“Listen_ to her! I _beg_ you!” Cullen voiced desperately.

 _“No_ mage is worth sparing after what just happened, Alistair!” Tess was yelling now. This wasn't rage, though, this was fear; he understood she only wanted to protect herself.

Morrigan scoffed out in disbelief and Wynne headed for the door into the Harrowing chamber, saying she'd find Irving herself. Cullen cried out to stop Wynne as Alistair ordered Shale to block the door. When Alistair turned back around, Tess had swung her bow and a readied arrow into position. At the risk of being shot, he rushed into her, pushing her arms and weapon down. He had no clear corner to hide her hide her in with the demonic pods of flesh bubbled up from every seam, so he just held her against him. He hushed her gently as she protested, cradling the back of her head. She gasped with a violent shudder and quick breath while his other hand unwrapped her fingers from her bow. One at a time, he wound her arms up between their bodies, and when her right hand lay securely at his chest, he drew his mark.

It wasn't working as quickly as he'd grown used to, though. She wasn't calming, kept shaking her head. She pleaded so fast he couldn't understand her words. He was able to pick out words here and there, _demons_ and _torture, safe_ and _just disappeared._ By the time was even able to get her attention to tell her to slow down, start again, she was hyperventilating. She gasped like she couldn't find air, like her chest was cinching up. She was so worked up that the circles weren't helping. The only thing he could do was hold her.

He traced on her hand anyway, but this was really secondary, background comfort right now. He held both of her hands where she could feel his chest expand. _Breathe with me._ At first she didn't hear, but he kept at it, repeating the words to the pace of his breathe. _Just breathe,_ directly in her ear. His finger silently let her know it was okay; _I'm here, I have you_. _Just breathe,_ he told her, _breathe with me. In, out, in, out. Just you and me, only breathing._

“I can't do this,” she finally made out clearly.

“Can't do what?” he murmured.

“Can't let them live,” she whispered. Her fingers dug in at his collar. “They'll make me go back to the Fade.”

“I'm not going to let them hurt you,” he told her. “We're going in to kill Uldred and save innocents. I'm not letting blood mages or abominations run loose.”

“But we don't know!” she insisted. “We don't know if they're blood mages just by looking at them.”

“I'm not asking you to let blood mages just walk away.”

“But what if they're just pretending? I can't – I can't do it. I can't – I _won't!_ They have to die, Alistair, _all_ of them! I can't go back there! I can't – I can't--” she was gasping again, shoulders rising and falling dramatically.

“Tess, listen to me,” he said.

“We won't know! If we go in there, they could lie -”

“Tess, stop, stop, stop,” he pressed her hands flat against him. “Take a deep breath, just breathe with me. _Breathe.”_ She nodded unevenly with another attempt to calm down. She locked into his gaze, and he set the pace for her attempts until they breathed as one. He brushed his lips against her face. “I love you, Tess. I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise you that.”

“I can't defend mages, though, Alistair,” she winced.

“Then don't defend them. Defend _me_. You can do that, right?” She searched his eyes like she didn't quite understand. “Let _me_ defend any mages worth defending, and you just focus on me.”

“But...what if the mages...”

“I'm _not_ going to protect blood mages or possessed mages or abominations. We need numbers to fight the Darkspawn, so we can't just barge in and kill everyone. We'll go in there, assess what we can, and you just watch out for _me_ , all right? I'll draw everything away from you, and you can stay back with your bow, out of reach.” he caressed her face gently. “Can you do that for me? Just focus on me?” he asked.

She hesitated. “Just you?” she asked.

“Just me. Just you and me, just like it's always been. Today is no different, I promise. We've survived worse together, remember?”

“That...doesn't count. A _dragon_ saved us,” she whispered. He couldn't help but laugh.

“But we survived the dragon's lair, didn't we?” he smiled. “It will be all right. It will be quick. We'll go in, kill all the bad guys, go back down and enforce the treaty, then we can leave, and dip in the lake, and go to sleep.”

She frowned deeper. “I smell that bad?”

He laughed again and held his head to hers. “You always smell like flowers, love.” he squished his lips to her nose. “Would you rather stay out here?” he asked her. “with your friend?”

“No.” she tightened her grip on his collar, so he tightened his hold.

He picked up her bow and arrow and wrapped her fingers back around it. “Just you and me,” he reminded her. He drew her rune upon her face with a final kiss to her cheek, and he led her to the door.

“I have had a _terrible_ day,” Zevran complained. “Please gratify me and admit when you take her aside like that, you are secretly making love in your minds?” Alistair and Tess both stared at the elf. When Tess looked up at Alistair for guidance, Zevran sighed in disappointment. “It is a terrible day indeed.”

The door was stuck. Shale had to break it open, only they found they were intruding upon a bald, elderly mage – _Uldred –_ conducting strange blue, cloud-like magic toward another man. Surrounding them were two abominations who channeled currents around the two mages, energy that flashed violet with lightning; the hairs on Alistair's body stood on end when he cringed with a shiver, and he felt Tess watch him curiously. The younger mage writhed on the floor, absorbing whatever spell Uldred was casting, and before their eyes, they witnessed abnormal growth that mirrored the abominations' skin and the growth of flesh bubbling up in the tower. _Maker's Light, help us!,_ Alistair prayed in his mind. They were witnessing a possession, the making of an abomination.

It seemed they weren't noticed, though, despite the racket Shale had caused. Quicker than the rest of them could react, Tess raised her bow and let the arrow fly. It stuck clear through the head of the transforming mage and felled it instantly, and the other abominations plus Uldred whirled to face them.

“Ah, look what we have here! The Teyrn's favorite spy!” Uldred greeted.

“You're a dead man, Uldred!” Tess flung another arrow, but Uldred deflected it with strange magic that turned the arrow into smoke.

“Dead man Uldred? Very observant. It's a shame you're not a mage. Uldred thought you had fabulous potential. He said you were quite two-faced. However, back to the moment, you are intruding. I'm genuinely impressed you're still alive. Unfortunately, that must mean you killed my servants.” He feigned a look of loose disappointment. “Ah, well. They are better off dying in the service of their betters than living with the terrible responsibility of independence.”

“Suddenly you have a heart, do you? Are you upset I killed your lackeys?” Tess antagonized.

“We needn't fixate on who killed whom. That doesn't help our relationship one bit,” Uldred insisted.

Tess flung another arrow, only to have it, too, evaporate. “The only relationship we'll have is when I take your last breath, Uldred!”

“Uldred?” the bald man chuckled. “Oh, you poor, naive girl. I am Uldred and I am not. I am something greater than Uldred.”

“You've let yourself become an abomination?!” Wynne surprised Alistair with her scolding tone. “Are you insane? The Uldred I knew worked his life away to prove mages _weren't_ all ruthless blood mages! How could you do this?”

“Oh, Wynne!” he gave a creepy laugh. “This is a gift, a little present. Actually, it is a grand present. Do you want this gift, Wynne? I could give it to you. You and all mages. It would be so much easier if you all just gave in.”

“Wynne, if you like your head on your shoulders, you will _not_ accept!” Tess ordered.

“There's no need to threaten! You know me very little indeed if you assume I'd stoop that low!” Wynne snapped back. “I'd rather Alistair Smite me every day till I die that become an abomination!”

“Some people can be so stubborn!” Uldred – the abomination? – complained.

“Say what you want, I'll still rip your spine out!” Tess aimed for Uldred again.

“You realize it's inconsiderate to invade someone's home and try to kill them?” Uldred asked. Tess shot a grotesque abomination instead. “You see? This is what I'm talking about!”

Tess forgot all about defending Alistair; rather, she may have reasoned that attacking the head demon and drawing attention to herself was the best way to defend him. She was forced to forget her bow and rely on her daggers, and though she had enough fire in her, Alistair was forced to abandon offense to watch for every possible attack toward her. He couldn't use his Templar abilities because it would disable Wynne and Morrigan. Uldred put an impenetrable barrier around himself, and inside he grew in distortions taller than Shale, taking on a very distinct demonic form complete with horns. Zevran came to aid Tess in frontal attack, and while together they created a bloody mess of spraying blood, Uldred the abomination healed almost quicker than the two rogues could slice.

It was soon all of them against Uldred the Demon. Wynne and Morrigan took turns sending out  healing auras, sometimes healing everyone at once, and Alistair felt his energy and focus return in a wisp of pale green about him more than once. But their attacks barely cut, and often not below the demon's tough hide. Alistair ordered Wynne and Morrigan back as far as they could go.

“Shake the ground!” He told Wynne. “Morrigan, as soon as we're out of the way, freeze it! Wynne, stay on Morrigan, keep her mana up!” Alistair continued to lash at the demon until the floor trembled beneath them. He grabbed Tess and pulled her, though Wynne's ground-quake spell was stronger than he imagined. Shale ended up dragging the three of them out of the tremors, and as soon as he hit the stone floor, Alistair saw daggers of ice shooting from Morrigan's hands. The witch's ice collected at the staggering demon until it was coated, while Wynne swirled a greenish-blue aura around Morrigan. “Shale, smash it!” Alistair yelled.

“Gladly.” Shale ripped a chunk of rock from the floor and hurled with such force that the ice shattered around it, sending dangerous splinters flying in all directions; Wynne contained the shards in a bubble around the demon, and before the beast could regain footing, Alistair told Morrigan to freeze it again. This was a slow process, but it consistently kept Uldred from regaining health and power and preventing him from using any other spells. Tess scrambled over to get her bow, she ran around the edge of the chamber till she had a clear shot. Alistair slipped and slid across the build-up of ice on the floor to stay with her, and she fired arrow after arrow until she ran out. When Shale broke the ice again, Alistair forced Tess to the floor in a ball and flung his shield around to cover her, hiding the best he could at her back with the hard armor on his arm protecting his neck.

Tess stopped Morrigan from completely freezing it. She unsheathed her daggers and yelled for Wynne, then Shale to hit it. The sound of splitting stone erupted from Wynne, and a fist of rock smashed into the face of the demon. Shale ran over in heavy steps that shook the floor, and while the golem pounded its massive hands into the head of Uldred, Tess ran and leapt, and stuck her rose dagger into the neck. Zevran ran over, slid on the ice and used it as a jump to join the killing, and together the three of them carved and beat the possessed mage into a ravaged mess.

When Tess staggered off the mess she helped create and collapsed, Alistair rushed to her. She was splattered from head to feet in dark blood that smelled of burnt rot. Alistair didn't care; he pulled her up into his arms, squeezed her tight and kissed all over her face, smearing demonic blood when he moved her hair off her face. He repeated _I love you_ until his tongue stumbled over the words; she told him she needed a bath, badly. Alistair only laughed and kissed her again.

They stood and found Wynne attending to the mages on the floor, Zevran assisting. The aged First Enchanter allowed a healing spell from Wynne and checked on the health of the other mages who had been under imprisonment from Uldred. Morrigan confirmed aloud that none seemed abominable. When Irving turned his attention to Tess and Alistair, Tess refused to meet the man's eyes. Alistair kept an arm around her; _I have you._

“First Enchanter,” Tess greeted, trying to overcome awkwardness.

“Two of the biggest troublemakers I have ever known. It is good to see you both.” Irving spoke, his voice frail with age and trauma, though kind, and a smile that matched.

Tess looked at the First Enchanter. “You are the first person to say that,” she said.

“Ah. Well, as far as I'm concerned, what you've done here today is quite redeeming,” Irving told them. Tess offered a very humbled _thank you._

When the mages were oriented again, Irving requested Tess and Alistair walk with him, that way Greagoir and the remaining Templars would grant them leniency. Morrigan and Shale trailed behind everyone, while Wynne and Zevran walked with the mages. Cullen's barrier had been removed, and the Templar was gone. They found him down in the entry with the rest of the Templars when they discovered the Knight-Commander overjoyed to see the First Enchanter. Cullen openly argued not a single mage could be trusted, but Greagoir commanded him to stand down; Irving was alive and well, and he could keep the remaining mages under control.

More mages than Templars remained. Twelve; twelve mages out of an entire Circle, not including the children who barely understood the word _magic._ Only seven Templars remained. As much as Alistair wanted to argue – and as much as Tess did argue – for full support from both remaining parties against the Blight, the Templars could not help them. With the threat of blood mages still possible, the Templars were needed to keep the remaining mages in check; Tess could not argue this logic either. However, Greagoir vowed to keep them safe and sound enough for battle.

While Zevran went to search for Morrigan, whom Shale said was _browsing_ , Alistair took the First Enchanter aside to ask about Tess. He explained she had been on lyrium for almost ten years, and aside from her withdrawals it made her violent and erratic, and she had complained of her bones hurting. Irving had no solutions, though.

“No. _No!”_ Tess cried softly as she joined them. “There can't be _nothing_!” she hissed. “After – after all that up there, you're going to tell me you can't fix me?” she searched Irving for an answer he didn't have.

“The only solution I'm aware of involves blood magic, my dear, but considering the state of this tower and the reason why, I won't allow it.” Irving looked at her in sympathy.

“Why is blood magic the only option?” Alistair asked.

“The lyrium is inside your bones. You would need to be partially drained and then refilled, and repeat, with living sacrifices to act as more blood. As of right now, I am not likely to allow or forgive more blood magic, even if it help you.”

“My _mind_. What about my head?” she asked. “Can you heal that? Hypnotize me? Put a spell on me? _Anything?”_

“And what's wrong with your head that you should require any of those?” Irving asked her. “If you are experiencing pain or dizziness or violent tendencies that is the lyrium that resides within your bones, that cannot be removed without blood magic, like I said.”

“I think we're all in agreement that's out of the question,” Alistair said.

“But my _head..._ ” Tess tapped the side of her head.

“And what is so wrong with your head?” Irving repeated.

She looked from Irving up to Alistair, and Alistair crumbled under her expression. She looked lost and alone all over again. He immediately took her hand to draw circles upon it. “My head,” she whispered. “There's...something wrong with me.” Her eyes quickly glossed over.

“No, _no_ , Tess that's _not_ what I _meant,”_ Alistair insisted.

 _“Please?_ Can't you do something?” Tess begged quietly.

“My dear, if I could, I would, and you have certainly earned a reward. But I unfortunately have to tell you: any mental side-effects of lyrium have to be worked out by the partaker. It is an on-going, tentative action that is at best delayed by daily meditation. Greagoir could tell you more about fighting the effect of it, I can assure that-”

“I don't want to talk to Greagoir about it. You can't….just do a really strong healing spell?” she asked.

“And what would I heal you from? Lyrium is a part of you now, your very blood is replenished in the essence it has branded in your bones. If I could safely remove it, I would, child, believe me. I am ever in your debt today.” Even though his rejection was consistent, Irving was gentle and stuck to wisdom.

Tess lost focus, though. Her eyes darted, and Alistair's insides dissolved when heavy realization flushed her face. Her bottom lip quivered and a tear fell from her eye. She stared at absolutely nothing. “You can't...can't...” she lost words with a spill of tears while she tapped her head. The look on her face cried impermanence; the last time Alistair had seen this look on her was at Ostagar, before he had coaxed her from the edge.

He couldn't move. He had promised her a healing, to take away her pain. He had nothing but desolation and shame to fill his hollowed insides as she wandered to the door, knowing she knew he had failed her.

Alistair immediately turned to follow Tess. This was new. Even when she was itching from inside in withdrawal, he’d been able to comfort her and provide relief. But not anymore. That she knew he could not keep his promise to care for her dug a deeper wound.

He didn’t enjoy the burst of fresh, cool air on his skin, in his lungs like he thought he would as he pushed through the doors. He spotted Tess on the dock, removing her weapons and belt. “What are you doing?” he went to her.

“Swimming back.”

“Tess, you’ll drown. It took long enough just getting here in the boat,” he reminded her.

“I can swim.”

“Tess.” he was ashamed at the need that dropped his voice. She looked at him with a dourness that matched his own. “Please just sit with me.”

“I’m covered in demon blood from head to toe.” this was her excuse. She was trying to avoid talking about what had just happened.

“So am I. That’s not important right now.” He held his hand out to her. She took so long to respond that he assumed silence was her answer. With a tight, sunken chest, he blinked back pressure around his eyes and bent to retrieve her weapons.

“I just...need some time, please. _May_ I?” she whispered.

He nodded, though it was the last thing he wanted right now. “Just...” he trailed off. Was trying to keep her close the right thing, considering all that had happened? Considering they both knew his promises meant nothing now?

“Is it going to walk with me?” Shale met them on the dock.

“I’ll set up,” he told Tess. “Take your time.”

The ride back was gloomy. No one spoke, but Alistair could feel Morrigan and Zevran stare at him. He kept his eyes on Tess instead, watching her dunk underwater, pop back up with tiny splashes. Empty. That was exactly how he felt. Another part of himself given and ripped out, and with Tess swimming out of range...just empty.

Tess was still swimming when the row boat docked by the inn. Leliana and Sten took one look at Alistair and asked what happened to Tess. Zevran stepped up to summarize their experience in the tower, and Alistair was grateful the elf left out the details of the Fade. Alistair simply said they were staying the night, before wandering off to a section of shore hidden by trees and brush to strip down and wash.

The lake was cold. It prickled his skin, but it was change and diversion. He dunked, completely submerging himself. The dripping water masked his tears about the Fade. _Husband. Father._ Never had ever imagined himself in either role. Tess was the closest he’d come to being _husband,_ but not like she’d imagined him being. _Perfect husband. Perfect Father. Her_ perfect husband. She dreamed herself free of addiction and pain. _She wanted to be perfect for him;_ that thought alone pierced him. He scooped up water and brought it to his face.

He could still hear her voice,  _I love you husband..._

A familiar buzz warmed his veins with a surge that lifted weight he wasn’t even aware he bore. He turned to see Tess walking up on land, her boots sloshing as she drew closer. Alistair hesitated; though her Taint comforted him, he was terrified of her leaving him now that she knew he couldn’t keep her safe.

She didn’t speak as she watched him. Her eyes darted and worry quickened her breath. He was afraid to speak to her. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know how to console her when he couldn’t convince himself there was a light at the end of the journey. All he could think about was failing to protect her from the Fade, and failing to find a way to heal the deepest parts of her. She turned with a tremble and picked up his armor, then sat on the edge of the land and started scrubbing with the palm of her glove. A few scrubs, and she crumbled. Her sob rattled his heart till it came loose and fell into his gut, and Alistair realized he had to try anyway. He didn't have a choice but to offer any comfort he had left. If he wanted the pain to wean, he had to reassure her it would be worth it; he wanted to believe it would be.

He nearly tripped over himself to get to her. The moment he took her hand and drew a circle, she fell into him to be held, not not caring that he was naked. She cried so hard she could barely breathe, and he spent the last light of day marking on her hand, holding her as close as he could.

It wasn’t so easy to remain her foundation, though. She had calmed enough for him to dress and set up their tents, up the hill from the others, but then she just sat there. She stared at the fire with that same look she wore at her Joining; like she hoped for death. And even though he knew none of the Fade was real, Alistair saw their daughters every time he glanced at her. They looked like her. They had her profile, their eyes sat the same way, Tess was a Carlyn grown without freckles; he would never be able to _not_ see their daughters when he looked at her.

He finished setting up the tents in tears. When he sat on the bearskin in front of the fire, he couldn’t eat. His stomach flipped and twisted inside him, and he capped the brandy to roll it away from him. He looked at Tess. Somber, vacant, not even blinking as the flames danced wildly in front of her. In the Fade, he had made every first move, but he couldn’t do that here. He couldn’t even hold her without asking, or without her asking him in some form. But...he needed her. The longer the night went on, the longer he watched her, the bigger the hole in his heart grew.

He should have listened to her when she said she didn’t want to go to the tower. He should have listened to her when she said everything just needed to die. The others had also agreed.

The others remembered his daughters, too. Morrigan had been unusually kind because of the girls. Shale had let Carlyn climb all over without even a rude pigeon remark. Zevran, _that stupid elf whom he’d accused of trying to steal Tess from him,_ had immediately accepted Alistair’s and Tess’ daughters as family, was willing to remain in the Fade with them to help. Tess’ greatest desire had been so beautiful it touched the hearts of two people Alistair had never thought to ally with. Her love in the Fade was that beautiful; he wanted that back. He wanted _her_ back.

“Tess?” his voice broke from his lips in a croak. Her reaction was a delayed series of blinks without returning his gaze. He itched, but far from carnal. He needed to to know he was doing something right. He needed to know she believed in him and his ability to take care of her, to protect her, _save_ her. His skin itched to be cradled in her arms. He knew that was too soon, though. “Can we talk about the Fade?” he didn’t sound like himself; this was the voice of a man tarnished and lame. He wanted her to tell him about their daughters. He wanted to know why she dreamed they looked like him. He wanted to hear her say _I love you_ again.

Tess shook her head and muttered _no, no Fade!_ It felt like a knife twisted inside his chest. None of it? Not even them? What else could he do to bring her back to him? In the Fade, she had let him touch her as he wanted to. Is that what she wanted of him?

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t just barge in uninvited; the thought of her scared and distrusting him because his touch might trigger something Loghain did to her hurt worse than failing to protect her. But _Maker, he needed her!_

He was openly crying when the words spilled out. “Tess, _can_ I _hold_ you?” he begged her; he needed something, _anything._ She jerked a little when she turned, her brows crowding together as she searched his face. “Please?” he whispered. She looked surprised to see _he_ was so torn and exposed.

As soon as she held her hand out and nodded, he crawled to her. He wrapped himself around her without anymore words and cried at her neck. He tried to apologize, but it came out in pieces and pleading, and part of him even thought he would feel better if she just forgave him. He had never felt more broken in his life.


	29. Baby Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Tess reflect on the Fade; Alistair struggles when a storm reminds him of childhood abuse from Isolde, and as Tess steps up to try to comfort him the way he calms her, he realizes his efforts are actually helping her make personal progress, which also strengthens their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: (recollection of) verbal abuse
> 
> Mood Music:  
> The Storm: [Beyond the Veil, by Lindsey Stirling](https://youtu.be/Qg7L0OQiN78)  
> 

They never made it into the tents. Alistair woke up shivering to find half of his shaking was from Tess vibrating against him in her sleep. There was a blanket over them, and the fire was still burning, but it was cold outside. Even the mabari was shaking, as he warmed Alistair’s backside. Alistair risked the chance of waking Tess by carrying her to his tent; it would be a tight sleep, but they were already curled up together. She slept through it all. Alistair fed the fire for good measure and told Po to sleep in Tess’ tent, then he slid in next to Tess, lay on his side and tucked them both under the quilt.

The morning was quiet when they woke with the sun. Alistair didn’t bother rushing. They sat together in silence in front of the fire, wrapped in blankets. Alistair convinced her to eat; even if they just went back to Redcliffe, she would need energy for the return trip. He ended up feeding her, but he didn’t mind. It strengthened purpose inside of him again; taking care of her. He could do this.

He studied their map while he ate; she leaned against him the entire time. He said he thought they should stop in Redcliffe after all, at least for one night. It would be some place warm and dry; they could check on Eamon’s status, and get on a quicker road to this Haven town if they still needed to to, and they could stock up, prepare for the storm that might move in. And baths; hot baths.

She helped him pack up this time. She hadn’t spoken save for a couple faint words, still, but she was trying to help. Alistair hoped this was a step closer for their relationship. He couldn’t expect her to laugh or gab, but this was the first time she’d helped. It gave him a huge burst of hope.

Wynne was waiting for them at the wagon. Tess didn’t get to, nor need to argue with the old mage; Morrigan was doing it for her. Wynne insisted she accompany them; she admitted she still didn’t approve of their attitudes or motivations, but she praised that when it came down to it, Tess and Alistair did what was right. Wynne wanted to repay them by allowing them to be their Healer on their journey to stop the Blight. Alistair looked to Tess, who muttered it was his call, before he agreed. It was smart to have an extra healer accompany them.

Alistair and Tess were silent the entire journey back to Redcliffe, in fact most of them were quiet. Wynne was apparently used to conversation. At first she struck it with Bodahn; small talk: how long he’d been in business, did he really acquire his merchandise in the Deep Roads, was he familiar with magic? The conversation shifted when Wynne asked if the dwarves knew about Tesslyn; Bodahn confirmed they did.

“How long have they been like this? In the tower they seemed so...lively,” Wynne said. If she was trying to whisper and gossip, she was faring poorly.

“Ah...” Bodahn hesitated uncomfortably behind the two Wardens.

“This journey has been troublesome for us all,” Leliana chimed in, relieving the dwarf. The muffling of leather on worn gravel told Alistair that Wynne was moving.

“Honestly, how hard can it have been? You haven’t been at this very long,” Wynne observed.

“We have been at it long enough for there to be some trials,” Leliana told the old woman. “Obstacles out of anyone’s control. Not unlike the events at your tower, no?”

“This seems...different, though. Are they always this quiet? I’ve never seen Grey Wardens so unresponsive before,” Wynne commented; Leliana’s reply was so low that Alistair barely heard her voice. “Oh, my,” Wynne said; Leliana’s hushed speak continued. “That explains what I saw in the tower, why he keeps her with him.” Wynne didn’t seem able to whisper. She paused for Leliana’s murmur, then answered, “He practically keeps a death-grip on her. No wonder he never lets go. It’s like he’s afraid he’ll slip away if he does. Poor dear.”Alistair could feel eyes on him from just about all angles as Leliana muttered. “It’s such a shame. I know her, from before. I still don’t particularly care for her, and yet I can’t help but feel sorry for them both. You know, I haven’t seen children that age in a very long time.”

Tess made a noise and yanked on Alistair’s arm, and he looked down to to see her stumble over her feet with a quiver. His own eyes watered as he stopped to pick her up. He held her tight, her legs and arms clinging on, not for fear of being dropped but out of heartbreak. His shoulder muffled a sob that seeped right through to his heart. He told Bodahn to stop the wagon for a moment. Wynne’s voice followed them around to the back, _“Wounds and injuries I can heal. Unfortunately, this kind of pain will take time. At any rate, I’m pleased he’s accepted my offer to continue. Perhaps I can ease some of his fears...”_ Tess curled into him on the back of the wagon, and Alistair held her close, kissing her head. He wasn’t convinced this kind of wound _could_ heal.

Tess remained right next to him. When she was ready to walk again, they stayed behind the others; he held on to her just as tight as she gripped him. When they stopped for the night, Alistair just made one tent, like all those nights before they fought. He was grateful she didn’t object. She was the only source of comfort he had right now; knowing she would be _right there_ when he woke up was more relieving than being able to breathe again.

It was almost surreal: this sort of thing just didn’t happen to people. No one ever had a family, _proof_ of love and progression and security, inside of a dream only to have it disappear with out its tail of feelings. He’d once heard a Revered Mother tell a conflicted Brother _our eyes see what our minds want us to see._ Alistair knew this went along with emotion, too. But if the dream felt real, and he could feel the dream still...then was it really a dream? Maybe _this_ was the dream, the walking and not talking, constant movement. He supposed the only reasons for staying grounded were the hunger pains that reminded him he would pass out and waste away if he didn’t force food down.

He didn’t want to, though. The pain was the _only_ tie to reality. He was more than ready to lie down and return to the Fade. He even considered asking Morrigan to send him and Tess back. Alistair started to wonder, if there was was a cliff nearby...would he be sitting on the edge with Tess again? This time, ready to jump with her, instead of pull her away...They fell asleep crying, locked in each others arms, trying to ignore the world around them.

When they arrived in Redcliffe, Teagan met them outside and sighed at Tess’ sulking. “Why is it every time you’re here, there’s something wrong with you?” Teagan joked.

“Stab yourself and fall off the bridge,” Tess immediately sassed.

“Nevermind! You’re perfectly normal!” he corrected himself.

“I’m warning you, _don’t start!”_ she said harshly, her pain obvious to Alistair but maybe not to Teagan.

“And magically I’ve done something wrong, _again_ ,” Teagan added. “That’s the story of my life when you’re around, cousin.”

“I said stop!” she said through her teeth.

“Actually, you said _don’t start_ ,” Teagan couldn’t keep from agitating Tess when they were together, and Tess was the same way. There was very little control between the two of them. Teagan was like the breeze that fanned her flames.

“I’m _serious!_ I have just had the worst few days of my life, the _least_ you could do is just _shut up_ and let me _be_ for once!” Tess stormed off inside the castle. Teagan looked to Alistair, but the Bann’s query instantly turned to concern when Alistair met his stare. Alistair figured he looked a mess if his face was cause enough to silence the man. He let Alistair pass without another remark.

Alistair didn’t speak as he followed Tess inside. He assumed the others knew what they were doing, where to go; same as last time. He went straight to Tess’ quarters, with Po at his side, ever his loyal sidekick. Before closing himself in the room, he asked a maidservant to bring water for a hot bath. He and Tess stripped down to their undergarments without speaking, and after the servant filled the bath, he let Tess soak first.

He sat along side the stone tub to wash her hair and her back, and then he rested his head and to watch her when she lay back to relax. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath that rose her breasts out of the water; the cooler air of the room instantly perked up her skin, drawing her nipples up in tiny pebbles; the mere sight of her in stimulation, even accidental, was arousing. However, at the moment, he was more attracted to the ambiance that calmed about her. She had been far from peace for a very long time, it seemed, perhaps only when she’d passed out during withdrawals.

He brushed his fingers along her skin, caressing her face, her neck, shoulder, just staring. “You are so beautiful,” he told her. When she opened her eyes to see him, he brought her hand up out of the water to his lips. “I love you,” he made sure his voice was strong, clear, unlike the emotion he felt sneaking up behind his eyes. He never left her gaze, held her hand to his mouth as he lightly tickled her. “With all my heart,” he added, “every last bit that I have left.”

“Even outside of the Fade?” she whispered. Water filled his eyes.

“Especially outside of the Fade,” he couldn’t help but whisper in the strain to keep his tears in. “We weren’t in the Fade when we met,” he reminded her, “nor when you stole my heart.” It hurt; he loved her so much it hurt just to talk about it. They hadn’t talked about _them_ in so long. It felt like his heart was growing all again.

“But I’m not -” she tore her eyes from his with a shattered voice, and a tear sneaked down her face. Alistair reached over and trapped it with this thumb, and gently turned her face back his way.

“You are _so_ much more out here,” he insisted.

“That’s not true, you _know_ that!” she winced. “I can’t...we will _never_ have children out here...”

“Where would we be, Tess, if I had never needed to sit with after your Joining?” he asked, his own voice barely above a whisper . “I wouldn’t have even known your _name_ .” he cradled half of her face with his hand. “One of us, or _both_ of us would have died. It would have been just another battle with no meaning. I would still be a nobody to the world, even to you. _You_ give me reason to keep fighting, Tess. You are _so_ much more outside of the Fade.”

“But I’m not perfect...” this is what bothered her most?

“You are to _me,”_ he told her. “I’ve wanted you since Ostagar, since the we were in the Wilds. I didn’t recognize it then because I’ve never had it before, but when I saw you in the morning, I knew I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life. Just you and me. And I’m okay with just us. The girls,” tears spilled over before he could blink them away. “Maker, they were _so beautiful_ , Tess!” his voice barely scraped past his lips. “I _love_ them _still._ But I know our limits out here, and I can _live_ with that. As long as I have you, I can live with that.” He kissed her hand again. “It’s always been just you and me, and your dog,” he added when Po gave a gruff snort from in front of the fire.

Her face was still, solemn as tears streamed down to mingle with the bath water. “You left me,” she said. “When you told me to go inside, they were -” her eyes darted as she tried to bat more tears away. “They were _gone_ , and I turned around, and _you_ were gone!”

Without a thought to his clothes, he rose to his feet and climbed in the stone tub to cradle her. “I never meant to leave, I’m so sorry.” He wrapped her completely, and she hugged him so tight he couldn’t otherwise move. She trembled in his arms, though barely making a sound as she cried. He hid his face in her wet hair to hide his sorrow, though he suspected she could feel it in the way he clung to her. He whispered apologies, “I tried to stay. I _wanted_ to stay. But...something happened. You went inside, and everything changed. You were gone, the house was gone...I _never_ wanted to leave, Tess, believe me.”

“You...you knew?” she asked. “You knew were in the Fade?”

He pulled back just enough to see her face. He was almost afraid to tell her, but he nodded anyway. _“You_ told me,” he said. “You told me, and then...my sister turned into a demon, and her children attacked me...and then you kissed me, and before I knew it, we were in bed...” between her bare skin beneath his hands and the memory of coming down over her over her in bed, his groin had risen; embarrassed, he pulled his hips away from her and breathed an apology.

“Why would you stay if you knew?” she asked, ignoring his erection and apology.

He searched her face. “Do you really not know?” he asked. “You gave me something I can’t ever have anywhere else.” he reached up and traced the tiny lines around her eyes. “You gave me two beautiful children, Tess. They were so smart and so precious. I didn’t even know that sort of beauty existed, but _you gave_ it to me. I’ll never get to be a father out here, but _you let_ me be.” Tears blurred his vision all along the bottom of his eyes. “You gave me _you._ I honestly thought you didn’t want to touch me anymore. I didn’t think I was ever going to...to get to make love to you again...” he could barely hear his voice leaving his throat. “I _miss_ that, Tess. _Maker, I miss you so much!”_ He dropped his head to hers. “You were _happy_ , and you _touched_ me, you _wanted_ me... _inside you_ ...I don’t know how it is for you, but for _me,_ it’s part of how I love you. I don’t know of any other way to be closer to you than to make love to you. I just wanted that to last forever,” he breathed. He was the one streaming, now.

“Even though it meant dying?” she asked. Her face was forlorn like he had never seen before.

“As long as my last moments are with you, that’s all that matters,” he told her. “You are all that matters to me. So, _yes_ . I was willing to stay where you wanted us to be. I was _ready_ to stay in the Fade with you and raise as many children as we could until...whatever happens when we die.” He pressed a kiss in to the corner of her mouth. “As long as I have you.” He spied her reaction as he traced circles over her hand. Her pupils dilated almost instantly, and her breath flowed deeper. He buried his face in hers. “I will never stop needing you.”

Neither of them spoke much for awhile. After they were out of the bath and dried and dressed, they sat in front of the fire with hot tea. He tried to ask her what happened in the Fade after they got separated, but she didn’t want to talk about. When he tried to press her into telling him, she withdrew, curled up with her knees to her chest, even started rocking. He tried to take her hand to draw on it and tell her _It’s okay, I’m sorry, I’m here_ , but she wouldn’t let go of her legs; he wound his arms around her so he could reach her hand to mark it anyway. She eventually fell asleep against him in front of the fire.

Teagan insisted they stay a few days. The storm seemed to be getting closer, and he said there wasn’t much cover from here to the mountains. Dreading the thunder that might come with the rain, Alistair agreed. However, instead of eating supper, Tess got drunk, while Teagan insisted Alistair share a drink with him. She wandered downstairs to find Alistair, and before either of them realized how drunk she was, or that she had possibly been holding back torment and anger, Teagan teased her and she exploded. She threw her glass, and though she missed entirely, the clearest part of her rant included Teagan not saving her from Loghain, that he _should have_ because it was _his job_.

This instantly snapped Alistair back to sobriety. He had to physically remove her from Teagan, but instead of just taking her from the room, Alistair carried her the way back to her quarters. She struggled against him, beat his chest to try to get away, even went limp to slip from his arms. He followed her right down to the floor, though, wrapped his legs over hers, crossed her arms under his. While he had her locked, with her head wedged in the crook of his neck, he circled on her hand, telling her to breathe with him, to feel his breath. It didn’t take long for her to break into tears; the cry that ripped from her lungs tore at his heart. She wailed why didn’t he save her, _him_ , now. This time when he asked her what she was talking about, she told him. It wasn’t clear, but he understood enough to piece together: _Fade, Loghain, tied down, mage, shoved in, forced open,_ and  _poison like fire._ While he hurt with her, traced on her skin, Alistair also boiled inside. He would absolutely kill Loghain.

He put Tess to bed before seeking Teagan to apologize, which included a brief tale of what happened in the Fade. He then told the Bann it was best if they leave the next day. Teagan seemed to understand, though he told Alistair to sleep on the storm before making the whole party brave the rain. Part of him wanted to stay, but part of him felt it was the right choice. Being around Teagan brought out emotions in Tess that weren’t helping her deal with anything very well.

In the morning. Teagan made sure they were fully resupplied before sending them off; he seemed to be always good for this. Alistair wasn’t in a rush, he insisted the party took their time making sure everything was in order, made sure everyone had eaten, armor and weapons cleaned. Haven was thought to be six, maybe seven days walk with the wagon, and he didn’t want to take anymore chances than he was already about to put them all in just by traveling under threat of storm.

Tess rarely spoke. Po walked along her left side, and Alistair at her right, every day. She held Alistair’s hand again, a firm grip to not let his hand slip, even when sweat pooled between their palms. Alistair was just as afraid to let her go, too, and not just because of anything that happened in the Fade. The storm that swept inland was vast, cascading, and it caught up to them the next day. Alistair watched the dark clouds roll in like a caged bronto; threatening but not striking yet. He didn’t mind the rain, but this was summer; summer rain always brought in lightning and thunder; _Isolde all over again. Forced to freeze, forced to hide, forced to cower._ They pushed on as far as they could, but when the rain picked up weight and speed they were forced to detour a bit to take cover in the edge of the Wilds. They agreed to take shifts to watch for Darkspawn, No one else but Tess seemed to notice Alistair tick whenever thunder growled. _Rotten little nug!,_ the voice of a dead woman screeched with the sky..

By the time they actually reached the edge of the woods, Alistair was tipping inside. He was plenty aware he kept tightening his grip on Tess’ hand, but he couldn’t stop himself. She was his only anchor, and each crash from the clouds was like a string from inside that cinched and pulled, shrinking him back down to the forgotten little stable boy. Isolde yelled when the clouds crashed, _You wouldn’t be wet if you had stayed where you belong!_ The thunder echoed relentlessly around them, extreme screams that whipped through the trees that were supposed to provide shelter. _You will get nothing from us, you dirty leech!_

His hands shook when he tied tarp overhead. He was vaguely aware of someone on the other end, tugging on the fabric as he struggled to create a dry space. When lightning flashed through the sky in a haze of purple and white, jolting like fire through his body just like Isolde’s riding crop, with a sound just the same. It felt like his chest was collapsing while his knees weakened under him. Whatever was in his hands fell as he leaned into the tree for support, and he closed his eyes in attempt to block out the bolts of light. A voice spoke, but he couldn’t distinguish it from the noise, and then thin fingers took his right hand and began to trace circles.

It took Alistair a moment under this repeating sensation to remember what it was; _Tess._  He raised his head and looked over. Brows clenched, eyes darting as frantically as the rain fell, searching him for something he wasn’t sure he had. She cradled his hand tenderly in hers, drawing circle after circle; perhaps she was frantic because it wasn’t working on him like it did her.

Two things happened so suddenly all at once: he realized she consciously connected his motions with comfort and release, _it wasn’t all in vain_ ; and he saw his broken little wife trying to fix _him_ , now, _he knew it was because she didn’t know what to do without him taking care of her anymore_ . Both of these brought bittersweet tears to his eyes, and he turned to bury himself in her. Her voice broke at his ear, _“It’s okay, I’m here,”_ like she was pleading with him to believe her; he clutched at her, and for the moment, he truly was afraid to let go.

She stood there and held him the best she could until the shivers ran out. When he finally straightened up off of her neck, she stood on her toes and kissed him. It was light and brief, but _she_ had _given_ it to him, without him having to ask. For a moment, he just studied her; even though she still hadn’t said it outside the Fade, he believed she loved him. Right now felt like all the proof he needed. He let his head hang to hers, wiping from her cheek a tear that fell when he closed his eyes to breathe. He said, “I love you,” and she responded with another press of her lips to his. His mouth still tingled when she returned to flat feet.

Together they finished setting up their camp, side by side, her winding rope around one side of a tree, him retrieving it from around the other way, tangling their arms together and the secured each corner of tarp. There was no mention when toes were stepped on or elbows jabbing into ribs. Tonight it was simply them working together, her helping him so he could take care of her.

When they finally had the rain blocked out and their tent set up, she readied their bed while he tried to set a fire, and when he couldn’t start the fire because his hands shook again, she disappeared out of the tent only to return with Morrigan. Alistair didn’t like the witch taking over part of _his_ job, but Tess stood at his side with his right hand in hers and drew circles. He understood she was trying to say, _It’s okay;_ this was her way of helping when he couldn’t. Without words, Morrigan torched the firewood until the flames stuck, and when her witch left, Tess stood on her toes for another kiss. Alistair relished her love while he had it.

She pinned the tent flaps open to warm their beds, and when he didn’t feel like eating, she held him on their bed facing the fire. Normally, he was too big for this; compared to him, she was so little and she naturally fit into his hold with ease, so reversed just seemed pointless. But tonight, he fit so perfectly in her arms that it seemed she had been made to hold him. She kept marking circles on the back of his right hand, as well, and as he settled in the crook of her neck, she drew circles on his left cheek; he didn’t have the heart to tell her none of it affected him like it did her, but her touch in general was tender and sweet so he let her continue. Her fingers on his face were lulling, and between her loving caress and soft hum as she sang, he melted, relaxed, and drifted into sleep inhaling the scent of her skin.

It was still raining when Alistair woke up. Tess was curled around him, holding him to her heart even as she slept. She had one leg draped completely over him with her foot resting at his back, almost like a stopper to keep him rolling away.

Her body heat and heartbeat against him, with his face nestled between her breasts, quickly hardened his erection. He leaned back to see her face when her hips rolled toward his in response to him throbbing between her legs. She was still asleep, though subconsciously trying to mate with him out of pure instinct. The pressure in his groin, he thought he could live with; it would go away, eventually. But knowing her body wanted him, and realizing she probably avoided touching him _so_ her instincts wouldn’t take over... _that_ hurt. He _loved_ her touch; it made him feel alive, needed, _wanted,_ it opened up senses he wasn’t aware were usually dulled. Making love to her when her touch had his skin celebrating even the faintest graze had been an explosion in itself, completely aside from climax. Even after a night that had felt loving and progressive, and thus making a discussion like _why won’t you have sex with me_ highly inappropriate, this actually hurt.

He arced his hips away from hers, but with her leg hooked over him, it pulled her with him, and she came crashing right into his erection. A hiss hitched his mouth open with the motion of her centre seeking him, rubbing on him. He carefully lifted her leg from his hip, but he didn’t pull back in time; he cursed as her thighs trapped his erection, and she stirred. Her arms tightened around him, and he sighed, half in relief, half in defeat. Her hold was only adding to the knot in his testicles. Gripping her hip to try to push her away didn’t help either.

“Tess, I love you, I _do_ , I _really_ do, but I need you to let go of me, right now, _please_ ,” he added with a hiss as she resisted him pushing her away. “Unless you’re going to make love to me, I really need you to let go of me.” the words escaped barely louder than a whisper. She froze and opened sleepy eyes at him, then unwound her arms from around his neck. He held her hip still so she wouldn’t follow him as he rolled over, and he lay on his back with a loud exhale. He took a few moments to simply breathe, trying to guide his pulse up toward his chest instead, or even his feet, anywhere but his penis. She was unusually still beside him, and when he looked at her, he found her peeking sleepily at his standing erection from the corner of her eyes. “It’s not going to bite, you know,” he tried to joke.

Her eyes flew to his and she frowned. “It might,” she mumbled, pressing her face into his shoulder and clutching his arm like a teddy bear.

He couldn’t help but let loose laughter. “No, not this one. It hasn’t been used enough to learn how to bite.” She shot him a darker frown, then hid her face, and he laughed again. “You don’t want to have sex with me, but you don’t mind clinging for dear life when we’re lying down in complete safety.”

“Do you have a point to all this so early in the morning?” she grumbled.

“I clearly remember all the times we’ve made love, Tess; you weren’t even awake when you told me to take you, a couple times.” he moved his arm to cradle her into his chest, though and he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “And that morning after I gave myself to you? You climbed right over me, and you’re eyes were still closed.” he rubbed her arm, closing his eyes again. He couldn’t help another smile. “And in the Fade, you tried to push my head down between your legs.” he giggled.

She groaned. “You’re evil. Go back to sleep.” He giggled harder and held her tighter, and she curled up into a ball at his side.

He watched her for a quiet while. The rain _pitter-pattered_ down around them; rain itself was soothing to him, but not storms. He watched Tess’ shoulders rise and fall, as her head rose and fell with his own chest. He reached just under her shirt to her collar, to glide his fingers up across her shoulder, up the side of her neck, and back down. She made a noise as she wiggled, nestling in deeper at the crook of his shoulder. She even wrapped an arm around him. “That feels good,” she murmured, her eyes closed.

A smirk spread wider across his face than it probably should have. “I can caress you _other_ places that will make you feel good,” he teased. She frowned before she even opened her eyes, and he giggled all over again. He leaned in to kiss her, reaching over with other hand to cradle and massage her head while he resumed grazing up and down her neck and shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered with sleep a few times as she watched his face. _Maker, you are so beautiful._ He brushed the back of his fingers down her face while they shared a sweet gaze. “Thank you for kissing me last night,” he told her gently. “That meant a lot to me.”

She didn’t speak, but she slid her hand up and held his palm to her face. Her eyelashes tickled him with every blink, each one slower than the one before until at last they remained closed. Her breath warmed him through his shirt, and on his lower palm, and his groin twitched to her rhythm. She had reached far out of her zone to comfort him last night. One step at a time, he supposed.


	30. Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair continues to work with Tess as she shows signs of progression, but they fall into an unexpected setback when they uncover Haven's "friendly hospitality."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music:  
> [ Child of Light, by Lindsey Stirling (Shatter Me instrumental)](https://youtu.be/oEBNIzOIbVs?list=RDQg7L0OQiN78)

“I thought you weren’t afraid of thunder?” Tess asked.

Alistair looked up from buckling his boot. “I said that?” he asked. He played back major events in his mind; Ostagar, Lothering, the night they first made love...

“Right after we left Morrigan’s house. You asked me if I could really walk barefoot to Lothering, and I made a lame joke, and then I said I go barefoot in the rain. You said you love the rain and love thunder,” she said. He watched her while he recalled this conversation; it had started with offering her his boots.

He huffed a curse and ducked his head, using his boots as an excuse now. “I did. Didn’t I?” he rather stated.

“What changed?” she asked. He dared to glance at her. He couldn’t read her at all right now.

“Nothing changed. I guess...I thought I was over it.” he hesitated, then returned to his boots.

“Over what?” she sounded curious enough.

“Isolde. But I guess somethings don’t die as easy as bodies do.”

“Is this the same thing as the...mother thing?” she asked in clear caution.

He hung his head in another sigh before he stood. “Yes, just about. I’m a little crushed you remember that, if I’m honest right now.”

“Why?” she looked at him.

“That’s what you remember? From all that happened between us?” he asked.

“I remember more than that, Alistair.” He had offended her.

“But you’re focusing on that.”

“Because you froze up. You stopped functioning completely!” she cried softly.

 _“You_ have stopped functioning before, I have not complained once,” he reminded her.

 _“You_ weren’t relying on me to take _care_ of you!” she declared adamantly.

He stared at her, unable to tell if she was appalled or scared. “Do you think less of me?” he asked quietly.

 _“No!_ It _scared_ me! I can’t - _I_ don’t know how to start a _fire_ on my own! _I_ can’t reach places that _need_ to be reached to properly set up shelter! _I_ can’t _do_ anything right now except _destroy_ things!” He was too amazed with her honesty to go to her, even though tears jumped from her lashes and her eyes were darting to try to make sense of the situation. “If you freeze up, what happens to me? You’re the _only_ reason I’m alive right now!”she said. “I wish you would have _told_ me! You have _no_ idea how hard it was to not to freak out! You couldn’t hear me! What if - _what if -”_

He snapped out of his trance and met her with a tight embrace. She shivered in his arms while he sought her hand, and she clung to him with her face in his chest. He drew on her hand and watched a droplet fall on his finger from above her; he hadn’t realized he was crying. He pressed his face into the top of her head and simply tried to listen for her heart to stop pounding like a war drum.

He had no idea any of this was so intense for her. He didn’t know she worried about not being able to rely on him, he didn’t know she remembered anything he’d ever said to her before her last relapse, he had no idea she’d worked so hard to stay stable for _his_ sake last night. He did not know she was scared of losing him.

This also accounted for their life in the Fade; she did everything around the house, there. She didn’t need him to physically help with anything; his job had been husband and father, and that was it. So...it was lack of confidence? She didn’t believe she could do anything because she had substance abuse problems? And Maker, she just said she thought being _short_ was a fault!

“I’m so sorry, love,” it came out in a whisper, “I honestly thought I was over it.” He reached up to wipe his eyes dry before looking at her. He also wiped under her eyes, and he couldn’t help a smile as he told her, “having short reach is _not_ a disability,” he teased.

“It _is_ when your _hus_ -” she cut herself off, and her eyes darted away from his. He couldn’t move for a moment. His heart beat so hard he heard it echo in his ears.

“Say it,” he requested, though it came out more as a command. He recognized the conscious control over her actions as her eyes darted while she stalled to speak; just like this morning, when he realized her body wanted him, only to have her mind fight it. “Tess, _please_ ,” he urged. He breathed against her. “Is it so much to want to hear my wife address me how she thinks of me?”  

“But we’re not...”

“You are to me. We certainly were in the Fade. That was _your_ dream.” He cursed, though; all the breathing and nuzzling with her hands on his chest, thinking of them _acting_ as husband and wife was tightening his smalls. He stepped back with a sigh. “Nevermind. It’s a bad idea for me to talk like this when you’re...not ready.” He tried to step away to keep physical distance, but she kept his hand. He dared to look at her, a little worried what he might do if he was aroused enough and she wasn’t. He’d forced himself to ignore that need, so far, but it was so much harder when she took control of herself.

She took a deep breath and wet her lips. “It is _so_ a disability to be short when your... _husband...”_

He felt a grin spreading on his face.

“...is such a _giant.”_

He was definitely grinning now. He reeled himself back to her, wrapping her arms around his waist as he closed any distance between them. “This is all the reach I need you to have,” he told her. She froze when he bent to kiss near her mouth, and he hesitated. She turned in just enough, and her breath already tingled his lips. He waited for her...and waited, but it seemed she expected him to move first. Her breasts pressed against his chest as she breathed him in. When she exhaled on him, it sizzled through his skin straight to his groin, and she gave no indication that she felt him pushing against her. It was almost hard to breathe. It was like stalemate in a long game of chess. He felt like he was drowning in her breath, in anticipation. His hips were starting to buck from his tightening smalls and the need to slide his erection somewhere.

He closed his eyes and sighed, but that’s when she finally moved. Her lips closed over his quickly, as if panicking he might leave, and the jolt that kissed him soared like lightning down to his groin. A noise escaped him as he gave into her, and she even pressed closed in despite her kiss solidified him at her navel. Though he was hungry for her lips, a winded laugh bubbled up from his throat and broke the kiss. A little confidence was all she needed; he could do this. He was already plotting handfuls of little things to do to encourage her.

“Why are you laughing?”

“It’s nothing. Yet.”

_“Oh, shit.”_

He brushed his lips across her cheek with a giggle. “Far from _shit_ , I assure you.”

“No, _oh shit_ , as in, what did I just get myself into?”

“Me.” He forced himself to step back so he could adjust the throbbing in his smalls.

“I have not been _in_ you yet.”

“The day is still young,” he flirted. He laughed when she frowned, absolutely adorable, and turned to retrieve her belt.

They packed up and returned to the road when the rain lightened to a drizzle sometime past midday. While they traveled, Alistair finished carving the bow he’d started for Tess, working into the ends the teeth from the bears they’d killed in Lothering. She watched him almost mesmerized, and when he told her it was for her, she stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. Around the campfire at night, he added in detail, designs; wisps and swirls like he remembered her hair. The second day he finished the final shaping, the second night he finished setting the teeth, carving the detail, sanding, polishing. She hung over his shoulders and watched him carve one last design around where she would place her hands: _my love._ She should see it whole when she readied it, and she would certainly see _love_ when she shot. Her arms tightened around him, and he turned his face in as her lips pressed to his neck; the boldest sign of appreciation she’d given in a long time, whether or not she was aware of how her lips on his neck affected him.

The third day returned the sun to them. With sleeves rolled to elbows and Tess possessively holding her new bow, Alistair started to see the old Tess peeking through. She even let go of his hand to finger every groove and tooth, the carving of _love_ in admiration so strong it reflected off her like its own sunbeam; this bolstered Alistair, too, knowing she especially cherished something he’d branded his _love_ on to. She leapt ahead to twirl the bow around her, and it triggered something he thought had been lost to her. He watched her figure out how to flip it and catch it without disturbing the teeth, to swing it like a whip as she used to do with her old puzzle bow. She danced with it, or at least that’s what it looked like. Alistair was familiar enough to his shield to understand why she did this; she was _grafting_ to her, so to speak. It was becoming an extension of her, and the effect it had on her when she _felt_ it - he could see this realization dawn on her - becoming so was amazing. She stood straighter, smiled more, she talked to him for a least an hour straight with stars in her eyes and interrupting giggles. He even caught her enjoying a deep breath when a breeze swept by. She was _alive._

Alistair spotted a small herd of deer near ripening fruit trees when he gathered kindling for the fire that evening. He crept out of the forgotten orchard, and as soon as he reached his and Tess’ little private campsite, he dropped the kindling, grabbed her bow and an arrow and held both out to her. She was a hunter, or at least she had been once upon a time; no better way to _remind her of who she was_ than to let her loose on a hunt.

She looked skeptically at him, however. “Are...you mad at Morrigan again?” she guessed.

He grinned. “I’m always mad at Morrigan,” he joked. “Dinner is eating breakfast in the trees.”

She frowned even deeper confusion, taking her bow and arrow anyway. “Right. So I’m on _discipline_ patrol. You want to me punish...what, a deer? Or a bear?”

“Deer. Just one will do. I’ll get a spit ready.”

“Just like that,” she muttered, still confused. “Right. Off I go. To enforce corrective behavior on naughty deer.”

“And make sure they learn their lesson!” he joked as she walked away.

“Hang it’s head from a tree, got it!” she said. She glanced back as she walked away, and he could tell she was unsure of this distance she was about to place between them.

“Do you want me to go with you?” he offered.

She immediately stopped. “Yes.” quick and definite.

“I know you haven’t forgotten how to use a bow already,” he teased, though he went with her.

“Then thank the Maker that I can perfectly handle distance with this Taint!” she was pluckier tonight than she’d been in a long time. He loved every moment and hoped it never went away.

She was so surprised when she shot a stag that she jumped in excitement, threw her arms around Alistair with a squeal, and pressed her mouth hard to his. He lingered his return kiss, and she suddenly remembered to be shy. He drew the moment out, though, skipped his lips across her face and kissed just before her tragus, letting his breath play in her ear. Her hips gave an involuntary wiggle against him, and he spoke before she could, _I knew you could do it._ After the beast was cleaned and meat stuck over both campfires, Tess leaned against Alistair while he studied the map. She didn’t speak, but she twirled part of an antler as she rested her head at the crook of his neck. She was proud of herself; _good._ It was exactly what Alistair hoped would happen. If she believed in her abilities, there was no excuse to feel she wasn’t good enough.

She carried her trophy around for a few days, literally along with her bow. She voluntarily hunted dinner each night; rabbits one night, fowl other nights. She even started talking to people again, and because it was part of her progression of faith in herself, he allowed her to walk and talk with Zevran; however, she held Alistair’s hand the entire time. Alistair also showed Tess how to make a fire with the flint rock, and the night he let her try it by herself, she admired her new ability so much she called herself the _Fire Queen._

“Queen, eh? So, this is you giving in and taking the throne with me?” he teased.

“There is only room for _one_ on the throne.”

“Not the way _I_ plan to use it!” he grinned. She laughed on purpose, and he reached for her, leaning back on one arm with his legs outstretched. When she came to him, she sat right on his thighs. The very proximity strained his groin; the last time she had been on his lap, they’d made love. She did not miss the need crawl to his eyes or brows. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, he gushed, “I’m very sorry for what may or may not... _pop up_ in the _very_ near future.”

She hesitated, then ducked in shy laughter, covering her face. He gently pulled a hand from her face, and she took a moment to steady her breath with her eyes closed. “I...want to thank you-”

“Oh, there’s no need. I was going to make you my Queen anyway,” he joked.

She laughed. “No! No, that’s not...” she took another deep breath, and he giggled. He’d almost forgotten how fun it was to tease her. “I...okay. I want to thank you for being so _patient_ with me,” she finally expressed, “I know...suspect it hasn’t been easy when you... _want_ ...it, and I’m...not...”

“It is my pleasure to wait for you,” he assured her.

She hesitated uncertainly with a glance down to the bulge not far from her centre. “I’m not quite believing that.”

He laughed. “Not _that_ type of pleasure, exactly. But _a_ pleasure, a very different kind.”

She gave a tiny wince. “And for...the bow. I love it, truly. It’s sort of strange, though, remembering how I used to use them...”

“Hm, yes. I believe that’s on my list of reasons I like you.” He reached up and traced her jaw with his thumb. “Why are you so nervous?” he asked. Her breath had quickened, yet deepened, and she blinked more frequently over darting eyes.

“I-” when she met his eyes, it seemed to calm her. “May I have a kiss?”

He cocked his head in curiosity. “You haven’t asked for a kiss since the storm,” he was rather looking for an answer.

“I kn-I _know_ , but this is... _different._ I th...I _think_ I want you to touch me,” she finished barely louder than a whisper. The important parts in him knotted up - his heart, his gut, his loins, and his smalls grew considerably small very fast. Unable to breathe for a moment, he just searched her eyes.

 _“Who_ was raised in the Chantry?” he managed to tease. She gave a breathless laugh, and he sat up to meet her mouth. Her kiss was _whole_ , for lack of better description; for the first time in...how long?...she kissed him like she wanted him. Deliberate, needy, lingering. No longer ghosting by, but full, she even tasted his lip. She even rocked in toward him when his hips tried to find her. This is when he stopped her, though. He broke from her mouth when she fumbled at the collar of his shirt. He held her gaze through a light kiss, already hard of breath. He let his hand slide down her neck, tracing from her jaw down to the crook. “Do you want more?” he practically panted. She nodded, staring back. Her fingertips danced around when they found the hair on his chest, and every hair explored sent a new zap of heat down that fed his erection. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she breathed with another nod. They found each other in a kiss more frantic than the rest, pressing harder. He felt the vibration of a tiny mewl as he tasted her neck and latched on, and her arms strengthened to keep him there. Salt and skin, and sweeter than he remembered her tasting. He pulled back only to yank his shirt up over his head, tossing it wherever. She stared at his front as if she had never seen him like this before, and she grabbed his mouth with hers before he could return to her neck. His hips rolled like waves as she ran her hands up and down his chest, and when she slowed to press down and pluck his nipple, he let out a whimper; the hand on her back pushed until her hips crashed into his, and she gasped as his bulge settled between her folds through their clothes.

He hungrily found her neck, wetting her from collar to ear, nipping to draw out hisses and gasps in between. Her nails dug into his back when he closed his lips over the soft of her ear, and she gave an even louder moan when he sucked. Her shoulder cringed into him when his breath teased as he ran his tongue along the rim of her ear. She practically clawed at him when he flicked the tip of his tongue in the canal, and, bold and encouraged and also caught up in her heat, he reached between them in search of her clitoris. She was hot down there, even through her pants and smalls, and he pressed down with his thumb when he found the little nub.

Her hips wiggled hard into him and she pulled back. But the look on her face wasn’t what he expected. “No, no. No! Please stop!” she whispered, pushing his hand away and scooting back from his erection. She winced and ticked a little. Just like that, it was over.

He had to catch his breath before he could even say her name. “Tess?” he reached up to her face, and she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I thought I could, but...I just can’t. I’m so sorry!” she whispered. She didn’t look at him, even slid off his lap. But he stopped her, pulled her back down next to him. His heart pinched to see she almost looked afraid. He circled his arms around her and cradled her head into the curve of his neck, and she apologized with a small tremble.

He kissed her head and took a deep breath. “It’s okay.” he kissed through her hair, and loosely drew her rune on her cheek. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s okay. This is okay.” He did nothing but hold her, and while she clung to him, he did his best to focus his breath and energy away from the pulse racing in his smalls. He found her hand between their shoulders and rubbed circles with his thumb, and she soon relaxed into the shape of his arms. When _she_ was ready, she began touching him again; small, tenders strokes at his neck the reach of her fingers. He knew this was how it had to be sexually from now on; let _her_ do the touching, let _her_ give, if she wanted him to touch her it would be at her direction, and only when she was ready. Although, thinking back to the blindfold...that wouldn’t leave him lacking at all...

“What are you smiling about?” she asked. He hadn’t realized he was; it broke him out in a full grin.

“That...it’s your move, from now on. Your call, your move...”

“And that’s causing you that impish smile?” she asked.

“Yes.”a giggle escaped him. He wasn’t sure if thought to future pleasure or the present desire for it made him giddy, but he had a hard time quelling his childish laughter. “This is my _official_ request for regular future use the of the blindfold,” he ended in another giggle. She sat back to study him, and he bit his lip to try to stop his tittering. “Other than that, you can do whatever you want with me.”

“That was half the point of the blindfold anyway.”

“So we’re in agreement then?”

“I...don’t think I’ve seen you this excited before...”

“That thing you did with my bum?” this grin was welded on.

An uncertain, shy smile quickly grew into a crooked, cocky grin, and she tried to hide her amusement. With another giggle, he scooped her up in his arms and cradled her, nuzzling her face, minding her distance above his desire. She caught him in a kiss when he grazed his lips by, a kiss that nearly broke his heart all over again. Slow, direct, tender, holding the back of his head; like she wanted this kiss to last forever. She had never kissed him like that, ever. When they broke for breath, she combed her fingers through his hair, and a tingle shook down his spine when her nails raked to the base of his neck. His heart swelled too large for his chest, and it was hard to breathe. He barely managed _I love you_ when she kissed him again, the same _loving_ , caring _bonding_ in her lips. He held her securely to lay her down; the fact that her arms never tightened around him confirmed she trusted him, and this engorged his heart even more. He played with her hair; it wasn’t much longer than his still; and he just stared at her. He watched her eyes barely move as she looked from one eye to the other, studied every line in her irises. He traced the bones of her face and the shape of her lips nose eyebrows, the little cleft that defined her top lip. “Fereldan has never had a more beautiful queen,” he told her.

For a moment, she just gazed back with sparkles in her eyes, even. Then she raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth. “And Fereldan’s _King_ likes his _bum_ played with.”

He couldn’t stop his grin. “Let’s try to keep that _out_ of court,” he giggled.

For the first night in a very long time, Alistair went to sleep in a perfect world. The morning was equally perfect; Tess kissed him, cuddled with him, even fed him breakfast and helped secure his armor on. It was like she was back, good as new; the woman he’d fallen in love with. They giggled and laughed, stopping for sweet kisses so often after they set off that Morrigan threatened to be ill. Eventually, he gave in to the witch’s complaining, but his way, not hers.

“Walk in front of me,” Alistair told Tess. She started a double-take, though her head followed through slowly. She was suspicious.

“Why?” she asked curiously.

He fought a smile. “Because I _said_ so.” Her frown was deep, and he chuckled when she glanced down past her shoulders to her hips. “There is a glorious view from behind you,” he confirmed. She gave a suspicious pout, but did what he told her to anyway. He _did_ want to watch her walk; there was something about the shape of her hips and backside, and how they rocked from side to side with each step that was so alluring as well as arousing, it was almost hypnotic. He rather wanted her to walk ahead of him knowing he was watching, though. It was his intention completely to silently speak as loud as he could that he wanted her. With any luck, it would sink in and she would enjoy putting on a little show for him in broad daylight with a tiny army behind them; another spark for her confidence.

“I see what you are doing. I feel I must commend your for this. It is a very good idea,” Zevran said, suddenly beside Alistair. “She has excellent mating hips, no?” Alistair stretched his arm out and pushed the elf, who only laughed. “I am serious! This is good for her, yes? It seems she does not think herself the mating type anymore. Tell me, what do you like best about this?” he held up slender hands like a portrait frame toward Tess’ hips. “Me? I personally like the jiggling, though that is unfortunately restricted to people who do prefer to spend their days in brothels, instead of walking across countries -”

Alistair walked right into Tess. When he steadied himself, he saw she stared ahead of them. Far up ahead, though perhaps only half an hour’s walk up hill, sat log houses and wooden fences a flag at an opening in the fence. “Is that Haven?” he guessed.

“My bones are buzzing,” she said. “Something is not right, and it has passed by this spot. Either a lot of mages or lyrium.”

Alistair locked his fingers around hers and caressed his thumb over the opening in her glove, and she looked up at him. “I’m here. I’ll handle it.” She nodded and squeezed his hand tight, keeping to his side again.

The entire party trudged up the hill, half excited they seemed to finally be _here,_ and half wary of the lack of people and crops and animals outside save for a cow a couple chickens, a guard and a young boy in the distance. The guard halted them; this _was_ Haven, no they were not welcome, for Haven did not accept outsiders. Tess and Alistair tried to explain they were just there to get information from a scholar who had been on journey to arrive to Haven, to help heal an an Arl. When the guard snapped there was no scholar here except for the Revered Father, Leliana and Alistair spoke up: the Chantry did not have Revered Fathers, only mothers. The town guard rebutted by saying Haven had always been a closed town and that’s how things had always been done here, and that guests were not normally welcome. However, if they wished to trade, the store was up the hill a little ways, and they could also speak to the Revered Father up both hills in the Chantry. He told them as long as they stuck to trading, nothing else, they could stay.

As soon as they departed from the town guard, Sten stepped in front of Tess and Alistair and demanded to know what they were doing.

“What do you mean?” Alistair asked the Qunari.

“I mean we are heading in the wrong direction. We’re supposed to be ending the Blight, are we not? Tell me, do you intend to keep going north until it becomes south and attack the Archdemon from the rear?” Sten asked.

Alistair’s brows jumped in consideration, and he looked down at Tess. “Why isn’t _he_ leading?” he joked.

“Because _you_ hold all the reins,” Tess said softly, holding her right hand up to Alistair. He laughed softly and brought her hand to his mouth.

“Trust me, Sten, Archdemon or no, it’s still a Darkspawn. It’ll never see this coming,” Alistair played.

“Truly,” Alistair couldn’t tell if this was a question or an agreement. “It would surprise _me_ if my enemy counter-attacked by running away and climbing a mountain.”

“How else do you think I’ve survived all my life, Sten?” Alistair joked more, but it seemed the Sten wasn’t.

“You are supposed to be going after the Archdemon, not hunting for the tomb of a fairy tale,” Sten reminded them. “I will not simply follow in your shadow while you run from battle.”

This struck something in Tess. Her eyes narrowed in study up at the gigantic man. “We are not running away, Sten. We are temporarily detouring so we may have the chance to continue our mission without being hunted. The next ambush to find us may not be as careless as Zevran. We need to be able to wander freely.”

“She has a point,” Zevran spoke up.

“If the elf and his company are the best attempts this Loghain can throw at us, I assure you we will be safe. I say we continue on. We do not have time to waste while the Archdemon prepares,” Sten said as if they did not know better.

“We need to do as the Warden says,” Zevran said. He held up a hand to silence the Qunari before Sten could speak again. “If I am honest, and I might add I do not further wish to discuss what I am about to say...I did not put forth my best. If the Crows are contacted again, they will send someone who does not...well, just know that for a professional assassin, failure is a personal choice, not an accident. Politics are more potent a weapon than any knife, I assure you. Those in power can either hinder or bless the presence of the Grey Wardens. We do not wish them to want us imprisoned,” the elf finished with quite a few eyes on him. “As I said, I do not wish to discuss it.”

“But is it necessary? Do we really need political blessing to gather the forces we need?” Sten pressed.

“When our only methods of getting to each encampment are public domain, yes,” Alistair told him. “The only roads are all under Denerim’s command, and we sort of stand out. If it was just Tess and myself, and maybe the elf and a wagon, we could _maybe_ pass for traders and a servant. But we can’t say that with a Qunari, two dwarves, an elf _and_ an apostate. And an elderly mage. We look more like a circus act, don’t you think?”

“I can perform back flips if we need to convince people,” Zevran offered.

“’Twould seem you may get your chance, Zevran. Sten seems content to stall us in this very spot,” Morrigan spoke up, walking past them. “I am going to seek out this merchant. I’d offer the chance to join me, but all of you seem perfectly content to argue daylight away.”

Sten gave a disapproving grunt. “Very well. I will accompany you. But this detour had better be worth the time we waste here.”

“We’ll find out soon enough.” Alistair watched Tess curiously as she let go of his hand and bee-lined for the only child outside. He excused himself from the Qunari’s presence to trail after her.

“-don’t know what that is, and don’t care,” the boy was telling Tess as Alistair approached.

“Right. Of course you don’t. Grey Wardens are incredibly dull.” Tess looked like she’d been handed her own foot to shove in her mouth.

“That guard at the gate is pretty dull himself,” Alistair piped in. He lowered his voice. “You look like a clever man. Is there anything fun to do around here?”

“Fun? No, not so much. Just the pumpkins and the lake.” the boy shook his head.

“Meh. I’ve stomped on enough pumpkins to last me a lifetime. The innards are damn near impossible to get off once they dry,” Alistair told the kid. “What about the lake? Any sunken ships? Buried treasure? Ooh! Anything to dive off of?” he couldn’t acknowledge the silent curiosity from Tess boring right through him without giving his rouse away.

“I wish! Haven’s never been that fun. But...” the boy glanced around. “I _do_ know a _secret_. Would you like to see?”

Alistair glanced around just as the boy had. “What kind of a secret?” he asked quietly.

“It’s my lucky charm.” The boy dug in a pocket sewn onto his pants, and opened his palm to reveal a single bone from a human finger. Alistair hoped the suspicion and sudden fear of possibly walking into a trap didn’t show on his face; Tess grabbed the back of Alistair’s belt.

Alistair frowned as skeptically as he could. “It doesn’t look so lucky. It is magic?” he whispered.

“No, but whenever I have it with me, I always find treasures,” the boy insisted, shoving the cleaned bone back in his pocket.

“Treasures? Buried treasure?” Alistair played along still.

“Well...not always buried. Sometimes just hiding in barrels, when they weren’t there the day before. I’ve found gems and gold, even. I’ve got a secret collection hidden at home.”

“Real gold?”

“It looks real enough,” the boy shrugged.

“And the lucky charm found it? How do you use it? Is there a pass phrase? Do you think there are anymore?” he tried to sound hopeful.

“There’s a bunch more, up the hill by the Chantry. But take a knife or something. They don’t all come off so easy. The cats sometimes drag whole pieces around before they clean it off. I just keep mine in my pocket. It’s been lucky so far. I think it’s like a Traveler’s fairy, or something. I never wake up early enough to see any visitors leave, but they always leave treasures behind.”

Alistair itched to press the boy for truth, but if the townsfolk killed off every visitor, it wasn’t safe to expose them until the party was ready for attack. “I don’t have any pockets. Do you think it will work the same on my belt?” he asked instead.

The boy shrugged again. “I don’t see why not.” A woman called out, and the boy ran off after saying his mother summoned.

Tess was staring at Alistair in a mix of suspicion and wonder. “Suddenly you’re a perfect infiltrator?” she tested quietly.

Alistair grinned for her. “It’s a natural talent to blend in with little boys. You know, I used to be one once.”

“There are times I suspect you still are,” she joked. “However...that particular little boy just showed us...” she trailed off in apprehension he'd never seen from her.

“And it sounds like this is a regular occurrence here. I think we were just told why Haven isn’t on any map,” he said in between kisses to her forehead, keeping his mouth close to her face to hide his words from spying eyes. “I think we need to regroup as quickly as possible and stay together.” Morrigan was heading up the hill alone, toward the direction the “store”, if it existed, supposedly was, and Zevran and Leliana headed toward the lake. “Go help them with the water. I’ll be right there with Morrigan.” He kissed her head once more and then jogged after the apostate. “Morrigan! Wait! Wait up, I’ve got a question!” he called out.

“I do not _wish_ to wait up-” Morrigan froze when she turned around to look at him. “Where is Tesslyn?” she asked warily when he caught up to her.

“We may have a problem. We all need to stick together.”

She didn’t question the urgency in his voice. “Are you going to inform me of whatever worries you enough to leave Tesslyn?”

“A little boy showed us a human bone,” he nearly whispered as they walked, looking around to make sure no one from town could hear him. He quietly summarized what the boy had told him as he led the witch toward the three rogues.

“So you left her to fend for herself?” Morrigan hissed.

“Can you at least _try_ to look like you’re not suspicious for once? We need to pretend like we don’t know anything.”

“How about _surprised_ , hm?” she raised her eyebrows to give the impression of complete shock.

“Can you just look like a _normal person_ for once?” he said flatly.

“If you believe we are truly in danger, perhaps we should simply turn around and take our chances against your bounty,” she suggested as they closed in on the dock and the rogues. Alistair went straight to Tess and took her hand.

“So, what is the plan?” Zevran asked. “Somebody will need to stay with the dwarves. Even if we have them wait down the hill, they are sill vulnerable."

Alistair glanced back and stepped over until he could see their wagon. “Morrigan, I want you and Zevran to stay with the dwarves and Wynne, Sten too. Zevran, can you sneak around without being seen?”

“That is actually one of my stronger traits,” the elf said.

“It had better be. I want you to make a show of going to nap in the back of the wagon, and then sneak off, see if you can peek through windows or eavesdrop. I’ll take Tess and Leliana up to see if this store really exists, and maybe visit this strange Chantry...” he looked at their small party. “Make sure Morrigan knows where you are. Shake a tree every few steps, or something. If anything happens, Morrigan, you or Wynne signal _us._ Sparks in the air, or something.”

“Should we not simply turn around?” Morrigan insisted. “This may be more trouble than we are supplied for.”

“If we can’t find any answers in an hour or two, we’ll leave. For now, just...fill the empty bottles and stay with the wagon," he instructed. Alistair then escorted Tess and Leliana up the hill, all three of them walking in silence, watching for any possible ambushes.

What the guard at the entrance had described as a _shop_ turned out to be a man with an apparent hoarding problem; Alistair silently guessed goods from visitors who had never left town. There was also an unmistakable smell, however faint, of rotting flesh, as if they hadn’t gotten enough of that stench at Kinloch Hold. Leliana voiced what Alistair dared not, she even faked pure awe when she asked if the _shop_ keep made all the weapons and potions and jewelry for sale. When the shopkeep answered they were mostly items traded for reasonable prices by lost travelers in the past, Alistair faked a clumsy hold on a book, knocking into Leliana hard enough to make her double over on Alistair’s way down; he grabbed Leliana quickly and muttered to her to peek around the rest of the shop. He gave a cry and winced and rubbed his head as he stood up as if he and the Chantry girl has knocked heads, and Leliana leaned against the wall holding her nose as if Alistair had broken it.

The shopkeep didn’t buy it though, and when Leliana disappeared for a moment, the man stormed around the counter with clenched fists, stuttering in anger that they were snoops and he was going to teach them a lesson if they were poking where they ought naught to be. When Leliana met him under the door frame to the backroom to confront him about a body hiding under a tarp, the man exploded in hysteria. He screeched _Traitors! Blasphemers!,_ as he grabbed two swords from his open stocks and swung at them. Even though the three of them took him down without gaining a scratch, it was obvious the man was trained in weaponry. It was starting to seem like the town was prepared to silence anyone who ever questioned them about missing people.

“It is a Redcliffe knight,” Leliana said when she moved the tarp off the dead body providing the stench of rot.

“Well...” Alistair sighed. _“Great_ and _dammit_ and _what do we do now,_ and _should we raid this shop now or later?”_ he asked.

“Is that all?” Tess joked.

“For now.” He started to sheathe his sword, but stopped himself. “We need to check on the others,” he told the two women.

Alistair insisted he walk outside first, and he was glad he did. He barely had time to raise his shield when an arrow stuck about a foot away from his face. Two huge, heavily armored men yelled out as they charged with hefty battleaxes, as well as an elderly mage, two archers and some plainer folk with daggers. As Alistair took on one of the large axe men, arrows flew from behind him to the mage and the other large berserker. As he swung his shield to stagger his combatant, Alistair caught a glimpse of blonde braids and flashing daggers ending an archer. Alistair rammed the butt of his hilt into an eye, then immediately swung his arm across in a wide, firm sweep, making sure to slice the throat deep enough for his target to bleed to death before possibly receiving a healing spell. The other axe man fell to the ground with two arrows to the face when Alistair turned, and Leliana stole a kill from under Zevran’s blade. Tess had taken down the mage with a dagger thrown into the wrinkled neck, and she felled the dagger-wielding townswoman with an arrow. 

Po barked from down the hill, and Alistair saw jets of ice exploding just past the steps; the whole town looked to be after them now. Tess sprinted past Alistair and Zevran, retrieving her dagger on the way to assist her dog. The dwarves and the wagon were nowhere to be seen when Alistair joined the fight below. Wynne had covered herself in what looked like armor made from rock, sending sparks and fire from her staff. The guard at the town entrance was completely encased in ice, and Po ripped a leg clear off from below a head Morrigan was roasting. Sten swung hard with both arms, but even he was not enough. Fully armed grown men and women came pouring out of houses, and though Alistair had three quick rogues, a Qunari’s strength and his own, along with mages mastered in ice and stone spells, and a mabari able to rip things to shreds, the town of Haven had prepared. Whether it was two or three townsfolk at a time with simply daggers, or two archers at a time, or even one berserking axe-wielder at a time, the Wardens party was outmatched. Po managed a howl so eerie it made Alistair’s ears ring, stunning a few of the townsfolk long enough for their own party to sneak in a few ranged kills.

Just as Alistair thought they might finally be triumphant in this battle, another wave of well-armed screaming men ran down the hill. Alistair yelled for Tess to move as she tried to meet the rushing squad with arrows, but she was determined to try to fell them before they came close enough to strike. Though she easily shot down a smaller man, the others carrying battleaxes were juggernauts, gaining momentum as they charged downhill. With no room to tackle Tess out of the way, Alistair stiffened his shield arm and charged. Ice and arrows and rock flew over his head as he ran, and Alistair rammed into a man about to swing at Tess. He raised his right arm and shoved his sword through the exposed neck of his large opponent, and felt pressure on his thigh clear down to his bone, followed by a cool breeze he wasn’t sure should reach so far. Tess cried out as fire ripped though Alistair’s entire thigh, and he heard himself roar as pain blinded him with flashes of red and yellow and white. He didn’t need to see anything to know he’d been cut.

Small arms caught him as he toppled over, and Tess screamed for Morrigan and Wynne. Alistair tried to grab Tess to get her to stop dragging him; his heel kept catching on the ground, pulling apart his open flesh one string at a time. He tried to turn to stop her, but they fell to the ground with a jolt that made Alistair scream with the explosion that ravaged his leg. Tess scrambled around behind him, and Alistair slowly started identifying shapes and voices in front of him. Morrigan stood over as Wynne funneled a creamy golden stream down, and Alistair felt something tingle his open skin. Leliana yelled to use that quick-heal potion on him, but Zevran was suddenly there pushing the mages out of the way, scolding them for even thinking about using it.

“Are you mad? It will close up his veins and arteries! He’ll lose his leg! _Move!_ Get out of the way!” The elf slid a dagger between Alistair’s fiery skin and the failed leather armor, and Alistair tried to bite down a scream when just a sheer graze felt like hundreds of knives right into his wound; he tasted his own blood, and Tess gave a yelp of alarm. “What are you standing around for? _I_ have _this_ under control!” The elf told the mages. “You go help them! Leave me so I can stitch him! Now!” a hand patted Alistair’s face rapidly, and the dainty features of the small man came into focus. “Alistair? You can hear me, yes?” Alistair nodded, and he realized Tess was holding his arms back. “Good, this is good. Listen to me, Alistair. I need to clean the wound before I stitch you, do you hear?  Brandy. It’s going to sting, but I’ll give you warning, okay? Let’s say, the count of three. Can you count with me?” Alistair nodded again, though he knew hard alcohol would probably burn more than actually receiving the wound. “Ready?” Zevran uncapped a familiar bottle; the liquor Teagan sent them with. “One...say it with me, Alistair, _one.”_

“One,” Alistair gasped out; Tess tightened her arms around him. “T-” He screamed as another rush of molten fire attacked his thigh. Zevran hadn’t waited till the count of three like he’d said. More colors flashed as he squeezed his eyelids so tight that now his eyes hurt. The burning seeped through his veins deep into the pit of his bone, as if he’d stepped on a landmine instead.

Something had a grip on the leg, now, in addition to whatever pinned his arms. Through the blazing sting came a tough tug. When his eyes focused, he saw Zevran staring hard, shoving a needle through two huge, rough clefts of liberally bleeding flesh, pulling thick string up to bring Alistair’s leg back together. A woman was chanting _I’m here, it’s okay, I have you,_ but it wasn’t until he looked down and saw the hand holding his, a thumb bending and stretching in circles, that Alistair remembered Tess was even there. He craned his neck to see her face; blood splatter where it wasn’t being washed away by streams of tears. Her mouth moved as she kept repeating _It’s okay, I’m here, I have you._

Alistair was truthfully not quite sure what was going on. Part of him was aware that he was injured; he could feel pain nearly all through his leg, even in his hip and ankle, and every jerk the elf gave sent another ripple of sharp stings throughout. But part of him couldn’t believe it; _how?_ This wasn’t him, it wasn’t _his_ wound. _He_ wasn’t wounded. He couldn’t be. He had to take care of Tess. He had to save her from swords and arrows, he had to set up their tent at night, he had to start the fire - he _couldn’t_ lose his leg!

He watched lips of the woman he loved. He almost couldn’t even hear her anymore. Vision beyond her head was growing blurry, and sounds outside of his own heartbeat blended together like water crashing on rock. Her lips sparkled in the sunlight as they moved, shiny. Whatever she was saying made her bottom lip tremble. There was no warning when another shower of flame splashed down. A scream that rattled his eyeballs and teeth ripped through the white noise before everything blackened and silenced.


	31. Remove the Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair goes through severe depression while he tries to heal from almost losing his leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING***Severe depression, self-depreciating thoughts. The ideas and thoughts and feelings in here all stem from real-life events experienced by myself, and a friend. 
> 
>  NSFW art at end of chapter.
> 
> Music for depression: [ Dragon Age Origins Chantry music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_m9Y8OiuvPA) (plays whenever you step into a Chantry; not on actual soundtrack, though)  
> Music for Alistair's escape: [Michelle Branch's Breathe ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5OiwqYcoVTU)  
> and [ Danny Gokey's Hope In Front of Me ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O5GFiDdGGGM)

An uncomfortable burn in Alistair’s right leg woke him. Immediately he saw Tess to his left, and he was grateful; without her, he may have been alarmed. He did not recognize the building he was in, and when he threw back the blanket, he saw a huge, messy scar stretching clear from his inner thigh to outer thigh, dotted with thick string. It wasn’t raw flesh, certainly wasn’t opened, but it burned like an oil spill had ignited under his skin.

Tess caught his hands as he reached to try to itch it, and he looked at her, really looked at her. The skin around her eyes, especially under, was puffy, and even in the orange and yellow glow from candles and a fireplace, the veins in her eyelids stood out, giving an obvious hue of red. Even as she held his hands firm, but tender, a tear sneaked down the side of her face. “Don’t, Alistair. I know it hurts, but...don’t touch it. You might make it worse inside.”

He let her hold his hands away from his lap as he looked down at his leg. He remembered running up to stop an attack on Tess. He remembered bashing and swinging his sword. But he couldn’t remember how he got such a wound. He only remembered the rush of cool air where it didn’t belong, then fire; the elf had made fire inside the wound, as well.

He didn’t know this place he was in, either. The bed he was in faced a spacious living area with a single, small round table in the center of the room accompanied by two plain chairs, a fireplace set off some distance from the table and a wooden rocking chair. Candles littered the table and various short bureaus, some half melted into soup dripped over edges in long, bony fingers. _Bones._ Alistair felt a groan and a sigh converge in his throat before they rolled off his tongue. “Are we still in Haven?” he asked.

“Yes. Zevran poked in a few houses until he found this one empty."

"Where is everyone else?"

"The others are...taking care of more trouble up toward the Chantry.”

“There are more townspeople?” he sounded groggy.

“A lot more. I’m not sure where they all come from, unless some live in the Chantry.” she blinked slow, and she looked...lost, even. His heart ached for her; they had made such progress, _she_ had made progress. He remembered her concern when the thunder and lightning had caused their roles reversed for even just one night. It had been hard for her to take care of him, even though she had volunteered to do so. Now...another sigh as his eyes wandered to the ugly patch of skin on his leg.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to get...” water blurred his sight, and cool drops fell onto his cheeks when he blinked.

“These people are mad, Alistair. None of us were prepared for this.” He looked at her when she started rubbing circles on the back of his hand. “I think we all thought it was like Sten said, a fairy tale.”

“It would have been easier to just turn around,” he admitted.

They both looked up as the door flew wide open. Zevran stood in the entry for a moment before crossing to the bed. “You’re awake?” he sounded surprised. “Let’s hope this is a good sign. How do you feel?”

Alistair took one of his hands back to wipe his face dry. “It hurts. But...I suppose for it not to is too much to ask for right now. What happened?”

“Your leg bone stopped a very large axe,” Zevran attempted to lighten the mood.

“I mean in the Chantry. Is anyone else...did we lose anyone?”

“No, I regret to report the witch is still alive,” he tried to joke again. “The bard took a tiny scratch, but the elderly woman fixed her right up.” he paused. “Leliana and the Qunari are raiding and pillaging - she says to inform you _she_ is doing so in the _nice_ way, and the mages are piling the dead and burning the bodies. The dwarves are hitching the cow up to the wagon with the horse, and rounding up the chickens. It seems there are children left, some old enough to care for themselves; I caught Morrigan threatening them to all confine themselves to a single house or she will tie them all to a tree and burn it down. Er, so far her method of control is working, I saw them scurrying into the same home.” the elf looked to them both. “And we found the scholar those knights in Redcliffe spoke of, that writer gentleman? Brother Genitalia-”

“Genitivi,” Tess corrected softly.

“And aptly named, it seems. He has a rather large, er, frontal swelling. He was bound and gagged; lucky man,” Zevran continued to joke. “He has a small leg injury, but nevertheless fine. Wynne and Leliana think he will be of use while we are here. He wishes to meet you both, ah, but we have told him of the situation. Other than that, it seems the town is ours. The rest of our party is going to pick out houses of their own to use while we are here. The townsfolk grew a very lively garden. I can only suspect what their fertilizer may be -”

“Ah, that’s...enough. Thank you.” Alistair grimaced. “How long until my leg is healed?”

“As to that, I am not sure. You will want to keep pressure off, so no trying to run around, not even simple walks. The blade carved a nice little groove in the bone. It was a good swing from a large man with a very large weapon; your leg should not be attached. Either Tesslyn’s arrow struck a nerve, or...some invisible hand stopped it. But I still do not suggest walking.”

“Okay, so, how long do _bones_ take to heal?” Alistair asked.

“Ah...a couple months,” he nodded with an optimistic tone.

“A couple months? We don’t _have_ a couple months!”

“Your wound says otherwise,” Zevran’s tone changed. “Either you stay put where we can observe you and clean you where we _know_ we are safe, considering no one else knows where this town is, even, or we take our chances on the road where there are Darkspawn, bandits, assassins, wild animals, possibly no water, no cover from rain, and infection should we have to drill a hole to drain you - which I may have to so you don’t poison yourself from inside. The mages healed you the best they could when I set the stitch, and Wynne has volunteered to administer another healing session, but she said it only heals flesh, and it’s rather like speeding the process than an instant heal.” he sounded like a nanny.

“What happens when I need to relieve myself?”

The elf shrugged. “You both have two hands, no?”

Alistair and Tess both winced and sighed. “I was actually talking about _urinating_ , Zevran, or taking a shit. I _really_ don’t want you involved in our... _intimate_ activities, no matter _how_ many times you sew me up.”

Zevran shrugged again. “It was just a suggestion. You should keep it in mind, seeing as recovery does not support even her on top.”

 _“Please -_ stop, I mean it.” Alistair rubbed the flush on his face. “Where did you learn to stitch wounds anyway?”

“I have a few scars myself, my giant friend, so many in fact that I have learned to be completely ambidextrous. I have had to stitch myself up more than once, trust me on this. Or, I could show you, but that would require me completely stripping.”

“No...thanks, but no. Really.”

“You are not the only man to try to protect a lover,” he said kindly. Alistair finally looked up, and the elf gave a small nod. “I shall excuse myself. I am sure the others need assistance. I will be back with supper and supplies. I believe the bard and the old mage are concerned as well.”

Without a thought, “No,” Alistair replied. “Not unless I absolutely need...outside help. I only want Tess in here.” From around his line of sight, he saw Tess and Zevran exchange a glance.

“Very well. You’ll have to excuse me then.” and the elf took his leave, closing the door behind him.

Alistair looked at Tess. “We don’t have two months here.”

She was clearly worried. “We _have_ to stay.” Her eyes watered and she tore her gaze away. Reflections of candlelight glistened in the drops that rolled down her face. A gasping breath shook her chest as she inhaled, and she released his hand to drag her palms across her cheeks with a sniffle. “I’ll go get some water and...start something. Do you want a chicken? We have plenty now, I could...roast it, or make a stew...I can boil some pumpkin, too. See what’s in the gardens...”

“Tess,” he touched her arm.

“Do you want something to drink? We have black tea left, and hyssop -”

“Tess, come here. Please?”he asked. She rambled on, though.

“Is the bed soft enough? I could find...more...blankets, I could sew them together and stuff it, there’s plenty of hay-”

Sitting forward to grab Tess strained the muscles in his thigh, but he bit back the pain to pull her against him. She buried her face in his chest and instantly cried, weaving her arms over and under his to grab on like she would never let go. He did nothing but hold her for while. His own tears clung to his lashes, tiny balls glowing yellow and orange with every flicker of fire beyond them. Apologies broken with sobs cut straight to his heart and knocked his tears from his eyes. He kissed the top of her head in between trying to tell her it wasn’t her fault. He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince when he said he was fine, he _would be_ fine.

This wasn’t supposed to happen to them. They were _finally_ working past the obstacles that kept them apart at night _, she was getting better, she was healing!_ This _couldn’t_ happen to them! He had to take care of her, _this was supposed to be_ his _job!_ Not hers! How - _why -_ did this happen? He couldn’t let her do this all by herself, he _just couldn’t_. She wasn’t going to be able to handle it, he knew that all already, not after she admitted she had freaked out when the silly storm had spooked him.

She fell asleep on him. She cried even as she drifted off, tiny pools collecting between the start of her eye and the bridge of her nose before overflowing to make room for another leak. His own eyes were sore, and he could feel his cheeks and lips raw and swollen in the places his salty tears had shown favor to on their way down. He held her securely against him when he tried to scoot, so they could sleep together, but he nearly screamed. Fire blazed through his thigh all over again, he could feel flesh that was starting to heal rip apart in shreds. It was all he could to hold his breath and stifle his pain so he wouldn’t wake Tess. He clenched his jaw shut as tight as he could just to inch his bum across the bed so he could lay with her.

When he had enough room to collapse, he did, and the next few moments were spent staring up at the log ceiling through deep breaths. Even though air returned to relieve pressure in his lungs, his heart dug itself a grave that rippled through his gut and brain. The scar and stitching, as long and as wide as they stretched, were inconceivably misleading. His leg couldn’t bear _any_ movement at all...was he even going to be able to get out of bed for the next few months? Tess couldn’t carry him, she was so small compared to him, he _didn’t want_ her carrying him. Would he really not be able to move? Who would fetch water for Tess? Who would feed her? Who would keep the fire going for her? He started gasping when tears spilled again, and he struggled once more to tame his breath. The last thing he wanted was for her to see him realize he was too broken to take care of her anymore.

Between the rage of his wound, crying like he had a dozen reserves, and worry dizzying him from inside, he accepted sleep when it came to claim him. He had no idea how long he slept. He thought he heard a knock at the door, but when he looked up, no one was there, and he fell back asleep as soon as he closed his eyes. When he woke again, Tess was gone. Had it not been for the familiar buzz of her Taint, he would have started yelling and done his best to get outside to find her; and yet he couldn’t help but feel abandoned _because_ she wasn’t with him.

The dog was there, however. Po lay on the floor by Alistair’s side of the bed, his head resting on his paws but his eyes ever watchful of Alistair.

The door opened; it was sunset, maybe?; and Tess dragged a large cauldron across the floor. Whatever was inside sloshed like water tossing about stormy seas the entire way. A bag on her shoulders spilled open when she pushed, and potatoes, carrots, onions, turnips and what looked like fresh elfroot and maybe sage hit the wooden floor boards with various thuds.

“What are you doing?” Alistair asked her. “Did you fetch that all by yourself?”

“Sten filled it for me,” she answered without looking up. She gave a grunt as she lifted the cauldron and hooked the handle over a thick hook hanging from the spit rack, then fell to the floor on her bottom with a deep sigh. Alistair watched her get around on her hands and knees to pick up the spilled food. She took a wooden cutting board and a cutting knife that Alistair hadn’t noticed hanging from the wall earlier, and she sat on her bum on the floor with her legs open around the roots and started chopping. “Zevran said he’s going to kill the steer tomorrow. That should last us all for while. And the sow was used for milk, so we’ll have fresh milk every day.” she was so calm. The only thing Alistair could think of was the morning after the storm. When she’d let that out, it had been obvious how much fear she’d held in, and yet she had been so calm during it; calm like now. It made his eyes flood up all over again just thinking about it.

“Tess? Are you...all right?” Maker, he already sounded like he was losing it, his voice cracking in strain. He saw her brow clench even though she kept her face toward the roots. She nodded only, but the knife sliced through heavier. “Tess...after the thunder-”

“I’m _fine.”_ she practically snapped. He felt like he’d been slapped all over again. This time, though, her face scrunched and she curled up within herself. “I’m sorry. I’m _so sorry!_ ” she shook with unstable breath as she looked at him. Lost child all over again. “I just... _need_ to _do_ this right now,” she whispered while it rained down her face.

He nodded, afraid to blink because he didn’t want to cry in front of her again. “When you’re done, do you think you could sit with me again?” it barely sounded louder than a sigh. She nodded as she looked down at the food, _okay._

When the roots and herbs were cubed and chopped and tossed in the cauldron, Tess brought the waterskin over. She sat on the other side of his good leg, staring off into the void while he drank. “I’ve never been...afraid of blood before,” she told him. He stopped drinking to watch her face. She wasn’t even blinking. “Not my first kill, not...when I took my best friend’s eyes from her skull when I was fourteen, not when...not when my nephew was born, or when I got nicked in training...your blood is still out there.” Right. He must have bled like a stuck pig. The wound was certainly deep enough. “I thought you were going to die, Alistair. There is a _lot_ of blood out there.”

He didn’t know what to tell her that he hadn’t already said. She could see he clearly wasn’t dead. “What house are we in?” he asked instead.

“We’re right next to the lake. The one behind the boy we spoke to. As close to the water as possible.”

“Tess?” his voice came out in a whisper. They just stared at each other for moment. “Thank you,” he told her, “for saving me.”

“I _didn’t_ save you. You _nearly_ lost your _leg_ because of me! I didn’t move when you told me to!” she scolded herself.

“You pulled me out of the way. Doesn’t that count?”

She shook her head. “Every time you’ve gotten hurt, it’s...because I didn’t listen to you...” her eyes and mouth quivered for a second, then a sob crumpled her like a rag doll. She just about fell into him when he reached for her.

“This wasn’t your fault,” but it didn’t seem to matter how many times he said it; she didn’t believe him. “If anything, _I_ don’t listen to _you_ enough. I didn’t listen when you begged me not to take you Kinloch Hold, and I didn’t listen when you said something was wrong in _this_ town...” he sighed. He realized he still had quite a bit to learn about Tess. “I should have seen it. You have...amazing instincts when it comes to evil people. I need to listen to your instincts better.”

She was still against him, and when she didn’t speak again, he figured she didn’t know what to say, just like he felt. Any small talk would be an obvious beating-around-the-bush. They sat in silence for...however long. Despite the discomfort in his leg, Alistair was content just to sit and hold her. They hadn’t really had time since they met. They always had to be somewhere or do something. He scoffed at the thought that maybe the Maker hadn’t done this to punish him, but to slow them down...maybe give them time for _them?_ It was almost as if this was the Maker _ordering_ him to take it slow, giving him no other option because he didn’t listen before.

“Are you laughing?” she asked.

“In irony,” he sighed. “I can’t help but think this is the Maker demanding we just stop and rest for awhile. We have been on the move since we met, pretty much. Guess I didn’t listen when maybe He was trying to say _stay in Redcliffe awhile_ , so...this is what I get? He puts me in a position to not be able to move us.” He kissed the top of her head and held closer.

She hesitated to respond. “I think the Fade was punishment,”she said so quietly he almost couldn’t hear.

“You thought the Fade was punishment?” He cocked his head to see her face. “Tess, I _loved_ our time in the Fade.”

“I thought clearly for the first time since...I can remember. I think He made _me_ go through it all as punishment.” she started to cry all over again.

“You mean like you think He let Howe’s men destroy your home as punishment?”

“All I could think about was when I...hit you.” she pressed her face hard into his shoulder, so buried in him that the tears soaking through his shirt were still warm.

“Oh, Tess...” it felt like his heart was ripping apart now. _“No._ No, don’t think that.” he rubbed her arms, tightened his hold, kissed the part of her face that wasn’t hidden in him. “If He did, then He’s just a cruel, heartless-”

“I’m sorry!” she cut him off with just a whisper.

“You don’t have to be sorry, love, I mean it.,” he insisted gently.

“But if -- if your leg gets worse and - and - and we have to - or it -” he could completely predict her fear: _if they have to chop his leg,_ and _if something goes wrong and it kills him._ He did not want to think about that at all. This couldn’t be the end, of _anything._

“No goodbyes, Tess. Don’t...try to make amends for anything, don’t tell me goodbye. I’m not leaving you.” He almost thought he was squeezing her her too tight, but he realized she was doing the same thing. He welcomed the pinch of her nails, though,  digging into him as if there was no rough cotton between her grip and his skin.

This was strange for him. Maybe it was because the surface of his wound had healed, but it didn’t seem that fatal to him. It literally felt like he _should_ be walking around doing something. And yet Tess was scared he was going to die...

“I love you,” he told her, reaching around his back - clenching his jaw to bite back the wince when the pressure shift shot straight to his leg - prying a hand off so he could draw upon it. “I _love_ you. I’m not giving up so easy,” he promised, _hoped_ he could promise.

It took longer to calm her down this time than it ever had. So long, in fact, with little end reward that he thought she would have already long-calmed if he was able to stand and walk and do things like carry a cauldron full of water for her. He _should_ be able to do the heavy lifting for her.

She sat up when the house filled with the smells of chicken and broth and onions, and the sounds of hard boiling water. He stopped her when she started to slid off the bed. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get through this, I promise,” he told her. She nodded with a sniffle; he could tell she was not convinced. He supposed the fact alone that _she_ was making supper was proof enough for her that shit had flown everywhere. However, she leaned in and pushed her mouth to his; wet and salty and tear-swollen. She lingered on his lips through a few kisses, and he couldn’t help but think she was trying to memorize how he felt in case he actually _did_ leave her. As soon as she turned away to attend to the stew, he squeezed his eyes hard and wiped his face dry. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted more time with her.

She over-catered to him the rest of the night. She cut up his food and stared like she couldn’t hear him when he said he could feed himself; his arms were just fine. She fed him anyway, and it was uncomfortable, as if to her he was completely broken, not just his leg. But his leg caused him so much discomfort that he refused to argue. She was silent as she fed him, even when he told her he loved her, tried to reassure her he was fine. He let her feed him until his belly groaned with the weight of so much food, but she wasn’t aware until he held her wrist to stop her from shoving chicken in his mouth.

He was watching her slip away again. Something was going on inside her head, and he had no idea how to draw her out of it. This was more like a conscious retreat. She was trying to find another source of comfort within...something within her, memories maybe? She no longer believed he could make things right. _And this was just the first night with this wound?_ She was so withdrawn into herself she didn’t notice him cry, even when a sob broke out and he brought a pillow up to hide his face in it. This was already worse than growing apart because of her screaming at him and pushing him, hitting him. This felt like she was saying he had nothing to offer her anymore.

She draped blankets over chairs to warm them by the fire, and without meeting his eyes or acknowledging his face was already wet, she brought a washing basin of steaming water with a chunk of soap already sudding in it, and a small rag. She pulled off his shirt, cut the rest of his under pants off, and untied his smalls, all without speaking. The first plop of the soapy rag was hot. She began on his chest, and though it started out as simple motions, nothing new to him by far, sitting there naked before her while she wet his skin quickly turned arousing even through sadness. Her breath cooled the hot water on his skin as she reached over and behind, and when her breath grazed a wet nipple, his groin twitched. Her touch was still so new to him that every stroke and rub excited him. He apologized for his erection when she washed down his belly, but she said nothing. He watched her ignore every jerk and fidget he couldn’t contain as she washed his curls, washed his testicles - the jump and clench when a finger, even wrapped in the rag, washed the tightly closed ring of his bum that she had once introduced pleasure to - loosely washed his shaft. She simply moved on to his good thigh after that, wracking his heart all over again. Last night, he had been _husband,_ this morning he had been _husband,_ but right now, he was _patient,_ nothing more than a wounded soldier.

Neither of them spoke or exchanged glances as she finished washing him. She redressed him, took over for him when he tried to pull his own shirt on, however she hesitated to tie his smalls back on; she just covered him in a blanket.

Although she seemed distant and impersonal again, he hurt for her, especially when she muttered she was going to take the rest of the stew to the others. She lifted the cauldron from its hook over the fire, but it was too heavy or hot, or both, and it tipped over when she lost her footing. She fell to the floor in with first a sob, then an angry cry, and she kicked the empty cauldron away from her. Alistair bit back a yelp as he sat forward, but a lot of good it did him for he still couldn’t see past the bureau at the end of the bed. Either she was ignoring him or she couldn’t hear him, but she didn’t respond when he said her name, she just sobbed on the floor. He adjusted himself to tie his smalls, then swung his legs around to try to stand, shoving his fist in his mouth to muffle his own outcry. The mabari met his eyes, standing as if aware Alistair was going to need that space soon; even though Po started cleaning the floor, Tess still cried. Hopelessness and defeat rang from her voice like if he’d stood under the bell for Chantry mass. He didn’t need translation to know she internally screamed _On top of all that’s gone wrong, now this?!_ He hoped she would allow herself to lean on him.

Standing didn’t go as he expected, though. He immediately lost balance and fell forward into a narrow wardrobe. While he’d been able to catch himself, he couldn’t move for a moment; he stood there cursing through the blazing fire that oozed beneath his scar. It took him even longer to realize Tess had stopped sobbing and was at his side, stripping out of clothes soaked to transparency with broth to reveal skin blotched red where the boiling stew had hit her. They argued through tears, hers of frustration, his of physical pain and worry for her; she kept insisting he lie back down, while he distressed over her burns. Eventually she won, his good leg was starting to give out below his entire weight. He clutched her as she turned him, and even as she tried to pull away after he was securely on the bed. She pried his fingers off, though, and she staggered outside with her wet clothes mumbling she needed to wash. He felt her taint fade, and anxiety return as the buzzing in his veins completely ceased.

This was worse than her withdrawals. At least with those, he had found a way to control the situation. But not here. Here, he was just some wounded gimp, in a pretend marriage with a wife who refused to believe he could help her.

The door opened and Wynne poked her head head in; Alistair quickly threw the blanket over his lap. “I thought I heard trouble,” the old woman said.

“Where is Tess?” he asked, positive that he wasn’t masking his need for his mate very well.

“She is in the lake. I was filling a bucket when she walked right by and jumped in, clothes in hand. She said you might be hurting.” Wynne held up a small bottle with a moss-colored liquid inside.

“Tess is burned, she needs help more.”

Wynne laughed a little. She cut Alistair off before he could get after for taking this so lightly. “Just because you have a surface scar doesn’t mean you’re not in pain. Here. Drink this.” she held the bottle out.

“What is it?” he asked taking it anyway.

“It’s a potion for pain. Royal elfroot, dawn lotus, prophet’s laurel, felandaris root, embrium, and deep mushroom, steeped together in ambrosia, with drop of twice-distilled quicksilver and a sprinkle of spindleweed. The Chantry here has quite a selection of rare ingredients. Mostly healing herbs, however they all have multiple properties that benefit as battle elixirs, giving small boosts to healing regeneration and pain threshold. This should tide you over for a decent night’s rest. I’m afraid honey offsets lotus and spindleweed, so it certainly doesn’t taste pleasant, worse than lyrium.”

“Will I be able to walk around?” he asked. He watched the dog instead of Wynne; Po was either starving or trying to sanitize.

“You need to stay _off_ your leg, Alistair,” Wynne ordered like a bossy nanny.

“I can’t. I don’t expect you to understand, Wynne, but I can’t. Tess _needs_ me.”

“I’m old enough to understand she’s very dependent upon you, but she’s just going to have to make do for at least a month. If you keep standing on it, it will never heal.”

Alistair opened his mouth to retaliate, but his veins started buzzing again. _Tess._ “Then, I suppose I’ll just say thank you and you should probably leave.” Tess stepped through the door in her small-clothes before Wynne could exit, though. Tess frowned at the old mage, and Alistair had to interrupt Wynne twice to get her to leave.

Tess was shivering, he saw as she stood dripping after she closed the door securely. “What is that?” she asked skeptically as Alistair emptied the potion into his mouth. Wynne had been right, it tasted horrible.

“Pain potion,” he wheezed. The aroma alone stung his eyes. In between trying to blink the fumes away, he caught Tess approaching with the waterskin, and he gratefully drank until the strong bitter bite diluted.

He watched her as she dressed into a simple commoner’s gown from the wardrobe he’d crashed into. He leaned over to reach her hand, hoping he hid the strain on his face. She looked sadly at him when he rubbed his thumb in a circle. “Sit with me,” he pleaded, his voice breaking already. She looked over at the dog. “It will be fine, Tess. A little spill won’t kill either of us. Please, just come here?” he said. She didn’t speak, though she did walk around to the other side of the bed.

“Do you want me to read?” she asked. “Or...pray? Or...anything?”

“No. I just want you.” He reached for her, and she let him pull her into a close hold. He held her hand firmly to his chest so he could make his mark; he desperately wanted to show he could still be her calm place. The thought of her not needing him for anything already felt like he’d fallen in a dark, hollow hole; he could barely handle not feeling her Taint as it was. He didn’t want to be left alone.

Her hair was still wet when he pushed his lips. She didn’t protest as he slid down the bed and covered them up, in fact she didn’t say anything at all. A spill of tears wet his shirt with occasional sniffles until her breathing evened out. She fell asleep with a fist-full of his shirt knotted up in her hand, and only when she was finally calm did he notice that his leg no longer hurt.

A scream woke him. It was so fierce and full of anguish that he thought it had been a dream, until he saw Tess fall off the bed to scamper away. His thigh was flaming again, which made it even harder to catch his breath. The door flew open so fast it nearly came off it’s hinges, and Zevran, Morrigan, Leliana and Wynne pushed each other to get through the entry. Wynne had brought another potion for the pain and also funneled a quick healing spell into Alistair’s leg. Zevran said Alistair had worried them, while Alistair watched Morrigan and Leliana try to comfort Tess. It took Alistair a long moment to realize Tess was crying and shaking at the crook of the wall because of _him._ His entire body froze; had he hit her? The dream had been so real, the axes, the yelling men, the fire bursting through his leg...that was _him? He_ had screamed? _Oh, Maker, please let the scream be all it was._ He didn’t know what he’d do if she was scared of him. He ended up having to yell at them anyway; Morrigan was telling Tess she should not let Alistair’s overreacting dismantle her, Zevran and Leliana got after the witch for making things worse, and Wynne argued with the three of them to stop arguing. None of them even heard him until he yelled. As soon as Zevran closed the door behind them, Alistair looked at Tess. _Maker, please, no!_ She could find no words to talk, and he was fighting his own tears by the time she uncoiled from the wall and came back to him. She did not fall asleep again, though, at least not before him. He kept waiting for her pulse to slow and even, but it never did. As soon as Wynne’s potion kicked in, Alistair had no choice but to fall asleep first, his body demanded it.

Days started blurring by again; how many times had this happened already? They were all pretty much the same: Alistair woke up screaming from a nightmare and his wound flaring up, and everyone would rush in and he’d have to yell to get them out; Tess prepared food as soon as she was calm enough each time, and she never made more stew than she could safely carry to and from the fire. She bathed him with the washrag each day, and every time she neared his groin or his nipples, dammit - even a few times on his second toes and the bottom of his feet - he apologized for getting an erection; she never acknowledged it, though, and this quickly carved a completely new hole in his heart.

She did start speaking, though. Maybe she had run out of tears, Alistair wasn’t sure, but he did notice she was trying to converse with him again. She even started reading to him at night, and after a few nights, it became a ritual for him to lay his head in her lap while she read aloud. Even though it had never put him to sleep before, she combed her fingers through his hair while she read, and he fell asleep quicker and quicker each night. The tingle from the gentle scrape of her nails sent tiny shivers through his skin, and though it triggered an erection, it was also wave after wave of _just knowing she was there_. It made him more aware of how him drawing circles on the back of her hand had affected her...before his accident.

Aside from the nightmares and the pain, he desperately hated having to rely on Tess to steady him while he urinated. Although urinating wasn’t nearly so bad, he’d held off defecating because he didn’t want her to have to hold him while he stunk up the the room with his shit. He had to, though; he’d forced his body into constipation over petty embarrassment, which caused him severe intestinal pain and required additional medical potions from Wynne. He’d had to take a strong laxative, and then he had no choice but to deal with the embarrassment of holding on to Tess as she slowly lowered him over the metal shitting bucket. He couldn’t just sit down upon it, like he’d done - in privacy - in other domesticated ares; it pinched some nerve that shot straight to his thigh and made him scream. She tried to act like none of bothered her, but he knew it did; it shamed _him_ to be reduced to relying on her support for something so simple.

He disgusted himself. He refused to look at her when he merely tried to muster up courage to ask her to help him so he could take a shit. He refused to look at her during the act, refused to look at her while she cleaned his ass without complaint each time, nor did he try to peek at her until hours after each shit. It made him feel weak, and he truly expected her to be so sickened and repulsed by him that she would threaten to leave. He couldn’t bring himself to ask her why she stayed, but it still surprised him she hadn’t just walked out.

After a couple days in this pathetic pattern, he stopped asking to hold her. She said nothing when he wouldn’t let her feed him anymore; _how could she want to when she also had to clean his shit from his ass each day?_ He stopped settling into her lap to fall asleep each night, and when she didn’t question this decision, it only felt like confirmation he disgusted her.

On top of it all, Wynne’s potion for pain wasn’t working as well anymore. The old mage said they were out of the rare ingredients, and regular elfroot wasn’t nearly as potent as royal elfroot; it took three times the steeping time in half as much distillation agent just to produce a close enough effect, and at this rate, they’d be out of elfroot too. He needed too may doses at too many intervals anymore. Alistair insisted on taking it, he _begged_ Wynne to give him more, double doses, triple doses eventually. He _hated_ the look on Tess’ face when he woke up screaming, or when he couldn’t hide the pain during his waking hours.

Now with sleep interrupted more frequently at night because his body adjusted to the potions, Alistair napped regularly throughout the day. He had no energy to stay awake longer than a few hours at a time. Sometimes he felt so worn out that he closed his eyes, but his mind raced too much to allow sleep. One of these particular times, he caught Tess quietly opening the door to slip outside. He could still feel her; she must not have gone past the porch. When he spied her sneaking out a second time, then a third, a forth...soon _every_ time she likely assumed he was asleep, it tangled the knots already inside him. _He was right, she thought him disgusting to be around._ He _knew_ this was why she always left, now.

He started hearing voices, too. Tess was going outside to see other people, to talk to other people. He swore he heard Zevran; that Antivan accent was unmistakable. The elf laughed from the other side of the door. _Laughed._ Tess certainly wasn’t enjoying her time inside with Alistair, but she was going outside to laugh with Zevran. _Fucking void take me!_ His frustration clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white and his nails dug into his palm. She was trying to find comfort with another man. A _whole_ man. _And why shouldn’t she?_ Alistair couldn’t take care of her anymore. Standing had barely improved, he was still dependent upon Tess for everything. _Of course she wants someone else._ He stopped talking to Zevran, too, when the elf came to check on his leg. Here he was, _poor Alistair, being taken care of by his own partner’s secret love affair._

 _Fat._ _Chubby_. That’s what Wynne had called Alistair when she came in one day to offer another healing session and prescribe more pain tonic. As if these names didn’t worsen the situation for him. Alistair had tried to pretend like Tess wasn’t pushing against pillows of flabby skin when she washed him lately. She never said anything about it, either, but Wynne’s reaction to seeing him shirtless and calling out his proof of laziness and incapability made him wonder if Tess saw only saw his fat, now, as well. Tess had told him a couple times...long ago, it seemed, that she loved the shape of him. But he no longer had that shape. His chest was starting to sag, his entire front folded in deep rolls in too many places, now. _Filthy, disgusting,_ and now _fat and lazy. How in oblivion could she see anything good enough in him anymore?_ Taut, slender, lean, fat-free Zevran was right there laughing every time she sneaked outside. Alistair told Tess not to read to him anymore, he wasn’t worth wasting her breath over. He lay as close the edge of the bed as possible and even retracted his hand when she tried to hold it. _You don’t need to pretend for me anymore._ She slept on the floor after that.

Tess started writing. She sat at the table between intervals of attending to him, dipping a quill into a tiny jar of ink. He heard the quill scrape across rough parchment, saw the ends of the stationary curling up every time she lifted her arm to dip the quill.

“What are you doing?” the question was out before he realized it had bothered him.

“Writing to my brother. Wynne says it might...help me clear my head, even if I can’t send them.” she dipped the quill again. _Clear her head? Of what, of Alistair?_ She looked at him in query. “Why? Do you need to use the toilet?”

It suddenly dawned on him that he hadn’t spoken to her in...how many days?, with the exception of when he needed to piss or shit. _Of course_ she would think any attempt at conversation meant him needing to use the toilet. _Disgusting Alistair, here to interrupt your day to have you fondle my shit._

Morrigan was outside when Tess sneaked out again. Alistair heard the witch clearly, as if she intended for her voice to carry through the walls.

_“Tesslyn, ‘tis been over a month,” Morrigan began._

Over a month? Alistair’s pulse thudded painfully between his ears. He’d stalled them for over a month? _He_ did?

 _Tess’ words were too soft to hear. “I attended to worse wounds on your body,” Morrigan reminded her._ “You _were only in bed for two weeks,_ whilst _suffering lyrium withdrawals at. You are enabling him, you know.” Again, Tess’ voice was too quiet. Morrigan replied: “He has never had a mother, the fool has made that quite clear on many occasions. To cater to his every need is only falling into a trap. He seeks nothing but a mother, Tesslyn. You are a brilliant woman, you must recognize this.”_

_Tess scoffed loud enough for him to hear, and she hissed something._

_“And what then? While we are wasting time here learning to be our own private, domesticated merry band of common townsfolk, any resources outside this village are escaping our chances to grasp them. Does_ Archdemon _ring a bell?” she paused for another faint reply. “We have but two choices if we ever intend to progress. Either we leave Alistair here, or - if you_ must _have him along - we stow him in the wagon with the rest of the supplies. We cannot tarry any longer. He is hindering not only your purpose as a Grey Warden, but also hindering_ you. _You are a capable woman, regardless of his attempt to train you like a lap dog.” Morrigan scoffed a laugh in reaction to whatever Tess said. “But he_ has! _He has been training you to stay at his side. Is this not proof? You are afraid to leave the porch. You have hardly bathed, you keep holed up with him all day. He is playing up his wound, and you know it. 'Tis_ insulting _to support your decisions when you insist on letting him twist you around his finger while he sleeps all day. Is this_ truly _what a woman of your intellect and power wishes for? To spend the rest of your days treating him as an infant? He is nothing more than a lazy slug, fattening himself and expecting you to still desire such a slob.”_

As much as he loathed Morrigan, the witch was right. Even if Morrigan didn’t understand the pain that drew tears from his eyes every time he stood merely to piss, _she was still right._ Alistair had become a burden. His presence had turned Tess into a personal maid to a cripple, and if they’d really been there over a month, he had failed as a Grey Warden. Eamon was likely dead now, and how far had the Blight spread? Duncan would be ashamed of Alistair. If he didn’t learn to walk on his leg soon, he would have to find a way to make Tess carry on without him. With Morrigan also complaining about the weight he’d gained, he suspected he might even be able to just gimp away and have Tess be relieved. Maybe it was good he was growing fat and ugly. He could make an easier escape like this.

He was honestly surprised when Tess came to bathe him again. He didn’t blame her for not seeking his gaze; he wondered if she was not simply staring off into oblivion to avoid observing how fat he’d grown. But it didn’t matter how desperately he never wanted her to see him like this, the _fat slob_ , every time she washed his penis and his testicles, his thighs, even his neck, it still aroused him. _Disgusting pig, turned on by proof she thinks he’s dirty._ Today was no different. He _hated_ himself for growing stiff in front of her when she had to bathe him because he couldn’t sit in the tub.

He couldn’t help it, though. He couldn’t control his urges; adding _weak_ to the list under _fat, disgusting, slob_ and _lazy._ He needed release so badly that it started to ache. He stopped her, physically removed her hand and the soapy rag from between his legs. Desire drove him so hard he could barely see straight. Words jumbled together as he tried to apologize and tell her he had to _do it._ As soon as he grabbed himself, she was up on her feet. He pulled on his erection to honestly ease soreness, but as he watched her close the door behind her, he couldn’t help but feel like a lecher for perverting an innocent bath.

The pressure was so intense not a single stroke registered as _pleasure_. It wasn't even an _itch._ He tightened his fingers around the solid shaft and tugged almost effortlessly, slick from the soap she used. It was a need so deep and purely physical that it _hurt_. The waxing warmth that used to trigger as nearing climax now burned, as if this part of him had been dormant for so long it didn't know what to do. His sack was like a rock, and he literally had to knead it just to get his groin flowing again. He only needed to milk twice more before he felt his seed race up to the head and spill out all over his belly.

 _She left._ Any relief down in his loins was instantly replaced by loss and a tight chest. _She's gone._ Instead of wanting to be part of the most sacred part of him, she just left. If everything else that had happened wasn’t proof enough she didn’t want him, this certainly was. He felt like _if_ she loved him, she would at least stay to show that his desire for her still mattered.

He wiped up his mess with the rag, tears splashing down even after his disgusting fat was clean again. His heart was such a wreck that he couldn’t tell the difference between it and the pain in his leg. _He had to leave._ There was no other way to rectify the strain and stalemate he had forced the entire party, especially Tess, into. He had to do it, though. Maker, it hurt just thinking about it, but what choice did he have? His _very existence_ was hindering Tess. Was he really showing her his love by forcing her to take care of him like this? He gathered the blanket and buried his face as he cried. _He was going to miss her so much!_ At the very least, she might even miss the presence of his Taint, but with any luck, if he left while she slept, he would be long gone by the time she woke. He believed the rest of the party would help her succeed at ending the Blight, and then she would finally be free and able to move on with her life.

He didn’t talk the rest of the day. Though she apologized for leaving, said she just wasn’t ready for _that_ yet, it didn’t help ease his mind. He refused her offer to sit and hold him when she saw him continue to cry. He accepted one last, small meal from her; he couldn’t even thank her for it, he was already tearing up again. He forced down every bite, so far into his own despair that he neither smelled or tasted anything. He did, however, muster up enough calm to tell her she didn’t have to sleep on the floor. He couldn’t look at her; it hurt too much. But he didn’t want her to suffer any longer.

He watched her after she fell asleep. The one thing she could never hide from him was true sleep. She slept soundly, often snoring, and though it was fairly quiet compared to other snores he’d heard over the years, that’s how he knew for sure she was asleep, and deep enough in it to not wake so easy. The longer he watched her, the worse it hurt. By the time he leaned in to kiss her goodbye, he was trembling and crying again.

Po watched him with a tiny whine as Alistair got to his feet. Alistair shook his head and quietly shushed the dog. He ruffled through their backpacks and drawers for clothes, and though he knew he was testing the limits of his thigh, he managed to put on a pair of wool pants, socks, his boots, the top half of his splintmail. He found the rolled up portrait of Tess’ face; this he was definitely taking. He rolled it back up and shoved it in the only purse he was allowing himself to take. When he held the wooden Grey Warden toys Tess had found for him in Lothering, he realized he had absolutely nothing to leave for her. He had already given her the rose. She would have no use for his mother’s amulet, so broken and distorted it could not even hold an enchantment; _just like Alistair, now._ But he supposed he could leave tokens as reminders of who she should be. He carefully hobbled back over to the bed and lay the rose dagger he had made for her, and the Grey Warden toys on the pillow he had slept on.

He dared one last chance to kiss her again; a faint kiss on her lips. He whispered _I’m so sorry_ and _I love you_ before hooking his shield as quietly as he could on his back. Po met him at the door as he began to open it. Alistair told the mabari to take care of Tess and then said his very last goodbye. With his sword in his right hand as a makeshift walking stick, he closed the door silently behind him.

It was dark out, and chilly. He was not sure he would even get very far tonight, but it was dry out and a fire would hold no matter where he decided to stop. He held on to the wooden railing and held his breath to keep in the noise from straining his thigh with each step down. He might even have to cut off a branch for a longer, more appropriate walking stick before he left town. One of the moons was shining, at least, and though it was just a sliver, it was still some light.

The breeze on his face was surprisingly refreshing. Mountain air, clean air. It made him feel better about his decision. If the Maker truly wanted him to stay, He would have tousled environmental conditions to make it impossible for Alistair to leave...right? It was a good enough lie. He might even convince himself it was true, after awhile. Walking without allowing cries of pain was tough, but so far do-able. He barely made out the shape of the wagon off to the right between the house he’d come out of and the house in front of him. He reminded himself the path into town was an uphill climb, and to watch out for the hill if he could. For now, he walked on his heel, feeling the warm, familiar buzz of Tess’ Taint dim quieter and quieter with every step he made.

 _“This_ is its decision after confining itself for six weeks? Sneaking away like some rodent?” Shale. _Dammit._ Alistair sighed. Of course Shale would be out. The golem never slept and didn’t feel cold.

“This doesn’t concern you, golem.” Alistair continued to wobble on.

“Charming. And I suppose it expects me to tell the other Warden that I watched it leave and did nothing to stop it?” Shale asked.

“No, I expect you to forget about me. That shouldn’t be too hard, right?” Alistair was halted by a tall figure emerging from complete darkness with a burning torch. Sten. _Double dammit._ Alistair continued walking, though.

“Are you leaving?” Sten asked.

“I am.” he kept hobbling, however Sten easily blocked him.

“You _cannot_ leave.”

“I can. Please move.”

Sten held up the torch and circled Alistair once. “Minimal survival gear. Do you expect to die?”

“Eventually, yes.”

“And the other Warden, she agreed to this?” Sten asked. Alistair sighed again, and this seemed to be answer enough for the Qunari. “You leave your woman to fend for herself?” as if Alistair were mad and disrespectful.

“No, I am leaving so she can _find_ herself.” his eyes teared up again, but he didn’t care. If he managed to get past Sten, he would never see him again. “I have been a thorn in everyone’s side for over a month.”

“You almost lost a leg.”

“But I didn’t. Please move.” he tried to step around Sten, but he was too slow.

“In order to be effective in battle, you must give the wound time to heal.”

“The Blight isn’t going to sit around and wait for my leg to heal, Sten.”

“So you are leaving to end it by yourself?”

“No...I am leaving to _remove the obstacle_ keeping the Grey Warden from ending the Blight. Please, move.”

Sten frowned. “You are _deserting?_ How can you desert? This is _your_ destiny. You _must_ fulfill it.”

“I _can’t_ , Sten! I _sodding can’t!_ I can _barely walk!_ I’m having trouble even _standing!”_ He cried out quietly.

“I suppose this is more honorable, then? Ashamed of a scar, so you dump _your_ responsibility on someone else? Your _own woman_ , at that? She’s not even supposed to be fighting, you and I have spoken about this. I was under the assumption you were letting her fight to renew her sense of self-respect. That, I could overlook. But running away and leaving your problems in her arms - how is this not disrespectful?”

“Don’t you get it, Sten? _I am_ the problem! I’m removing the _problem_ from her grasp! You have no idea what you’re even arguing against. I’m not running to make things harder, I’m run- I’m _leaving_ to make things easier.”

“But you are a Grey Warden. It is _your_ job to stop the Blight. You would leave a woman who is unstable without you to attempt this feat on her own? What happens if _she_ fails? She _will_ fail without you.”

“No, she will _live_ without me. She will be able to move and run and sleep without fear of waking to a grown man screaming, without fear of her lover mistaking her for an enemy while he has bad dreams! She will be _free_ without me! It is _not_ freedom to do what she has _had_ to do for me!” His blood started buzzing again. While Tess’ Taint warmed him, he also panicked. She was awake, she would try to stop him. “Move. _Move!”_ he tried to push Sten so he could start down into the blackened shadows of the hill, but Sten wouldn’t move.

“No. I will not let you just abandon your duty. You went to great lengths to obtain custody of me to aid you, but I cannot end this for you. If you are well enough to walk around, then you are well enough to start training again.”

“Let me through! Now!” he insisted, pushing into Sten harder.

“Alistair, _stop!_ What are you doing?” arms he dreaded might stop him closed around his waist. Only then did Sten move aside.

“Let me go. _Please.”_ he tried to keep walking anyway.

 _“No,_ Alistair, _stop_ this. You need to get off your leg.” He held his ground on his good foot, though. She moved around to the front and took his sword from him. _“What_ are you _thinking?_ You can’t just _leave_ , Alistair! You’ll _die!”_

He kept his sight above her head. He had not expected her to beg him to stay, to worry about him if he left. “I have to. Tess, _please_ just let go.”

 _“Why_ do you have to go?” she asked.

“If I don’t leave now, you’ll be stuck here. I can’t -” it hurt. He hurt everywhere. It would have been so much easier to sneak out, but even if he left now it would still make things better. She reached around and yanked his shield down over his arms, forcing him to lean forward on her just to keep balanced. “Tess, please. You deserve better than...what’s left of me. I’m only making things worse. You _have_ to let me go!” he whispered.

“What? How is you leaving going to make anything better? Did you _suddenly_ stop _loving_ me?” she hissed. His eyes flew to her before he could stop himself.

“ _No._ Tess, I’ve _always_ loved you,” he said.

“Then _why_ do you have to _go?_ How does trying to sneak out after I fall asleep show that you love me? What were you going to do if something _got_ you? You can’t fight yet, you’re not even supposed to be _walking_ yet. _Please_ just come inside!” she bit her lip, and he saw Sten’s torch reflect off the gloss rising in her eyes.

“You’re right, I can’t fight. _You_ have to. You have to let me go so _you can_ fight.” He pressed down for his very last kiss; he would make it the very last. “This is the best way I can love you right now. I have to let go of you. You’re meant to _fly_ , Tess, not hold me over a toilet the rest of my life,” he breathed.

 _“No!”_ she said angrily, pushing him back enough to see his face. “You’re _not using_  that on me, Alistair! If it weren’t for you, I _would_ have flown! I don’t have _any_ reason to continue on if you leave me! You’re the _only_ reason I’m still alive, and I _refuse_ to let you just leave me! _Get inside!”_

“I can’t.” he shook his head and tried to walk around her anyway, but she spun him around so much easier than he expected her to. “Tess...”

“You’re _supposed_ to be my _husband!”_ she reminded him.

 _“How_ can I be _king_ like this?”

“You can start by getting back inside! You made it all the way out here, you can go right back in just as easy!” he could hear her try to control her voice.

He kept his weight on his good leg, completely torn inside. He _did_ want to be with her. But he couldn’t live as her patient. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to spend my last days on a bed my wife won’t sleep on with me because she’s repulsed by me.”

 _“What?!”_ she screeched. “Who told you _that?”_

“You’ve slept on the floor.”

“Because you kicked me out of the bed! Just get inside, Alistair, _please!_ It’s cold and dark out here.”

“You leave every time you think I’m asleep. It’s clear you don’t want to be around me.” But when she walked around him again, this time to try to pull him, he broke down crying.

Immediately she pressed into him, hugging him tight, apologizing repeatedly. When he finally allowed himself to hug her back, his leg gave out, and he fell to the ground in a wail of pain he never wanted her to hear. He had ripped his thigh again, he felt it; flaming just as hard and sharp as when he’d first received it. Between the pain and tears, he could barely see. He felt large hands and arms lift him; Sten, likely. He could feel himself being moved, but he was in no position to fight it. Wynne and Zevran came in to focus behind a creamy, sparkling glow of light and a slight release of pressure from his burning thigh.

They’d brought him back inside the house. Tess was on the other side of the bed clutching his hand over her heart, begging Wynne with a raining face for pain potions, sleeping potions, _anything_ that would make Alistair stop hurting. Wynne said she would have to make another batch, and when she stopped funneling the healing spell into Alistair’s leg, Zevran ushered the old woman out, telling Tess to yell if they needed anything.

 _This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to be gone. Down the hill, in the shadows, hidden in trees,_ anywhere _but back in bed. Anywhere but stuck where he would just waste away._

Tess converged on him as soon as he looked at her. She held his head and kissed him everywhere, leaving a trail of trail of tears around every spot her mouth went. Then she squeezed him tight, crossing her arms around him in a hold similar to the one Alistair had used on her when she’d withdrawn. _“What_ were you _thinking?”_ she choked out. _“How_ could you just _leave_ me like that?” Never in the time he’d known her had he expected such pain in her voice. She hadn’t sounded this hurt over the death of her family when he’d talked her off the ledge. His eyes clouded up and spilled over before he could even blink, and he turned his head to bury his face in her neck. She didn’t say anything as his nails dug into her skin when the swelling in his chest burst and broke him into full sobs. After all he’d just tried, he was now ashamed to tell her he’d rather wander as a gimp and let nature claim him than be a burden on her for the rest of her life.

 

 

 

*** _NSFW***_

_Alistair and Tesslyn; emotions, scars and physical changes from Haven **:**_

_** ** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by me. 
> 
> Alistair's wound inspired by [ this](http://yuhime.deviantart.com/art/Wounded-208521152) picture by Yuhime  
> and by a real-life event.


	32. New and Improved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair regains control of the party and grows closer to Tess as he finds confidence and purpose again after depression from almost losing his leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music until the end of Tess' letters: [Michelle Branch's Breathe ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5OiwqYcoVTU)  
> Music for Alistair's healing: [ Danny Gokey's Hope In Front of Me ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O5GFiDdGGGM)

Wynne said nothing when she brought an armful of potions. She placed them on the bureau on Alistair’s side of the bed, then left, even closed the door in silence. With a shaking arm, Alistair reached for the one he recognized as the pain tonic; Tess had to open it for him. Alistair was almost afraid to help her hold the bottle while he drank. He didn’t remember falling asleep, though, he only recalled the gentle rocking of her body, swaying in her arms like the pendulum of a clock.

He didn’t dream that night. When light poured in on his face with a cool breeze, Alistair found they had not moved; Tess was sleeping upright, her head on his, arms still draped over and around. Zevran quietly apologized, and Po sneaked out before the elf could close the door. Alistair tightened his arms around Tess and tried to just breathe her in as much he could until sleep claimed him again.

He woke again to a tender humming and delicate caress through his hair. When he stirred, she held him closer and kissed the top of his head. He felt strange. He didn’t know what to say to her, but she gazed at him with a silent understanding. She smiled for him, caressed him, kissed him, kissed his eyelids. It was almost like he’d been thwarted out of a suicide attempt; in a way, he supposed it was, just long and drawn out. Yet she was still here, even though she seemed to know his intention. He wondered if this was how she’d felt the morning after the edge at Ostagar? What had she said then? _Not any less hurt, but not on the edge anymore._ He supposed this _had_ been his edge.

She made him a cup of rose and hyssop tea, with two spoons of honey, and he was surprised she remembered; they hadn’t had it together yet, but he’d told her about it in Redcliffe. She brushed her fingers through his hair while he sipped his tea, and stroked his beard, traced the corner of his mouth while he drank. She accepted a basket of eggs and a jar of fresh milk from Zevran at the door; the elf gave Alistair a friendly, awkward wave before letting them alone. Tess boiled the eggs and let Alistair have the entire jar of hot milk all to himself. She told him she was here and ready to listen whenever he felt like talking about the night. He definitely wasn’t ready; she caught his escalation quickly and pressed in, tender and sweet, nuzzling and airy kisses, _It’s okay, I’m still here._

That sunken feeling from the past...whenever returned when he had to urinate, though. He told her he wanted to try it alone, but he had damaged his thigh too bad in his fall from last night. It hurt to put any weight on it, and he nearly fell all over again. When she offered to bring the bucket over, he started to shake and cry, and he confessed he was ashamed; he didn’t want her holding him; he _felt disgusting_ when she had to. She had to turn his face and shoved her face into his, repeatedly kissed him, reminded him she had _licked_ his anus, before he would even look at her. He wasn’t completely convinced it didn’t bother her that she had to hold him while he shit, but it was enough for now. She offered to take him outside, let him lean on her and breathe fresh air; he could look at the lake and relieve himself unseen.

The rush of fresh air this time was welcoming. With her arms around his waist as he used her as his right leg, he questioned himself in his head, _why had he tried to leave her?_ They had been through some very rough times already, but she was always there, always his extension, especially since his accident; every experience brought a new understanding of this concept. She silently silenced Zevran as he started to approach saying Alistair should not be on his feet, but they were allowed to pass without anymore interruptions. And she was right, the lake was perfect to look at. It held a sort of serenity he had forgotten existed in the world.

He struggled with the ties of his pants with just one hand. It took more courage than he imagined it would to admit he needed assistance. It was a little scary, even. He barely scraped out, “I need your help.” He wasn’t sure she would even want to touch him there. But again, she surprised him. Her fingers met his, and together they untied and untangled the twine tie that kept him uncomfortably scrunched in his pants; she even helped untie his smalls. He felt awkward with her hand so close to his penis when he had to urinate though. She didn’t say anything when he moved her hand up above his navel, rather she reassured him in a way he did not expect. She stood on her toes and turned his head to kiss him as if to _show_ him it she wasn’t bothered. When he was done and tied back up, he just stood there with her, leaning on her with her arms tight around him and her breath at his collar.

 _Different,_ she had said, _not any less hurt, but not on the edge anymore._ That’s exactly how it felt when the sun started reflecting off the lake in front of them. He was still badly injured, still knew it would be uncomfortable to have to shit in front of her, his leg and his heart still competed for which hurt the most...but he felt different this morning than he had yesterday. For the first time since he nearly lost his leg, he felt hopeful.

They remained outside until his good leg began to give out. When he was settled back in bed, she sat and held him for a while, cradling his head to her breast, even though that position must have been uncomfortable for her. Only the sound of eggs knocking together in the cauldron tore her from him. She hissed out curses as she grabbed the tiny cauldron - when had she gotten rid of the big one? - and quickly shifted from hand to hand even with a rag between her and the cast iron. She sighed in obvious disappointment as soon as she set the pot on the brick around the fire.

Alistair watched her slump into a chair with a whimper and a wince and a deep, trembling breath. “I’m sorry. I - I was so busy trying to make you feel better...I burned the eggs. I’m _sorry.”_ She hung her head over her lap and watched her fingers shake.

It was strange to see her like this. She’d seemed to have such a handle on taking care of him that he’d just assumed she could take on anything now. “It’s okay, Tess. Really,” he insisted.

She sniffled from the chair and took another shaky breath, then she stood and quickly crossed the room to the bed. She sat next to him and stuck her right hand out, not looking at him, quivering and gasping in breath, tiny tears flying off her eyelashes in rapid blinks. He took her hand, unsure why she simply held it out like so. It was unnerving to see _her_ like this though; up until he fell asleep last night, _he_ had been the unstable one, he _still_ felt a wreck inside. She looked down at their hands with a jerky head. “Can you ---” she broke off, but drew circles in the air with her other thumb.

 _Circles._ Maker, that was...so long ago. She still wanted that? _Please,_ she asked. He watched her face while he traced a single circle on the back of her hand. She was already breathing deeper by the time he completed the motion, her back and shoulders drooping to relax with fuller breath; seeing such a change so sudden in her brought up a flood of memories - _the circles, the rune -_ comfort, closeness, _support_ , stability. Guilt and hurting; he’d allowed himself to shut her out, but she had needed him just as much. Right now was _proof_ she needed him. _She_ needed _him._

_She still needed him._

He started on another circle, but he couldn’t finish it. Blinking to clear his own eyes, he pulled her in, and she made a noise when their mouths crushed together. He murmured apologies; _he was supposed to ask first;_ but she kissed him back. Holding her hand over his chest to continue the circles, he hugged her tight with his other hand.

 _Everything_ came out. He revealed to her how abandoned and neglected he felt, being fat and disgusting, not good enough, a waste of time, how it hurt when she walked out when he _had_ to masturbate, how humiliated he was to have to shit in front of her. He clung to her when he admitted he didn’t know how she could stand to touch him after she wiped his ass. Said he felt nothing like a man, how he thought she went outside to get away from him. He missed her. He was _so, so sorry_ he couldn’t take care of her anymore, shame-faced and failing her. Confessed he thought he was making life easier for her by leaving; he didn’t want her having to do everything for him for the rest of her life. Said it sincerely surprised him that she wanted him to do circles again, he had no idea she needed him.

Silent tears trickled down her face when he looked to her. She said she was horrible at speaking what she really wanted to say, but asked if she could read to him the letters she’d written to her brother; after breakfast, though, they’d both had a hard morning. When he agreed, she leaned in to kiss him; their tears tasted the same beneath his lips. Her shoulders curled in toward him when he marked another circle upon her hand, and the kiss they shared actually made him feel _important_. He had forgotten what it felt like to do something she needed.

He tried not to eat very much. She had collected a few more eggs; her dog ate the burnt ones, and she made sure to watch the new batch boil. They broke bread Leliana had made, with boiled pumpkin and butter. All Alistair could think about was _being fat._ He heard Wynne in his head, and Morrigan; _fat, chubby, slob._ When Tess couldn’t get him to take another bite, she sat biting her lip with a hard, pensive expression for a moment; Alistair was a little nervous about what she was concocting. She suddenly took all the food to the table, swiftly returned and tried to take his shirt off.

“No. No! No, no, no!” he fought her. He didn’t want to _see_ how slobby he was, he didn’t want _her_ to see it. He pushed the front of his shirt down firmly.

“You’re _not_ fat and disgusting, Alistair. You never have been.”

 _“No,_ not until I hurt my leg. Please don’t.”

She took a deep breath. “I want to _show_ you I like you how you are.”

“I’m... _not_ the man that you said you like anymore,” he barely made out.

“How do _you_ know?” she asked. He shifted his eyes slowly to hers.

“I _know_ I’m not. Being someone who knows - _used to_ know how to calm you down is not the same as being...” he swallowed to keep from choking on a cry. “Being a man you want to make love to you. I _know_ you don’t want that from me,” he whispered. He wiped his eyes as he turned his head away from her.

She didn’t say anything. From the corner of his eyes, he saw her take a deep breath and slide off the bed. He watched her retrieve the pile of curling parchments she had written on to her brother. She blinked many times and her hands trembled as she unrolled and shuffled the parchment. _“Dearest Fergus,”_ she began, already trying to steady her voice.

_Today is 9 Solis. We are in Haven and have been here a week, I believe. I don’t expect any of these to ever find your hands, but this is where I am writing from. We arrived seeking the Ashes of Andraste in hopes of curing Cousin Eamon, but Alistair has taken an axe for me. We are staying until he recovers. Zevran and Wynne both say if he stays off his legs and gets plenty of rest, we should be able to continue our journey. I’m not sure what to tell you, since this is never going to reach you, however Wynne says it might help. It has been rough so far._

Tess paused to sniffle.

_I think he has nightmares. He wakes up screaming. I am no longer surprised by them, but they frightened me something horrible at first._

“Tess, I’m _so sorry,”_ Alistair told her. He had only suspected, but she never told him.  

“I’m fine, truly,” she said, shaking her head.

_10 Solis. Today would have been Oren’s seventh birthday. I don’t know what do. I don’t even have a grave to visit. When Alistair sleeps, I try to sit outside to think. But I can’t think, today I just cried. If Wynne hadn’t given him a sleeping potion, I think I would have woken him up. Zevran asked if there was something he could do, and I threw a rock at him when he wouldn’t leave. I think I hit him in the eye, but he came by with fresh bread and meat for supper anyway._

She stopped for a heavy sniff, and a tear fell from her eye to the parchment with a splash.

_I don’t know how to do this. Alistair has held it all in for me. I don’t know how he does it, but when he draws the circles on my hand, it’s like something just melts away. He hadn’t done any circles for days, now. I tried to do it myself though it’s not the same. I don’t know if I can keep on like this. I go outside to cry. I am afraid he might see me lose my head. I have to be the strong one right now. I know he hurts, I can’t expect him to remember with his leg like this. I feel stuck though. He’s the only one who can make everything stop hurting._

_13 Solis. Something is wrong with Alistair. He won’t look at me. Zevran says he might be embarrassed, but I can’t figure out why._

_I don’t think he likes the part of me that can sweep floors or boil water. He likes the part of me that comes out in battle, that’s what he liked about me at Ostagar, he told me so. But I can’t be that person when he can’t walk. He doesn’t want anyone else to help him, but I don’t know what to do when he won’t look at me._

_14 Solis. Zevran asked how romance was going. Battle Tess might have made a ridiculous sex joke. I slapped him, but the stupid elf wouldn’t go away. He said he was serious that it might help both me and Alistair._

_I didn’t talk to him again until he brought supper. He doesn’t realize what this means. I can’t try what he suggests because I don’t know how to tell Alistair that I can’t feel half of what he wants to do to me. I don’t know if lyrium destroyed my nerves or if that thing the mage put in did. It’s so hard for me to wash him every day. He’s so close I can smell him. He gets hard when I wash him, and he’s right under my hands, but since the Fade all I can think about is the Teyrn and the mage._

_The first time we had each other, I cried. He spent what felt like half the night just touching my arms. It was like the Maker had rearranged my nerves just for Alistair. Before that night, I didn’t think I could ever lie with someone without thinking of the Teyrn. But I can’t do what Zevran says will help. It doesn’t feel good._

_19 Solis. He doesn’t talk to me anymore unless he needs to relieve himself. I slept on the floor with Po last night. Alistair doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. He doesn’t acknowledge when I try to talk to him. I wish you were here. He might listen to you._

_20 Solis. The sun has just set and Alistair has only eaten two bites today. He won’t let me feed him._

_21 Solis. He drank tea today. No honey. That’s it._

_22 Solis. Wynne called him chubby when she came to give him the potions. Thankfully the sleeping potion took hold of Alistair before she left. I pushed her outside and threw her down the steps and tried to break her face in the ground. Sten and Zevran had to pull me off. I didn’t do nearly as much damage as I had hoped. The old hag covered herself in rock armor. She said I was lucky she still respects Alistair. But he’s already not eating._

_25 Solis. I miss him. I don’t feel like I can look at him. It feels like he doesn’t want me to. I don’t know what to do without him. I wish he would say something._

_26 Solis. I had a dream of the Archdemon last night. I tried to ask Alistair about it, but he didn’t say anything. He just sits there. He told me in Lothering that the Taint takes people faster during a Blight. Maker help me! I’m afraid it’s taking him!_

_1 Matrinalis. Leliana and Zevran and Wynne and the dwarves are celebrating. Zevran said something about the dead. I don’t pay attention to holidays. I’ve never liked them. Cailan made them all horrid._

_Sandal sat with me on the porch while the others danced to Leliana’s lute. When I was finally able to look at him, he just smiled at me. I spent the next few hours crying until Alistair woke up screaming again._

_5 Matrinalis. Leliana asked how I’ve been sleeping when she brought fresh bread. I tried to tell her everything was fine, but she saw right through that. A rogue is a rogue is a rogue, and there are two here who read my every expression from across the field. She asked if writing has helped. I don’t think it has. She suggested I try writing to Alistair instead._

_This is my last letter to you, brother. I hope you are faring better than we are._

_7 Matrinalis. I am not sure what to call you anymore, Alistair. First you were Mentor, then Savior, Only Friend, then my Betrothed, then Lover, then Enemy. Then my Comfort. Husband. You have been my home since I lost mine. I don’t know the right words to tell you what you mean to me. I don’t want to say I love you. Once upon a time, they might have been adequate, but since my last trip with lyrium, it feels like somewhere there should be a better word for how I feel, maybe a holier word, something that might actually do you justice. To say I love you feels like something I have the right to take back at any chosen moment. I don’t think how you make me feel is a right - you have seen inside me from the start and have stayed regardless. You keep reminding me it’s not about what we deserve, it’s about what we need. I think you are right, but I think it’s significantly more magnanimous than you originally used it. Until I found you, I have never felt safe, I have never slept an entire night, I have never heard music like the sound of your heartbeat. I also did not realize the gravity of my choices. You have shown me that some things are worth fighting to the death for, and some things are worth going to any lengths to protect._

_You are pretending to sleep right now. I don’t know if you’re aware that I know you’re pretending, but I do. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop the axe. I know I am a horrible homemaker, and I wish I could be better. I’m sorry I can’t give myself the way you want me to. I wish I could. I’m sorry I can’t give you children. Every day I am reminded of the cruelty I have inflicted upon you, and it rips me apart inside. I can never enough say how sorry I am that I have struck you. I am desperately trying to make amends for that._

_I miss everything about you. I miss half of your body on me when I sleep. I miss waking up to find you’ve been groping me in your sleep. I miss how you pretend you’re too much of a gentleman to belch or pass gas in front of me, only to have you break wind on me when you roll over in the middle of the night. I miss your laugh and the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. I miss the way you smell my skin when you hug me._

_As for now, I miss just sitting next to you. I wish you would eat and let me hold your hand._

_14 Matrinalis. Sometimes I understand why you hate Morrigan so. I wish I knew what she was up to. I don’t like the way she talks about you. She called me your dog today. I wanted to hit her for what she called you. Zevran came to the rescue again and wheeled her away before anything else happened._

They were both drenched in tears when she finished speaking. Alistair had stopped trying to interrupt after an early entry, she just kept reading. He had no idea she had suffered so much. He’d had no idea he was worse than what he thought was going on. He had no idea she’d never felt half of their lovemaking. He never would have guessed she cared for him as much as she’d written.

She set the parchments on the bureau behind her and wiped her eyes. With a nervous swallow, she met his eyes. His own eyes filled all over again as he held his arms out for her. She came crashing into him so hard it jolted his bad leg, but for the first time, the pain was a good sign. It meant she was in his arms. She had missed him, she had never wanted him gone, she _loved_ him. She needed him. It hurt to breathe, even. His heart was crushing everything in his chest. He didn’t know where to start - he should apologize for kicking her out of the bed, he could thank her for all her hard work, he could thank her for not giving up on him --

“Maker’s breath! I _don’t_ really _fart_ on you, _do_ I?” was what came out. At first, he thought she was crying again. But when she lost her grip on him, slid down his chest, fell face-first into the straw mattress and then rolled over, he couldn’t help but smile. She laughed so hard she was curled into a ball holding her belly. She tickled his side when she buried her laugh in him. She rang out all around him, and the very room seemed brighter, homelier, _perfect._ Even when she crawled back up in tears, choking out apologies and promises and wanting to be held, everything was sweeter.

_Not any less hurt, just different._

His first bath after his attempt to escape had him trembling. Though she was gentle to every inch of him, and most tender and careful around his genitals, he couldn’t stop himself from hardening. He was truthfully so afraid she would walk out again that when she asked if he wanted her to use her mouth or her hands, he was so grateful she stayed he nearly cried. He said he only wanted her with him, that he would do it, _just please stay_ . She sat behind him and held him while he slid his hand up and down around his shaft, her fingers tangling in the hairs on his chest and massaging his scalp. She kissed his bare shoulder and neck, even breathed a little heavier against him. Her lips closed over his earlobe before her hot breath in his ear told him how beautiful he was to her. She encouraged him to orgasm by flickering her tongue inside his ear. Just knowing she _wanted_ to be with him changed his perspective; he was no longer ashamed of his excitement. When he spilled out on his belly, clear over to his chest, even she lost breath. He recovered within her arms at the crook of her neck, feeling just as spent as if they’d made love. Her very willingness to be with this part of him had made it intimate. He had missed this physical closeness with her so much; he was relieved it wasn’t just some forgotten memory. Tears leaked when he told her he loved her.

He had forgotten what it felt like to fall asleep next to her, to wake up with her arms around him. These days brought the same struggles as before, but now he felt there might actually be some reward down the line. He ate mostly because she wanted him to, although at least once a day, she spent a good deal of time trying to assure him she loved whatever shape he was. Relieving himself wasn’t any easier, either, and the more he ate, the more time he spent studying her knees as she supported him over the shitting bucket; each time, she remedied his shame with kisses that made him forget everything around them. She took him outside to piss, and they both discovered that a little time in fresh air admiring the scenery together each day made them feel better, both felt like smiling. Alistair especially loved this because it was time _standing_ as she snuggled up to him; for these few moments, he felt normal and whole again.

Time walking outside was suddenly cut down to once a day though. His leg was having a hard time healing from the fall he took during his foiled escape. It was swelling and reddening, so tender and sensitive that he accidentally yelped when Tess washed simply his knee one day. Tess ignored any differences she had with Wynne to accept help for Alistair. Zevran scrubbed, cleaned and sanitized a sticking knife, and he and Wynne settled in around Alistair with excess rags and alcohol and potions. Alistair was given a pain potion, but it didn’t feel like it worked. Zevran heated the sticking knife, and though the elf had the knife in and out in the blink of an eye, Alistair couldn’t help the scream that ripped through his entire chest and throat. Wynne’s potion made the pain worse; instead of just molten fire of the narrow cut Zevran made, it now felt like venom and wasps and gnawing poison _within_ a raging wildfire. But Wynne’s potion fizzed around inside the self-infecting wound, and when the entire area went numb, Alistair was brave enough to look. Sickened yellow pus oozed out in innumerable tiny bubbles down over Alistair’s leg. Zevran held open the cut he’d made and caught each dose of Wynne’s strange potion that boiled up and over from the inside. It seemed to be pushing the infectious pus up out of the wound. When Tess asked what was in the potion, Wynne answered a _cautious_ combination of vodka and concentrated clove oil for numbing, concentrated citrus oil to purify and dissolve any foreign substances, and elfroot and deep mushrooms that had been cured in a corrupter agent in a dark cupboard for ten days. She explained corrupted elfroot is instantly rejected by the body as if it were poison, though there are no true adverse reactions, and corrupted mushrooms foam up when mixed with liquor and blood. She had made a good store of doses to prepare for _this sort of thing_ , and they may need to come administer another round of doses once a day until it stops swelling. Alistair should stay off his leg as much as possible, no more walks outside. Zevran left the fresh wound open to drain and secured gauze and a wrap around Alistair’s thigh before departing for the day. Alistair didn’t realize how hard he’d been holding on to Tess until he brought a hand up to hide his eyes when he cried. By the time night fell, she had dark bruises in the shape of his fingers across her upper back where he had held on during the pain. Though she insisted she was fine, it was such a dark fall in what he’d felt had been progress. He started to worry he would lose his leg.

Tess was more supportive than Alistair felt he deserved. If she was scared or cried at all, she wasn’t showing him. She said she wanted to believe he would heal, so that’s all she was going to focus on. She set up chairs just off the porch so they could sit outside together under the sun. 

Brother Genitivi approached with a walking cane one day while Tess and Alistair sat outside, and introduced himself by showing off a bandaged ankle, said the townsfolk hadn’t liked him either. He said Alistair looked familiar and asked if they’d met before; with a reassuring squeeze from Tess, Alistair, for the first time, openly admitted who his father and brother had been. The aging scholar took it better than Alistair had hoped for, the man was practically jumping. He said he had nothing but fond memories of Maric, and Cailan had proved eager for stories so often that he always reserved copies of his research for the Denerim palace before distributing elsewhere. He engaged them for any information they had on their quest and filled in details they did not have, and to Alistair’s surprise, the conversation gave him hope. Alistair had forgotten they had other missions, and even the Blight seemed like just some story out of a dark adventure book. Genitivi told them what he knew of Haven and the Temple of Andraste, the information he gathered while studying the strange Chantry here, and what he’d overheard after he’d been bound and forgotten. He spoke of dragons and trials of worth and secret cults, and Alistair felt wonder and excitement stir inside him from each toe to the hairs on his head. This _wasn’t_ the end of the road. 

By the time Genitivi left them, Alistair was so eager to explore like the knights from the old tales that he was imagining himself, sword and shield ready, waltzing out of a tall, dark corridor and into bright daylight to face a large, horned dragon. When he came out of his daydream and saw Tess curiously watching him, he couldn’t help an awkward giggle, hiding his eyes in embarrassment that his silly daydream had made him giddy and ready to slay dragons like he used to dream as a small boy. Tess hugged him and cried softly into his hair; she thought she was never going to hear him laugh again.

Alistair was ready to be done with this town. He wanted to use his sword, his shield, he wanted to walk and run. Duncan had once told him that when the body doesn’t feel pain, it could focus on healing. It sounded good enough to Alistair. He asked Wynne if she could make him enough pain potions to last throughout each day, and though she was hesitant, she agreed. He didn’t tell her was going to try to trick his body into repair; enough pain potions, and he could heal right up, right? If not to go slay dragons, then for Tess. It was hard watching her do every single thing for him. At the very least, even if there were no dragons in the end, healing meant he could take over for Tess, take back his place and take care of her again, like it should be. Become the man he knew he had to be for her, again. Become the man who would be King to keep his Lady safe.

He started that night. With what Zevran said was likely the last time they’d have to open his leg to let it drain, Alistair insisted on helping Tess with supper. He couldn’t feel his wounded leg, so it was a perfect chance. He got around by briefly balancing on his right heel and found timing it right was everything. He filled the cauldron by himself at the lake, the large one that had won against Tess that first night. He forced himself to remain standing to kill and clean a chicken, and _he_ cooked it this time. And when the chicken roasted on the spit over the fire, he sat Tess down and rubbed her neck, _thank you for being brave,_ and shoulders, _thank you for taking care of me._ He kissed her from above, drawing on her left cheek and right hand at the same time, _I’m here, now, I have you._ He never wanted her to worry for him again.

Every day he forced himself to do a little more than the day before. Though she took care of breakfast, simply because his leg took longer to wake up than she did, he handled the other meals, and the fire. Though she hardly needed aid, Alistair bathed Tess. He missed this particularly out of so many things; this was _his_ thing. She sat in the steel drum tub, steam rising up all around her, and he sat next to it. There was something therapeutic for _him_ to scoop water and watch each drop roll down her hair and skin, or maybe it was how she breathed when the hot water hit the back of her neck and trickled down her shoulder blades. It was intimacy in a way he’d almost forgotten she could possess. She curled up with her knees to her chest and her head on her knees, and the look in her eyes when she finally opened them glimmered the loudest silent _thank you_ he’d ever received.  

Oddly, he discovered that even though he could balance himself over the shitting bucket, he had grown used to her being there. While he moved it to a darker corner, being able to look up and _know_ she was there was a great comfort. A form of security, even; it meant all was safe enough to let his guard down for a moment. She even talked to him while he sat trying to shit; she wrote to her brother again now, whenever Alistair hovered over the bucket, and he’d softly laugh while she ran by words he thought an adventuring man like her brother might understand or like to hear. He laughed to himself after she fell asleep, imagining it remaining a habit even after he became King: her following him to the royal shitting chambers with parchment, quills and ink, and passing-by servants overhearing things like their conversation from earlier in the present day: 

_Would he understand ‘creamy’ or ‘milky’ better?, she’d ask_

_That depends on context. Are you talking about you or me?, he’d reply, with a plunk echoing as it fell from his bum into the bucket._

_No, I’m talking about the kind of cheese I’m hoping to find if we ever find a proper Orlesian vendor. ‘Creamy pockets with swirls of anise’ or--_

_He’d cut her off, What do you want anise in cheese for?, with another plunk._

_It’s spreadable cheese, Alistair._

_Oh. The kind I can lick off?, he’d say._

_Yes, but unless I can find another way to inconspicuously say ‘he makes me sweat in anticipation with the way he dips his finger into the dripping white cream and slowwwly pulls it from between his lips, clean, wet and shining’...er, then, no, I’m not telling him that part._

_He’d laugh_ (like he did when she asked him not hours ago after supper, like he giggled now) _with another reverberating plunk and suggest, Well, your brother will eventually need ideas for whenever he remarries..._

Alistair felt _new_ . Though his leg was still sore when he went to bed each night, he was starting to take charge again. Sten asked him when they should start packing up. Though Alistair had told him he needed to get back in training first, it had been a bolstering moment. It was _his_ party, _his_ mission, _his_ charges again. Leliana even _reported_ to him that the children, though frightened and afraid to come out except for a strange little boy who carried a bone, seemed to be fine and were old enough to run the tiny town safely when the party left. Even Wynne stopped _advising,_ no longer lecturing about the possible future need for herbs when Alistair raised the amount of pain potions he required to make it throughout the day. It was now _his_ word, _his_ say again, and it felt good.

Tess was relinquishing more and more to him every day, as well. The more Alistair walked around outside to strengthen his leg, the more Wynne reverted into _wise old crone_ mode and felt it her duty to critique Alistair's posture - even though he still had a bit of a limp - and to watch his diet, to get adequate rest, and so on. At first, Tess spat off on the old woman; Alistair was surprised to suddenly understand Tess was temperamental as a sort of guard, keeping herself ready for attack; he couldn’t believe he hadn’t caught it till now. It explained her behavior around anyone who challenged her intentions, acts or position. He understood, _now,_ that she was on guard to try to protect _him._ Even though it was just Wynne she spouted off to, Alistair _had_ to start rubbing circles on the back of her hand. He’d been doing it at night again anyway, and whenever they sat idle together, just to get back into the habit and silently let her know _I’m here, I’m back, it’s my job again._ Just like Tess had said in one of her letters to her brother, it really was like magic on her. Doing it idly did nothing special, except perhaps create subconscious awareness he was there, but it took hardly any time for his circles to start working when she stiffened and prepared for attack. Seeing how quickly it calmed her from Wynne opposed to when he had his arms full of firewood, one day, and could not immediately mark upon her hand, fully opened his eyes why she’d been so calm when he’d needed to rely on her: Tess took care of Alistair so Alistair could take care of her again. She spoke clearer and acted more rationally when he circled on her skin during _any_ distress.

The morning Alistair woke up to find he’d not only rolled over in his sleep but rolled over halfway on Tess without his leg hurting enough to wake him during the night, he began training with Sten. Tess panicked when Alistair and the Qunari approached each other with real weapons, and she quickly exchanged their swords for dull branches. The first two days of practicing with sticks had Alistair laughing almost half the training time, partly because Zevran kept giggling at them from the sidelines with comments like _tickle him with the leaf_ and _no, no, under the chin!_ They were like little boys simply at play. Only after Tess saw Alistair successfully block all of Sten’s blows did she bite her tongue long enough for them to use real swords.

Alistair wasn’t completely fooled by her _supervising_ though. Tess touched him more when they were alone, she spent time _smelling_ him - lying her head on his belly and playing with the coarse hair from his navel to the patch above his penis, exciting him just enough to send an erection near her face to _smell_ him. He watched what he could see of her eyelashes close, her head tilt just so, her shoulders rise, her arms move as her chest expanded. She liked his scent after he spent hours sweating under the sun. Even though she never actually fondled his groin, knowing she was attracted to the scent of his sex was nearly as erotic as wearing the blindfold had been. Everyone else told him he reeked of _man sweat_ , yet the woman who drove him wild couldn’t seem to breathe him in enough.

They had been in Haven for two and a half months by the time Alistair moved around on foot long enough to prove their journey could continue. He was restless and ready, and the party packed up with the same eagerness he had. With a walking stick in his right hand for good measure, shield on his back and sword sheathed at his side, fully clad in his favorite splint mail armor, Alistair led his party and the scholar up the mountain toward the ruined Temple of Andraste. Hand-in-hand with the woman who reminded him who he was, Alistair was going to hunt for dragons. And maybe even find some ashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to (You Know Who You Are) for your continued encouragement, advice, your willingness to share with me so I can properly portray a love that should be made known. This is just as much you as it is me.


	33. More Than Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enlightened from his recovery, Alistair faces the ruined Temple of Andraste with childhood glee, the trials of the Gauntlet as the hardened King he is to become, and is moved by the Ashes of the Prophet in a way he had not expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a bad habit of not editing first. Please bear with me, if you haven't already <3

The trek up the mountain to the ruined temple was harder on Alistair than he expected. Not too steep a grade for the horse and cow, but it worked muscles Alistair hadn’t used in months. Tess watched him as he stopped the party for a second time to down another double dose of Wynne’s pain potion.

“As tasty as lyrium?” she said, amused over the little shiver and wince the potion pulled from him. He laughed through a cough.

“Almost,” he joked, making a face with the second dose.

“Do you need to stop and sit?” she asked just for his ears.

“I’m fine, really. If I don’t work my legs somehow, I’ll look ridiculously disproportionate soon.”

“You never know, I may end up liking that,” she teased. He grinned with a small laugh, leaning down to meet her halfway as she stood higher for a kiss.

“We are about to head into a _sacred temple_ , madam, you will need to contain yourself,” he teased back with a soft groan as she tasted his lip. But she fell into rolling giggles.

“Zevran is staring at us!” she whispered.

“I’m actually starting to expect nothing less from him.” he took another kiss before pulling back. He could taste her tongue on his mouth still, even as he looked over at the elf. “Yes, Zevran? I’m sure you have some perverted comment or question lurking in that dirty mind of yours.”

“Yes! Well, since you asked. Might you consider using a little more _tongue_ from now on? You kiss like an old married couple,” Zevran critiqued.

 _“No,_ we _don’t!”_ Alistair protested, then hesitated. “Do we really? _How_ old?” Tess hid her face in his arm with an embarrassed scoff.

“Old enough to show your libidos are dissolving.”

 _“Maker hide me!”_ Tess muffled against his shoulder.

“Let’s just...keep walking, yes?” Brother Genitivi said, unable to hide his own amusement.

 _“Yes!_ Yes, please, _right_ now! _Yes.”_ Tess quickly agreed. Alistair laughed as she pulled him along to put the elf behind them.  

Either they all enjoyed the walk up the mountain, or the thinning air was making them giddy. The necklace that had been the key to unlock the temple had opened and twisted when it fell into place, and then had closed back up after Genitivi removed it. All three rogues and Sandal giggled as Shale remarked excitement it should _like a fancy locket like that,_ and Alistair, Bodahn, and Genitivi were far too amused by the four of them in laughter. Even Sten fight a smirk.

Immediately in the temple was a split flight of stairs. Bodahn suggested he and Sandal stay outside with the animals, but Alistair thought it would be safer to stick together if there were any other crazy cultist townsfolk lurking about; the dwarves could linger behind until the rest of them made cleared the way. Sten and Alistair could carry the wagon up the steps, like they’d done at Redcliffe. Zevran interjected, though, pointing out spikes against the entry walls, and he offered to test the floor before Alistair and Sten or the livestock tried to cross. Tess suddenly cried out and swung out her bow to stop the elf.

 _“Ow!”_ Zevran rubbed his arm where the bear teeth of Tess’ bow smacked him. “Why must you make such dangerous weapons for her, Alistair?” he complained.

“Oh! Sorry! Wrong end!” Tess flipped her bow around.

“Usually she only hits bad people with that end,” Alistair joked.

“Comforting, I’m sure,” Zevran said. But Tess cried out again as the elf took another step.

“What are you doing?” she asked like Zevran was mad.

“I am testing for traps. I thought I said this already. Didn’t I say this already?” he looked around.

“Tess, just let him,” Alistair said, setting his walking stick in the wagon.

“Zevran isn’t heavy enough! Just look at those spikes! They’re like...pieces of a giant, angry broken cauldron! He’s too light, he’ll never set them off.”

“I’m full-grown, of course I’ll set them off,” Zevran said.

“You’re smaller than _me._ Leliana’s Chantry dress weighs more than you,” Tess argued lightly. Alistair suspected this  was still Thin Air talking.

“It’s settled. Leliana, our wise Queen says you need to be naked to save us all from deadly impalement,” Zevran told the bard.

“I’m not sure this is an appropriate question to be asked in a Temple of Andraste,” Leliana said.

“Morrigan, then -”

“Not even in your wildest dreams,” Morrigan said.

“I can have _gentle, seductive_ dreams instead, if you prefer?” Zevran offered.

“Can we _not_ see Morrigan naked, please?” Alistair asked.

“Wynne, you are our last chance, it would seem,” Zevran said.

“Ah - _no._ Can we just stop?” Tess winced.

Wynne smirked. “If my gown is what will do the trick -”

 _“No_ , thank you, old woman. I specifically mentioned the Chantry gown because they use extras as paperweights and door stoppers,” Tess kept her eyes away from everyone.

“Leliana it is then!” Zevran beamed.

“I am not taking off my clothes in front of Zevran,” Leliana said.

“Zevran, turn around,” Alistair chimed in.

“But-!” Zevran protested. Alistair grinned at him.

“Just for a bit. I won’t tell if you peek.” Alistair laughed at the curious expression Tess shot at him. “Alright! Alright, never mind. _I’ll_ test it.” Another expression from Tess, with one brow significantly higher than the other, stopped Alistair in his tracks. “And...never mind again. The Queen disapproves.”

Sten swore harshly in his native tongue and said he’d go. They all watched as the Qunari carefully stepped in every possible place for feet to move over the steps. Either the thin air still had them all a little loopy or the giants spikes looked more menacing than they actually were, but they all held their breath as they watched Sten, waiting for either triumph or the metallic clink of a trap to set off. When a metallic clank _did_ set off, they all yelped; Sten looked around in confusion, otherwise frozen.

“Dammit!” Zevran swore quietly. He bent and retrieved a dagger from the stone floor. “Ah, apologies. My _weapon_ seems to be _too excited_ to remain, ah, _tame_ and _undercovers_.” Alistair shot a glance toward the elf, suspecting Zevran had used those words on purpose; their eyes met with a smirk, and Alistair turned with a quiet giggle.

 _“Maker, give me strength.”_ Tess actually took Alistair’s hand and raised his fingers to the back of her hand, exasperated and mortified. Alistair tried to silent his laugh into her forehead with a kiss, rubbing the back of her hand anyway. She shot him a look that said _do you really have to encourage him?,_ and he hugged her tight, kissing her again, more after forgiveness than affection.

When Sten cleared the steps, Leliana and Wynne led the cow and horse up the steps and the others followed. The wagon was harder to lift this time than in Redcliffe, and Alistair remembered it had been empty when they’d moved it. They got it halfway up the steps when Tess ushered the dwarves and the cow and horse back against the wall with her bow out. Alistair called after her as she ran off, and with a sigh and a glance to Sten as Tess’ Taint faded - she was running off to meet something - Alistair and the Qunari left the wagon right there to dash after Tess. The women took out the majority of the cultists from a distance before they even caught up, but there were more with axes, just as strong as the axe men down in the village had been. When the welcoming party of mad cultists were down, they party was all in agreement to make sure at least the entire front wings that spanned from the frozen-over lobby were clear for the dwarves and livestock. There were more elderly mages here than in the town, plenty of berserking axe men, and even a bronto, though not more than a few at a time. Compared to the battle in town, these people were an easy fight. Alistair felt good, confident as the last one fell. It had been good to use his sword again, it had been good to _win_ with it.

The old temple was far larger than it looked from the outside. Alistair suggested a few of the party stay behind and set up camp; in case it was even bigger still, it might take days to actually find the Ashes. Alistair took Tess around looking for the best room to set the dwarves and the wagon and the scholar up in. Already they found supplies they’d definitely be taking; a vast amount of bedding, candles, oil, crates of extra clothing, some weapons. They stumbled into an old library, with Morrigan and Zevran on their heels. Tess and Alistair both stood in awe; an ancient library...so many books. Tess patted Alistair’s arm uncoordinatedly without end, as if he wasn’t paying attention. Alistair asked if she thought any were still read-able, and when she asked if they could take any that might be, he quickly agreed. This temple was older than the Chantry, according to Brother Genitivi, so these books must hold stories and history Alistair hadn’t read yet. Whether the stories in these books were true didn’t matter; the adventure-thirsty little boy inside him longed for something greater than the depressing history he grew up on. Dragons, maybe accounts even written by Andraste herself, or maybe something on the Golden City, and hopefully proof that gryphons still exist somewhere secret where man could not defile. Morrigan suggested they use the books for fire kindling if they were really going to be there for a few days, and they both snapped at her so sharply their voices echoed around them, unsettling some dust from the shelves and sconces in tiny clouds.

Alistair chose the divide; Sten, Po, Leliana and Wynne would stay with the dwarves and Genitivi; and Shale, Zevran and Morrigan, because he could not trust the witch not to burn any books, accompanied Alistair and Tess. Tess embraced him in concern when he took another double-dose of pain potions, and secured another two sets of double-doses in his belt packs for later. He assured her he was fine, just taking precautions, and in a way he was; if he could keep the pain in his leg from returning, he would be more aware during battle and actually be able to protect Tess. He couldn’t risk taking another blow like he did to his leg.

They lit a basin with a strange ceremonial wick, expecting the sealed door it protected to lead them outside, but the temple stretched farther they they imagined. Deep enough for rooms to be half-covered in rock and still extend as grand chambers or entire corridors cut into the very rock the temple sat in. Large enough to house more insane mages and yelling axe men. 

And dragons. Baby dragons, they learned, and even though they had to kill them just to stay alive, Tess was unhappy. She went around to each whole egg and tested for warmth and substance, seemingly genuine in her argument with Alistair over keeping _just one_ baby dragon. She even tried to argue that _at least she wasn’t asking for a drake,_ and a _baby_ dragon was _far_ less a risk.

“What exactly do you propose we _do_ with a dragon, Tess?” Alistair folded his arms as he watched her inspect the eggs, each one sitting on its own nest of straw.

“Train it, of course.”

“Train it. Like a dog?”

“Exactly! Just like those tiny house dogs in Orlais.”

He sighed. “Tess, this is not a _tiny dog_ we’re talking about here. I’m fairly confident that any creature with _babies_ this big are bound to be incredibly large adults.”

“But if we catch one _now_ while it _is_ a baby, and if we train it while it’s still young, it will be just like having a dog,” she insisted.

“It would rather be like an attack dog, wouldn’t you say?” Zevran piped up.

“Yes! Or that! Thank you, Zevran!”

“And...how do you think Po would react if he knew you were wanting to replace him?” Alistair asked.

“He would...argue. But I’m _not replacing_ him! Po is more like my brother, and -”

“And _you_ want a baby dragon because it’s a _baby._ Tess, you can’t coddle and nurse a dragon, you realize that?”

“I could try!” she said. “If I work hard enough to train it, I could easily get it to submit and wear bonnets and let me cradle it upside down like a baby.”

Alistair couldn’t help a little laugh. “Love, that’s what _I’m_ here for,” he teased, though hardly joking.

“This must be Ferelden politics, yes?” Zevran asked Morrigan.

“Indeed,” the witch agreed. “’Tis the man and woman who aspire to be King and Queen of this country.”

“You know, having a dragon would make a potent statement as King, no?” Zevran asked.

“See? That’s yet another bonus to owning a dragon!” Tess said.

“Yet another,” Alistair chuckled.

“On the other hand, what will you do when it grows up and requires a whole regiment for each meal?” Zevran said.

“Another excellent point,” Alistair smirked.

“Whose side are you on, elf? Do you remember the idea to spare your life was _mine?"_ Tess called as she went on.

“It could train it to only eat birds,” Shale suggested. “And by the time it’s grown, it will solve my pigeon problem for me.”

“Dragons can also eat us in our sleep,” Zevran told Tess.

“I have a _witch_ who is fully capable of doing the same thing. If we _house_ train it, it will _not_ want to eat us.”

“She may have a point. Flemeth is house trained, and she can become a dragon,” Morrigan spoke up.

 _“But,”_ Alistair added, “Flemeth is naturally human, who can just so happen to turn into a dragon, not a dragon who can turn into a human.”

 _“Why_ can’t I have a dragon, Alistair?” Tess whined, waiting for him to catch up.

“I’d rather _not_ pick bits of you out of its mouth one day,” he said. “I prefer you to be in one piece as much as possible, not in thirty different pieces.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Can’t we just get a cat? Denerim’s bound to have plenty of strays. Stray cats can be just as dangerous as a baby dragon, I’m almost positive.”

She rolled her eyes with a disappointed sigh. “Can it be a _black_ cat, then?” she asked softly, “with white little paws?”

He giggled. “I will search every house in Denerim if I have to,” he teased. “Are you too upset to kiss me?” he asked quietly. She rolled her eyes back up to him, still pouting.

“No,” she said grumpily. But her pout faded as he giggled again, and the corner of her lips turned up as she stood on her toes.

“I think you may be be _too_ noble for the palace to handle,” he teased her through another kiss.

“Just another reason to get a guard dragon,” she told him. He laughed into her last kiss before agreeing to _think about it._

As if the crazy cultists and swarms of baby dragons and drakes weren’t enough, one man in particular told them if they destroyed the Ashes in the Sacred Urn, then the _real_ Andraste could come into full strength and power, no longer be bound by flesh as a dragon. For a second, it sounded to Alistair like the cult believed Andraste had become a real dragon. The man himself wasn’t so much of a problem as he was a waste of time, but when they finally found a path up out of the caves, they realized the man wasn’t completely mad.

As much as Alistair had told Tess a baby dragon was too dangerous to keep, he stood staring in awe right next to her when a full-grown dragon flew overhead and nestled on a perch some distance ahead. For what seemed like an hour and not even caring abut time, Alistair peered around a broken pillar with Tess, hearing either his own heartbeat echoing loudly between beats, or hearing hers too, he wasn’t sure. They clutched each others hands, but fear was the last thing on his mind, and her own voice praised the Maker just as breathlessly as he did. It was a _real dragon._ Just like the stories as a boy, just like he dreamed of fighting, horns and all.

“We’re going to sneak around it, right?” Zevran whispered.

“What?!” Alistair hissed back. “Did you leave your balls back in Haven?” Tess threw herself into his shoulder with a snort that shook her whole body. “Maker’s breath! _One_ childhood dream come true, and I’m already starting to sound like you!” he whispered to Tess with a giggle. “I want to find a gryphon next,” he told her.

“Can I at least keep one of _those?”_ she asked.

“Yes, absolutely! We’ll keep a whole herd. Or flock. Whatever you call a dozen gryphons,” he whispered. “I’m going to name one Duncan. And _maybe_ I’ll name the runt Cailan.” Tess muffled another snort against him. “But only if we can’t think of other names first.”

Zevran hissed violently from the other pillar, and Tess and Alistair hissed back. “How are _we_ going to kill that thing?”

“There’s an ice mage right next to you!” Tess hissed.

“What? No!” Morrigan told her. “You already used me back in Redcliffe! Dammit, Tesslyn!”

“It is just another big bird.” Shale was simply standing there in the sunlight, staring at the dragon. “I see now it needs to die. It cannot be given time to go influence smaller birds elsewhere to get cheeky ideas and grow to such an abominable size.” Shale said with a sound of disgust.

“How many arrows do you think you can stick in it before it takes off?” Alistair asked his woman. She searched his eyes for a moment, her own sparkling with just as much as excitement as he felt flowing through his body. She pulled out two arrows and tossed them to Morrigan, who caught them in surprise.

“Freeze them!” Tess hissed. Morrigan grumbled with a sneer, but coated the arrows with a layer of frost anyway. Alistair caught the arrows and traded places with Tess. She steadied both arrows over her hand; Alistair could see his _love_ carving from where he sat. She steadied her feet and pulled the string as far as her arms allowed her to stretch it. Her eyes flickered to his for just a moment, and he grinned back. They were killing dragons together, _massive_ dragons.

Alistair swung around to watch her arrows when she released them; Zevran groaned it had been a pleasure knowing them all and Morrigan muttered something about _death_. The arrows flew so far Alistair couldn’t see them anymore, but at least one hit an eye; the beast screeched in pain and anger and a huge front foot reached up to desperately scratch an eye. Tess shot to her feet with another arrow ready, releasing it before the dragon had time to open its wounded eye. It roared again, and Alistair lost breath once more as it’s huge wings spread. Tess let her last arrow fly; she’d have to rely on her daggers, now. The dragon pushed up from its perch and soared, craning its neck to search as it flew ahead. Alistair was so excited he had goosebumps, and his adrenaline soared as high as the dragon. He held the back of Tess’ head as he pushed in for a kiss just as passionate as the rage in their prey.

 _“My_ kill!” he told her, giving one last kiss before turning to charge the landing dragon.

“Not on your sodding life!” she called back, and he grinned. _It was on_ . He heard the thick _shing_ of her daggers whipping out. “Shale! Morrigan!” she yelled, and before he knew it, she had caught up to Alistair.

A huge stone hit the dragon from above, and while it cringed from Shale’s blow, Tess slid under it. As soon as it threw its head up to scream, Alistair swung his sword. Though its hide was tough, but he managed a second swing between scales. Zevran dashed to a leg, yelling out where to cut. Alistair couldn’t see Tess or what she was doing, but when the elf stabbed an ankle, Alistair swung his shield to intercept the jaws as if protecting his mate anyway. As strong as Alistair guessed the skull might be, the dragon didn’t expect him, and the front of its face bounced away from his jolt. Tess was suddenly on a wing, tearing it to strips that bled out in splatters as the sun glittered off the diamond coating of her rose dagger.

Shards of ice shattered against the ribbed top of the dragon’s mouth as it screeched, first in pain from a Tess, Alistair and Zevran striking at once, and another round of ice exploded into splinters of mist when it countered Morrigan’s attack with flames. Alistair yelled for Shale as he drove his sword into the neck; as the dragon flared, the seams of its neck between scales glowed like hot coals. Zevran gave a nod before Alistair could even yell for him to strike the neck. He struck again and twisted, and the elf leaped, digging his daggers in at the seams to hang on. It roared fire again, and when Tess yelled for ice from somewhere Alistair couldn’t see, the flames above Alistair and Zevran were extinguished. A battle primarily of fire and ice ensued above, the beast so occupied with Morrigan that it no longer seemed to care or notice its wings in shreds, its neck or ankle bleeding; Zevran was fond of arteries it seemed.  

Alistair heard cracking, and before he could withdraw his sword, it was eaten up in starving ice that nearly swallowed Zevran as well. They scrambled away, and Alistair called for Tess when he saw Shale throw another boulder. The rock hit before Tess could answer, and though it finalized Morrigan’s cast of ice, Alistair couldn’t see Tess at all. He scrambled to his feet, fearing she was under the weight of the fallen beast. Zevran started laughing, though, and when Alistair began to say the elf had better be delirious, he saw Tess collapse on top of the dead dragon, covered in a mess of blood. Zevran cawed how filthy Tess was, and when she turned over with a groan and asked Morrigan to make it rain on her, Alistair couldn’t help but laugh himself. However, Tess didn’t come down off the dragon just yet. She crawled over to where the ice began and straddled the neck.

She looked at Alistair, breathing heavy, proud and worn out. “This counts as riding it, right?” she asked. He felt a quake of giggles roll through him, and he strode in reach for her. She let herself go limp and slid right down into his arms, and though she was so saturated in blood that wiping her face did nothing, he kissed her right there against the dead dragon.

“I believe this kill is _mine_ , is it not?” Morrigan said smugly.

“If you don’t wash me off, no one will believe you,” Tess said. _“I’m_ the one cleverly painted. Can I take a nap?”

Alistair laughed. He picked her up and moved her from the dragon. “Morrigan, really, can you wash us? We’re going to stink soon. Blood rots, you know.”

 _“Perhaps_ you will not be so eager to _slay the dragon_ next time then.” Morrigan sighed, though. “Very well. I cannot produce rain from nothing, but I can melt the ice from the dragon. Shale, I will need your assistance with the head.” The golem agreed with a bored sigh, and since it had _nothing better to do_ , Shale stomped over and hoisted the frozen dragon’s head up. Alistair and Tess stood back under the giant head. Morrigan carefully heated the ice until it dripped, and a little more, and - accidentally? - dropped down on them in a great splash. The witch gave a giggle; not an accident.

Though soaking wet and mostly free of blood, they retrieved their weapons; Tess claimed she was coming back for the skull, even if she had to drag it around Fereldan by hand, and Alistair agreed to help, they could hang it in their bedroom when they take Denerim. All but Shale giddy and worn out, they trudged through another set of doors, hoping all dragons were dead for the moment.

The room the entered had been long abandoned. Broken seating and broken urns, all stone, and the only light was the daylight they let in. A lone knight stood in front of the only other door, in what Alistair recognized as ancient armor.

“I have been waiting for you,” the strange man said. His voice was oddly calm, almost resembling a Tranquil mage.

“No time for naps, then,” Tess breathed in disappointment.

“’Tis a spirit, perhaps,” Morrigan said quietly.

“What do you mean, you’ve been waiting for us?” Alistair asked the...spirit man.

“Rare it is to have a champion seek the Ashes. Far and apart are the seekers, and none have deemed worthy. It is even rarer for all who seek to survive this far,” the man said.

Tess squeezed Alistair’s hand with both of hers. “What...you mean they’re real? Andraste’s Ashes?” Alistair managed to grab her before her legs gave out.

“Indeed.” the spirit told of companions, champions and devout followers of Andraste, he spoke of her as if he’d known her. He claimed after hardships even after her death, he and his companions were forced to find another, safer resting place for the Bride of the Maker. He told some had lost themselves, so desperate for a return from the lady they so loved more than the world that they gave their very lives for, that when the dragon settled, they believed it a direct incarnation of the Prophet herself, and that lost belief soiled the remaining members and generations of the temple Alistair and his party fought through to reach the dragon.

“Wait...so we just... _Morrigan_ just killed _Andraste?”_ Tess corrected herself. Alistair wasn’t sure if he should laugh. He glanced toward the open door and the enormous dead body outside. Maker, that couldn’t be possible...could it?

“I believe _you_ tried to take the glory, as _you_ were so _cleverly painted_ in its blood,” Morrigan retorted.

“No,” the spirit shook his head. “The dragon was not Andraste. Her mortal body is gone, never to return.”

Both Alistair and Tess sighed louder than they probably should have. They both believed in the Maker enough to know killing a risen Andraste would have meant some form of physical retribution. “We came seeking the Ashes,” Alistair said.

“As do all who walk through that door. Know that you will be tested,” the spirit warned them, “only the worthy will be able to pass through the Flames of Andraste and approach the Sacred Ashes.”

“We need them to cure a dying man,” Tess said.

“All who seek the Ashes must pass the test.” The spirit was looked at the five of them. “Your hearts and wills shall be tested, and if you prove your faith in not only the Prophet herself, but in each other, you will be able to approach the Holy Flame.”

“What do you mean, our wills tested?” Alistair asked. “We just killed a dragon...”

“All seeking Andraste seek redemption, in one manner or another. There is a darkness in all your hearts.”

“Please,” Shale scoffed. “I have no heart.”

The Spirit ignored the golem and studied Tess. “Tesslyn, youngest of the Cousland line-”

Tess stiffened in Alistair’s arm, and he tightened his hold on her. “How do you do know that?” she asked.

“I am given what knowledge I am needed,” the spirit told her. “You recently fled your home, leaving your parents to die at the hands of a traitor.”

Tess was losing her grip on Alistair’s waist. He saw her eyes dart beneath a heavy frown. “It was not my fault...” she said. Alistair couldn’t reach her right hand; he tightened his grip on her waist and reached to draw on her face, and she immediately turned toward him.

“You are torn,” the spirit still studied her. “You do not give yourself time to mourn, and so you fear you have failed them. And yet you also rejoice, for if you had not escaped with the Grey Warden, you would not have found comfort in the Heir. Do you regret it?” he asked. “Would you trade the solace you have found in this Heir for the chance to save your father, your mother, your nephew who had not had the chance to experience life?”

Her mouth moved, but no sound came out.

“Is this necessary?” Alistair asked.

“Is there truly no religion that does not press for guilt over things not in one’s control?” Morrigan even challenged.

“Would you?” the spirit repeated to Tess, ignoring Alistair and Morrigan.

After many blinks and tightening her grip, continuing to press in though there was no room left between her and Alistair, Tess mustered up a firm: _“No!_ No. I _don’t_ regret it. No. No, no, no...” her _no’s_ trailed off into Alistair’s collar as he gathered her closer. He gently shushed her, and she let him pry her hand from his belt so he could make his mark within the safety of his arms.

“And Alistair, son of Maric, hidden Heir to the royal Theirin bloodline,” the spirit said. Alistair frowned, but before he could speak, the spirit continued. “You, also, war inside. You have allowed yourself to become numb to the world and all that does not revolve around She. You know She is why you are as you are today.”

Tess stopped breathing for a moment. Alistair firmly held her head still. If this was part of the tests, it was cruel. He wasn’t sure he wanted her to be able to see his face for whatever the spirit said next.

“You have considered fleeing; you would live out your days unknown, unseen, in control of her every move,” the spirit said.

“You don’t understand what you’re saying. What I do is not heartless like that,” Alistair protested.

The spirit ignored him. “But through trying to prove yourself to her, you have found a thirst for blood you didn’t know you possessed. You are not only willing to be king, but you have vowed to bleed any who oppose you. You would give the whole country for the power to control others, even if it means betraying others who have come to depend on you.”

“To stop her _pain,_ spirit,” he said darkly. “You have no right to assume my reasons are so empty. I’m not an idiot, I see what you are doing.”

“What if you are wrong? What if She is not your right path in life? You wonder this.” the spirit prompted.

Tess fought his hand to seek his face, and from the rim of his eyes he saw the question and fear on her face. “I have _never_ questioned my feelings for her, nor my place by her side." _But hadn't he? He'd tried to leave her in Haven, fully convinced himself he was wrong for her._ "Nothing you say will trick me into forgetting!” Alistair held Tess’ right hand firmly and marched them out right back outside, away from whatever test this spirit was trying to poison her mind with.

“Alistair -” she began.

He stood between her and the dark corridor where the spirit now tried to trick the other three. “Don’t listen to any of that,” he held her face, searching her eyes. She nodded in his hands. “I am _not_ about to leave you. Do you hear me? _Never._ You are my _wife,_ Tess. You are my _life. Don’t listen to that.”_ She nodded again, and she let him kiss her.

“What did he mean you’d betray people who depend on you?” she whispered.

Alistair thought about this. It wasn’t something he had been aware he’d considered...no, he had. “I suppose it’s the same as letting Zevran and Sten test for traps, instead of you or myself.” he hesitated. “And if it had come down to it, I would have left them all to the dragon to get you out safely. But don’t think for a _moment_ that I would betray you. _I_ need _you_ just as much as you need me, Tess. Neither of us would be standing here right now if it wasn’t for each other,” he assured her. _Damn that spirit,_ making Tess second-guess _him._ They had enough to worry about without worrying they might lose each other. He sighed, remaining tender, loving. He held her close and traced his circles, even her rune, until the tiny shivers of doubt left her body and she melded perfectly to the shape of his arms. They stood simply breathing together in the sunlight. .

“Er...the unfriendly spirit man is gone,” Zevran said from behind Alistair. Alistair pulled back and collected his woman, curled up and leaning on him again.

 _“Gone_ gone?” Tess asked.

The elf hesitated. “Er...gone as in...I may have accidentally attacked him, and he disappeared in a poof...”

Alistair sighed softly. “This is a temple to Andraste, Zevran. Attacking guardian spirits may not be wise.”

“Even if I do not believe in the Maker that way?” Zevran sounded innocent enough.

“Just a precaution.” Alistair told him, leading Tess back inside. “Personally, I think we were lucky the dragon wasn’t really Andraste.”

“That would have been bad luck indeed.”

Morrigan scoffed impatiently with her arms over her chest. “’Twould appear there are riddles and puzzles to solve,” she said. “This is your mess. I daresay I’m tempted to leave you to fend for yourself.”

“I don’t  _need_ you to solve riddles, Morrigan. You’re actually only here to kill things,” Alistair told her.

“Alistair, you couldn’t solve the simplest riddle without a woman to show you where the pieces go.”

 _“Morrigan!”_ Tess scolded with a deep frown.

“I have already solved the biggest riddle in all of Thedas.” Alistair put his lips to Tess’ temple. “Isn’t that right, my dear?” Tess met his eyes with a tiny smirk before pressing into his hold as they walked.

Their feet stopped when they found themselves in a room full of more spirits. There were eight, transparent with a glowing blue tint. Morrigan stated this must be the riddle room. Alistair told them to split up, though he went with Tess. They spoke to ghosts from Andraste’s living years, whose lives she had touched and love she had earned. The answers to the riddles Alistair and Tess alone solved were challenges they had been trying to cope with since they met and survived Ostagar together: _Dreams, a Home, Mercy._ Things they desperately wanted with each other. Alistair was starting to wonder what exactly they were being tested on. How could so much of them be known?

As soon as Zevran finished with the last riddle; _Jealousy_ was the answer; the other door unlocked. A single undefined spirit await them, and as they all approached, it changed into multiple forms so rapidly it was almost a blur. It finally settled on the shape of a graying man whose face Alistair saw exactly half of in the woman on his arm.

“Father?” Tess whispered.

“Shh, pup. It is all right. You know in your heart I am no longer here. I am an apparition of what you need, however.” the spirit of her father spoke soothingly, calm, reminding Alistair of himself when he spoke to Tess during her withdrawals. Tess was already crying, fat droplets falling from her eyes soon after another she might as well have rained.

“Oh, begone, spirit!” Morrigan scoffed. “We do not have all day to waste on useless trivia!”

 _“No!”_ Tess cried out so suddenly, so _broken,_ Alistair didn’t need to silence the witch. Instantly Alistair understood the reason for the tests, the reason for personalizing every test: break the weakest to test the strongest. Isn’t this what Alistair was doing? Succumbing to trickery to give Tess an extra fleeting measure of happiness. He’d done this in the Fade, too. Test the heart and will of the strongest by allowing the weakest to suffer.

He watched the spirit image talk as if he still lived, told her to be strong, to search within hear heart for person he, as her father, knew was in there. Tears dripped with every word, so heavy they missed her cheeks completely, fell straight to the stone floor with a splash. The spirit told her to remember who she had been, and remember she had grown above her former self. He provided an amulet with a healing enchantment so strong that Alistair knew another physically exerting test would endure next. The spirit faded with _Farewell, pup, and stay strong._

Alistair could only watch Tess. She was so stiff and unmoving that Alistair had to make sure she wasn’t standing over a paralysis glyph. When she finally turned, even her tears had stopped in their tracks. She hardly breathed, eyes clearly not focusing on anything but memories of an absent father. Her anguish cinched Alistair inside, and yet warmth flooded him when she extended her right hand. He caught her hand between his, and as he drew the first circle, her feet moved her right into him. She blinked and tears fells as she met his eyes; openly asking him to hold her weight for her in a language only they two knew. _Of course he would._ He pressed her against him with one arm, his lips pressed to her forehead as he marked upon her, helped her breathe until she could rely on herself again. Whatever these spirits were trying to do, they would not break her with him here.

Alistair ignored snide remarks from Morrigan, however Zevran challenged the witch’s desire for people to remain broken. Tess held Alistair’s gaze as he replaced the necklace from Honnleath with the one the image of her father had offered. He was glad he did, too, for as soon as they turned the corner into an open room, ghosts of their very persons emerged. Maker’s breath! This is what her father had warned about - she had grown above her former self; watching the apparition of Tess in armor he’d first seen her in against Tess now made that clear. They all silently gravitated toward their own images, but the old Tess was beating her present self down. She cried to Alistair for help, and he left himself without question to save his lady. The Tess he’d met was considerably more brutal, a quick, cold killer with no remorse. Alistair spent more time with his shield up than he actually got in time to strike. He told Tess to take on his shadow; pre-Tess Alistair was no match for even the conditioned archer she was today. But she couldn’t, she cried she couldn’t strike him again. Morrigan snapped her out of it, though, _Affections did not stop you before, Tesslyn!_ _Though I daresay you’ll actually do any true damage._ For the first time since Morrigan had joined them, Tess lashed out on the witch and gave her a reason to watch her words; Tess rushed into Morrigan’s fight and ended the apostate’s ghost with the ferocity of her own shadow that Zevran had taken over helping Alistair with. With their former selves vanquished, Tess firmly held ground to insist she was _not_ who she used to be, and Morrigan ought to remember that.

The next test was one of faith, in each other. Stone buttons surrounded a dark pit. They discovered by stepping upon them that each stone produced a spectral walking stone, and stepping on a few in combination produced enough to assume the right method would reveal a bridge. Only Zevran was excited by this, _A trap that looks like it is there, but really isn’t? Ooh! I_ want _one!_ ; the first time Alistair felt smiling in what the initial spirit guardian had called The Gauntlet. Playing around on a few more of the stepping stones hardened the first piece of the stone bridge. Tess offered to attempt walking across; she was not afraid of heights. But Alistair forbid it. One wrong stone, and she would fall, just like that. He would not risk losing her so quickly, nor so loosely put her safety at risk. He saw both Zevran and Tess read his face as he silently analyzed everyone but Tess; who was worth sacrificing and who was worth keeping? Zevran was lightest, like Tess had argued at the door to the temple downhill, but the elf was proving to be a surprising benefit as time wore on; that he could stitch a wound and knew how to take emergency safety precautions put Alistair at a strange disposition. Had Shale not been such a powerful weapon, he’d put the golem up in a heartbeat, but Shale’s weight might prove problematic; if the floating stone bridge could not handle the weight, Alistair would too easily lose a vital source of damage. If Morrigan had not learned healing magic, she would have been the obvious first choice. It came down to Zevran, who could and would help in emergencies granted they had the right tools, and Morrigan, who would heal in emergencies if her life depended on it.

Alistair didn’t even need to speak. Zevran simply nodded and took a deep breath, and with the others standing on enough stone buttons to solidify the first piece of the bridge, the elf bravely accepted the possibility of instant death. With a few attempts at shuffling around, they managed to harden a second bridge piece, and Zevran carefully slid to the center of the second piece with a deep breath and a quiet _Did I mention I’m only slightly afraid of heights?_ A possible last attempt at humor; Alistair had to give him credit for that. Having Morrigan move to another stone drew a scream from Tess and a cry from the elf; the second bridge piece shimmered out, and so did Zevran. Tess froze when Alistair told her not to move, and she looked at Alistair wide eyes; he knew she understood this had been a sacrifice Alistair was willing to make to keep her safe. However, Zevran appeared back at the starting point, on solid stone between the buttons, and he patted himself in huffs of relief. Alistair found himself probably just as relieved as Tess that the elf was okay. The three of them were significantly more at ease with Zevran wandering out over absolutely nothing now. When the last piece of the bridge was complete and Zevran giggling hysterically that he was alive and not dead in some dark hole, Alistair led Tess across, followed by Shale and Morrigan. Tess put her right hand in Alistair’s once again, seeking relief from quaking nerves.

The spirit guardian they first met greeted them at a stone podium that stood before a border of flames. Beyond, he explained, lay the Ashes of the Sacred Andraste. In order to reach them, they must prove Worthy by proving themselves Pure enough to pass through the Flames unscathed. Alistair agreed before he really thought it through, and the spirit instructed them to remove their armor, things that kept them physically tied to the world. Shale asked how it would manage this, since it had nothing physical to shed and could not shed its rocks. He said should the Maker find their hearts Pure, they will be allowed to proceed, and then he simply vanished.

Alistair took a deep breath and pulled his shield from his back. Zevran behind him started undressing, and Morrigan as well. Tess was starting to shake again, though

“I am not pure...” she whispered.

“’Tis _fire,_ Tesslyn. All else fails, run through fast enough and you will not burn.”

“Morrigan, shut up,” Alistair snapped. “Tess...”

“I am not pure, Alistair.” her eyes were glossy all over again. “My past is still with me. I have done too much to ever be pure. I will _never_ be worthy,” she was truly worried about this. Alistair didn’t know the words to console her. He didn’t know if the flames were simply flames; if that was the case, then Morrigan was right. But if Morrigan was wrong, and considering what they’d overcome in merely this part of the temple alone, it was very likely Morrigan was wrong, in which case they fry to a crisp and become another pile of bones for the next generation of lost, unfortunate heroes to look upon and wonder _why did they not make it?_

But looking into the eyes of this woman, _his_ woman whom he alone could comfort and heal in her darkest hours, knowing she alone could comfort and heal him in _his_ darkest hours, the runes and circles nearly from day one, the ability to turn the hardest hours into joy...that must mean something. “ _Together_ ,” he told her, “together, we are.” He spiraled the back of her hand with his thumb, and she closed her eyes with a deep breath. “I truly believe that.”

Tess breathed through her fear, and though they had already agreed their bodies were for them alone, he undressed her, and her fingers fumbled to undress him. He supposed it was his desire to prove to her that they were whole and pure together. He was not afraid to stand there with her. His purity belonged to Tess, now. He stood next to her, and their hands tightened around each other as they both took a deep breath. He gave a nod, and with Zevran quietly muttering prayers to not acquire burns, Alistair stepped forward with Tess.

It was like a hot bath. A hot rain from below, rather, over as quickly as it began, but nonetheless a warm rush like a plunge into hot bathwater. Zevran was surprised to find he was not on flames and said it actually felt good; Shale sighed out in boredom, _that was it? Truly? So much for religion._ Tess pressed into Alistair as close as she could, and though the elf started dressing beside them, Alistair stood naked with his woman to hold her as she quietly trembled with relief; he read her breath, and each finger clung to his skin in tender proof of love from her.

“Er...the witch is stuck...” Zevran said. Alistair and Tess looked over to see Morrigan stuck indeed. A sort of shimmering wall kept her from crossing through the fire, no matter which spot she tried to step over in. Eventually, Morrigan gave up with an insulted scoff and threw her clothes back on, muttering to herself. Tess looked up to Alistair hesitantly, but Alistair could only watch. What reason would Morrigan be found unworthy to cross for, but not be burnt to cinders? The flames died as Alistair approached to retrieve his clothes, and he realized once the Flames found one Worthy, it was the Maker’s final decision. Between this and Morrigan not being able to cross, this was a part of the supernaturalism of the Maker that he wasn’t sure even the Chantry understood, or even knew about.

Alistair dressed Tess before himself, and he told Zevran and Shale to escort Morrigan back, and to send Leliana and maybe Wynne, and the scholar; people who might actually be worthy, and who would certainly appreciate the presence of the Maker.

“Why would she not catch on fire?” Tess wondered, as Alistair, still naked, though now it was just the two of them, _and the Maker, of course,_ tightened her boots around her legs.

“That is an excellent question I don’t have an answer to.” He checked all her straps and buckles before starting to dress himself. “Maybe she will be of use to us in the end after all?” he guess, meeting her eyes as he ties his smalls. “Leliana’s starting not to sound like much of a nutter anymore, now, either. It looks like the Maker has a bigger hand in helping us than we realized.”

She searched his eyes. “All that joking before...we’re here because the Maker’s telling us we need to work on something...”

He smiled. “Work on my medic skills?” he recalled; she actually blushed. “Maybe not _work on_ something. But we’ve made it together, haven’t we? We just walked through literal fire together. In addition to everything else we’ve survived. Together? I believe we can do anything,” he told her.

She paused, and as he fastened his armor over his underclothes, he saw her fight a smile while her eyes wandered. “In that case, and hopefully the Maker can hear me, being so close to His prophet and all -” Alistair grinned in anticipation “- I think I speak for the both of us when I say _please_ may we find a whole nest of a _very nice, kind_ family of gryphons,” she finished. Alistair laughed softly and pulled her in for a kiss.

“So be it,” he giggled and end to her prayer. Her face squinched in silent laughter for such a childish prayer they both so desired.

He secured their arms and his shield, and they approached the tall stone statue of the prophet; the stone bowl in her hands held a magical flame, seemingly real but with a faint greenish glow. Their steps slowed as they ascended, as did their breath. Alistair had not imagined he’d be so in awe as they looked over at the urn. Tess’ hand trembled as she lifted the lid, and they both lost breath. If the Flames had not been proof, surely this was. Andraste was real - had been, at one point, which mean the Maker truly was. It just as awe-inspiring as...well, making love for the first time. Alistair hoped he wasn’t perverting the Prophet's Ashes with such thoughts, but that was all he knew to compare such awe to; just as spiritual a high as coming to climax with the woman he loved.

“I would have never guessed my path would lead me here,” he managed in a whisper. “But...here it is. _We found_ it, Tess...” he squeezed her hand. The look on her face mirrored the breathless reverence inside of him. She met his eyes, and he was struck with a reminder of his love so deep it brought tears to his eyes. There was no better place than this to vow to never leave her side. With a breath that shook him, he dropped his shield. He removed his sword and let it fall down the steps. She looked unsure as he unsheathed her daggers and let them tumble down after his sword, the same with her bow and empty quiver.

“Are...we having sex?” she whispered. He couldn’t help but laugh. “The last time you did this was at Redcliffe...” _the old store, the Arl’s desk..._

“I’m confident enough at this point to know if we tried that here, there would be three piles of ashes instead of one,”he smiled. He trembled as he took her hands in his, but far from nervous. “I don’t know when we will ever make it to a Chantry for this,” he began. He rather shook from trying to contain so much love and esteem in at once. “I figure...in front of Andraste is holy enough. Right?” he asked, searching her eyes. “Tesslyn, you are my Best Friend and Lover. You are my Comfort and Support. My legs when I cannot walk -” his eyes filled so quickly he couldn’t see, and when he blinked away the tears, he found her searching his eyes in recognition; these were his holy vows to her before the Maker. “- my calm through every storm. You are more than I deserve and everything I need. I...” _what had she said? Something better than love,_ “I _more_ than love you, inside and out...broken and sewn for the rest of my days. I am proud to have you from the moment we met. I am here, I have you. I’ll keep you safe. My Wife,” he ended so breathlessly, she might not have heard him anywhere else but this empty, echoing hall. She blinked away her own tears as she stared back. _There it was._ Regardless of whatever came next, he had proven his intention to the Maker. He was in this for good.

He bent to kiss her, but she moved her head so he kissed her nose instead, and her chest rose with a deep shake. “My Only Friend,” she began,and when Alistair pulled back to see her, she burst in tears. “My Breath and my savior,” she nearly choked out. “My mind and reason when I’ve...lost mine, and my safety so I can sleep...” Alistair was just as emotional as she was, now. “Only comfort, only home. So much more than I deserve, more than what I need...yours from the beginning. I more than love you, inside and out, broken and sewn...I will kill _anything_ that hurts you -” Alistair couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. He held his head to hers as she continued, “You make me pure. _So_ much more than love you. My hand is yours, always, forever. Husband,” she whispered. She moved her head, and for a moment, they only looked.

“So be it,” he acknowledged her vow. _Maker, he loved her so much._

“So be it,” she echoed. He felt the resolution of what the words meant to him swell inside his chest like a wave of flames...like the flames they had given each other purity to walk through. Their lips met in a wet mess of tears and love that grew with each kiss until it felt like his heart had exploded in his chest. He couldn’t hold her close enough.  

 _This_ was it. _Husband. Wife. Forever._


	34. Night of Bums and Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Tess take some much needed time for themselves to consummate their marriage vows before they leave the ruined temple of Andraste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foreplay, strip-dancing, anal stimulation, talking dirty - lots of it, Beardistair, sex.
> 
> NSFW imagery within.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [ Coldcut Autumn Leaves Chillout Remix Irresistable Force Mix Video ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2EvLqcacFPw&feature=youtu.be)

Hand in hand walked husband and wife, almost oblivious to the three figures entering through the wall of flame as they escaped out a side door. Tesslyn clutched a tiny leather pouch with a small handful of the Ashes of Andraste; Alistair didn’t ask why. The Maker had allowed them through flame untouched, had allowed their sacred vows. That was all that mattered.

They barely noticed where they were going, accidentally straying around the dead dragon into a door they didn’t remember, that conveniently led back down to the main hall of the ruined temple. The others were wandering the once-grand hall; Alistair cared not what was currently happening, they were staying for at least a day. He grabbed his and Tess’ bedding and bags, and gave the clear order: _do not bother us unless necessary,_ Alistair was going to attend to his wife, and anyone who interrupted would be stabbed, no exceptions. He picked out a large room with pews, bookshelves and a desk, and rearranged with two beds from the barracks down the hall, moving a bookshelf for good measure in case anyone got cheeky, nosy ideas. He searched the halls for something to use as a tub; no tubs, however a chest large enough to hold Tess. He had Shale break a good chunk of ice from a frozen-over part of the entrance, and Morrigan cooperated easier than she ever had when Alistair asked her to melt the ice into the chest. Tess stood next to Alistair as Morrigan then heat the water, back in their temporary quarters.

“Why a chest?” Tess asked.

He couldn’t hide his amusement from his own cheesy line. “Because you are the greatest treasure of my life.” He meant it, though the eye roll of disgust from Morrigan and the flush of Tesslyn’s cheeks kept the smile on his face.

With a raised firepit lit to warm the room, and candles in every alcove, Alistair closed the door and turned to his wife. He took his time removing his armor, then hers, trying to give the makeshift bath time to cool. He pressed a kiss to the side of her face, unfastening the straps at her front, standing before her in his underclothes. He lingered his kiss, teasing his lips in small circles to tickle her with his beard, and she responded better than he’d hoped: Her fingers tightened around his shirt and a small moan escaped her open mouth.

“Is it too soon to bring out the blindfold?” he murmured, touching his tongue down before planting his lips. He felt her breath halt, and he pulled back to see her face; she curled into him as he purposely trailed his fingers down the back of her arm when he pushed the leather off. “Too soon?” he guessed.

She frowned with a puzzled glance around. “Isn’t this considered part of the old Temple? Even if it _is_ ruined?” she asked. He grinned.

“Possibly. But that mean spirit man said the people here were all corrupt.”

“So...won’t we burst into flames, or...get struck by lightning for doing that here?” she asked. He laughed softly, and her head tilted to meet his lips. His fingers down at the hem of her shirt sent a tickle shivering up her spine, and he smiled into another kiss before pulling the cloth up over her head.

“If that were the case, I’m...fairly certain I should have been struck down a few times today,” he gave a little giggle. “In the old library -”

“Really?” she asked in surprise.

“Yes,” he giggled again.

She hesitated. “Okay, _one_ of the places I’d like to...one day...”

“You could have told me that earlier,” his laugh turned into a moan as he unhooked her breastband and a breathless sigh fell from her lips. “I could have Shale dust it all night, have it ready for us in the morning...” The sight of her breasts spilling free against him never failed to steal his breath, no matter how many times he bathed her or dressed her. He loved how quickly her blush drew up into silky pebbles as he traced the fall from defined strength to swollen curves; she conformed so easily into his hands. She was softer than he remembered.

“You haven’t touched me like this in...” she drew in a gasp as he pressed his hold around, feathered his fingertips down her back. “I can’t even remember...”

“You needed time,” he assured with a kiss right before her ear, “We both have. I understand, believe me.” He nuzzled her face. “But tonight, I want to make love to my wife.”

“And the bath?” she shivered again as he kissed her ear, sliding his fingers along the twine that hugged the expanse of her hips. “I suppose it’s going to grow cold, now?”

A husky laugh bubbled up into her ear, and she hissed, breath caught, cinching up toward him. “Maker, no. That would mean getting redressed just to call _Morrigan_ back in.” He stole the air from her laugh with a taste into the shadows of her ear. He pressed against the small of her back while he untied the twine with one hand, inhaling her reaction to his desire to please her. “I miss making you feel this way,” he admitted. “I miss taking your breath away with just a kiss.”

“Alistair...” her voice dropped, and he pulled back to look at her. “what if I can’t...?”

“I’m not going to rush this. We have as long you need, I promise.”

“But you said tonight...”

He paused. “Yes. Well...it goes without saying...I’m certainly going to _try_ , anyway.” He smiled as he met her own, and slipped his other hand around to help relieve her of her smalls.

“The beard is...immensely helping,” she breathed.

 _“Is_ it?” he asked, unable to hide the interest in voice. She almost looked shy.

“Yes,” she whispered, nodding as though she was dizzy.

“So...instead of using my _hands_...” he bent around her to place a single kiss on the back of her shoulder, where she used to react to simple touch, pressing down hard enough to scrape his beard against her skin. She fell into him in a scrambled whimper and lost breath, and she clutched him with trembling knuckles as he pulled back with the biggest grin he’d worn in months. _“Oh_ yes,” he agreed. He pushed the fabric down over her hips and bent to test the water. “But now! Bath time!” he said cheerfully, in spite of her speechless desire for _more_ that erupted his vainglory.

She breathed deep, her mouth hitched open as she buried her face in him. “I will be...exacting revenge...later...”

He giggled into her hair. “I absolutely submit to any punishment you can think of,” he agreed. He kissed her tenderly, though, moaning affection through a tight hold. “After, my dear. Your bath is perfect right now,” he said gently. He slowly released her, and her eyes raised to his as he put a single step between them. He glanced down to weave his fingers below hers, to brace her for transition. His eyes traveled down, past the eager mounds of her chest, past the pouch below her navel, _Maker, she was beautiful,_ to the patch of dark hair that began a descent he could not make. They had driven his curiosity since that first day and her need to cool off. She was already searching him when he found her gaze again. “May I?” it came out in a whisper. “I just want to touch.” The last time he’d touched her there hadn’t gone so well.

She nodded this time, with heavy breath and flickering eyelids. He held her gaze when he dropped his hand. Her belly jerked and flexed beneath his touch as he sought the hair and lips he craved for so long. First contact took his breath, washing forth a flood of memories; _sleek, course, barely scratching his face,_ her _scent, tasting salt, bitter, sometimes pure honey, dripping on his fingers, painting his face._ His smalls were starting to strain him. He tangled his fingers in the loose curls, not aware his head had dropped to her neck until he spoke, “I can still feel you on my face, when I think about myself down here,” he told her, and when he left a kiss, she gasped beneath his mouth. “I remember your smell like it was yesterday.” He spread his fingers, careful where he tread, and gently pulled, the combination of _rough_ and _smooth_ like an addiction. “I love the way your hair feels on my skin, on my _mouth._ ” He always seemed to find his own, but hers were beyond better, smoother, maybe, alluring, as if they _called_ for him. He let his fingers slip lower, deeper, and she held on for dear life, releasing a whine as he groaned. Soft lips beneath his fingers, palm hugging the pillow that grew her curls, finer tendrils along her labia trying to trap him there at the doors to her heat. He felt _moisture_ at the top of her close, and he reached lower yet; she was hiding _need_ from him. A noise rumbled in his throat and he opened his mouth, _he wanted to taste her._ He suctioned as wide as he could, grazing skin with his teeth to pull a noise and a tighter hold from her, and he dared to dip a single finger. Heat and cream drowned the tip of his finger, and before her breath even caught, her hips turned to open to him. He eased another finger between her folds and growled as his groin jumped in his smalls. _“Maker_ , Tess, how long have you been like this?” he breathed.

She hesitated, still clinging to him, and he looked at her. His breath was just as gone as hers was. He straightened his shoulders, watching her face as he pulled his fingers, _she gasped all over again,_ from her heat. She watched his fingers as he brought them up to _see_ her, white, creamy, coating him as if he’d dipped his finger in a jar. She started to say something about _beard_ and _breath_ , but stammered off when he put his fingers in his mouth. _Creamy, salty, bitter, thick. Rich. Dammit, he missed her._ She completely froze, watching his finger turn inside his mouth as he cleaned her from under and around his nail. She blinked and mouthed, but all that came out was, _Wha..._

“If you don’t get in this bath, you’re going to have to let me between your legs with dragon blood in my hair,” he told her. She stammered her Orlesian curses and dipped a leg into the makeshift bathtub, letting out another hiss, holding a death grip on him while she stepped in and folded herself up. He sighed, as well. “I forgot the soap in the wagon, and I’m sodding about to burst out of my smalls.” He met her eyes, but not before hers darted down. “Uh-huh. I _saw_ that. _You want_ it,” he sang softly.

“Maker’s Breath, you’re starting to sound like _Shale_ ,” she fought a smile.

He grinned, leaving only to fetch a steel mug from the pack, and he returned to her with a scoop of steaming hot water down the back of her head. “Do you know what I love so much about this?” he asked.

“What?” she sat with closed eyes, her shoulders rising with another round of hot water on her scalp; her hair even steamed now.

“The way you breathe,” he admired her. He carefully shielded her eyes as he poured further down face, and he rubbed away the dried dragon blood that had matted itself to pale hair. “I can see you relax more and more each time I get you wet.” he paused, realizing his accidental innuendo, and she peeked at him. He laughed. “You can _never_ pretend you don’t have a naughty mind anymore. Speaking of which, all this water on your skin makes me want to -” he broke off to demonstrate, keeping her gaze as he licked the water off her arm, ending with a kiss on her shoulder.

“Your mind is just as naughty.”

“I can’t look at you and _not_ think something naughty,” he teased. She smiled shyly into her arms, and he kissed her elbow tenderly. He tilted her head to scoop water down her neck and shoulder. “Tess? What can’t you feel?” he was truly concerned about this. She hesitated, and he reached in to draw on her hand before she could even start shaking. “It’s okay, love, _look_ at me.” She obeyed, but nervously. “I don’t want to hurt you.” he paused to find decent words. “When you touch me? It feels like something blossoms all inside me. It’s everywhere, in my toes, my fingers, in my face, _everywhere_. I just want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

She took a deep breath. “I...can’t feel...” He drew a deeper circle, but it didn’t stop her shoulders from trembling. She wouldn’t look at him, and he barely heard _clit_ before she took a deep breath.

 _“Tess,”_ his heart retched for her. “Darling, _look_ at me.” he had to turn her face, though. She looked _ashamed_ , not scared. “You should have told me. I would have done something else. I thought you - I thought you _liked_ it. The female Templars, they used to talk...and our first night...? Tess, you put my hand down there.”

“I know.” she winced. “I thought it might be... _different_ with you. Everything else is. I can feel...pressure _behind_ it...and I like that.”

“So you’re saying I have _bruise_ you down there to get you to feel it? I think I’ll take my chances on your ear again,” he tried to tease.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed.

“ _Don’t_ be sorry, Tess, I _need_ to know this. Where...where else? What else?” he asked.

“When I’m... _dry_...down there, everything hurts...”

He couldn’t talk for a moment. “Did I hurt you, just now?”

 _“No!_ No,” she insisted. “I thought it might, but...your beard really does help,” she said. “And...I liked it when you...talked...”

He froze again. “You liked it when I said I remember your _hair_ on my face?” he couldn’t help his smile.

“Yes. That...” she tried to hide her own.

“Okay...I can work with these...” He poured another cupful of hot water over her shoulders, she relished it with complete breath again. She held his other hand while he continued soaking her. “You know...you’re _wet_ down there _now...”_ he teased.

Her eyes traveled over, then her head. “What?” He bit the corner of his lip with a nod, _mm-hm._ “What, are you going to grow _gills?”_ He burst out laughing, not expecting this at all. “That’s all I can think of with a look like that.”

“I _could,_ if I irritate Morrigan enough.” he joked.

“I _dare_ you to call her in here. Are you still poking out?” she teased back. He grinned.

“Oh, yes. You _definitely_ want this.” He tickled a kiss at the crook of her jaw. “Your Royal Majesty, if you would kindly stand up and remove yourself from the chest of... _you_ , then I will let you wash me.”

She peeked at him with one eye again. “Is _that_ what you’ve decided to call it?”

He grinned. “Is that what _you_ want to call it?”

“Damn you!” she cursed quietly. “I don’t know how to retort when you turn it around on me.” He laughed and leaned in for another kiss. “I suppose if you want to have sex, I’d _better_ get out of here. Otherwise I’ll fall asleep.”

 _“Ooh! Evil_ thing to _do_ to a man on his wedding night!” he giggled. She giggled lopsidedly, and held her arms up. When he had her dried and wrapped up, and set on the bed to dry, he began to untie his pants.

“You know, in some places in Orlais, people are paid to dance while they take their clothes off,” she told him. He paused to look at her, his fingers about to untie the last knot.

“You want me to _dance_ while I take off my _clothes_?” he smiled, though a little shy at the thought.

 _“Excellent_ idea!" such a broad grin. "Thank you for offering!” A sparkle in her eye as she bit her lip.

He hesitated again. “I...don’t recall ever dancing, at least not while I was sober. But all right...” the anticipation on her face was motivation enough. “You’re already straddling me in your mind, aren’t you?” he teased.

“Don’t change the subject.”

He laughed loudly. He loosed the last knot and pushed the waist open. He had _no_ idea what he was doing. He’d seen people dance, though. “All right,” he said, starting to rock his feet, shifting his weight from side to side. “I’m...not exactly sure...is this what you were imagining?” he did a double-take at her. She was staring at his hips, his groin. “You _like_ this.”

She didn’t bother hiding a smile. “Pretend like...like we’re up against the wall again. By the cheese barrel.” Instantly Alistair felt his cheeks burn, and she giggled.

“I remember that moment well,” he said. He did as he was instructed, for awhile only rocking his hips back and forth, rolling them like he would do if he really were between her legs. He slowly inched his pants down...

“Move your feet,” she said. The look in her eye was almost hypnotized, trailing every pull and roll. Following her orders, he picked up his feet, stepping down on the balls of his feet, then stepping out flat, and then bringing them back in, each step with little bounce. Though he hadn’t a clue what he was doing, he discovered _doing it_ anyway swung his hips out to each side. He shoved his pants completely off his hips, and what his smalls were not holding down bounced up. She held her breath, and when she raised her eyes to his, a genuine _hunger_ stared at him. That was more than enough encouragement for him.

Alistair sent his pants to his ankles with another shove, and as he rolled back up to step out one foot at a time, he popped his hips forward; she gasped when his balls clapped against his own skin. Her fingers held the wrap tighter, her eyes were stuck. He grabbed the hem of his shirt, grinning when her eyes followed his shirt up to reveal the belly she’d said she'd grown to love these past few weeks. He pulled up and over, wiggling his knees to make the bundle tied up in his smalls toss from side to side.

When his shirt left his head, he found her eyes darting all over his front. He could feel her stare trace every line, the trail of hair, where his sides and belly curled together when his hips ground toward her. He bent his knees and leaned back, raising his hips back up in a slow roll; she traced the shape of his bulge with her eyes, jaw dropped and chest heaving. She gasped and sat up straight when he reached for one knot of his smalls.

“What if I just _stopped?”_ he teased, bucking his hips to give her another clap; she blinked and gasped. “Just left these on?”

“I’d make you gallop around the room like you were riding a horse,” she said without any hesitation, as if it were a threat.

He grinned and flicked the knot loose. “Do I need to start doing _circles?”_ he joked, his smalls revealing more and more of his erection as he loosened the other knot.

“Yes, please,” she requested, her eyes _flying_ , trying to help rid what apparently he wasn’t losing fast enough.

He laughed. “You want circles with... _this.”_ He bit his lip as he dropped his smalls. His erection sprung up with the tilt of his hips, and her hand flew to her mouth to muffle a gasp. He _felt powerful_ , swinging his hips down and around, thrusting back up in jerks, and his shaft and sack bounced and slapped; she blinked with every clap. He came up straight with a roll of his chest, and paused. She froze with him, then eyes darted to figure out why. When she sought his eyes, he gave only a smirk. With a deep breath, he pushed his groin out and swiveled, sending his entire package in circles out in front of him. Her brow clenched, eyes tuned in awe to every loop his cock made, every throw and pull of his balls. Her thighs pressed together, knees crashing, leaning towards him. _Power,_ without ever touching her body.

Without a tell, he switched it up. He gave a little jump, landing first on his toes to plunk down his heels, knees bent, hip thrust, one arm outstretched. He met her eyes with a wink. “Until the moons rise, My Lady.” He played as if pulling a mask down over his eyes, wiggling from his arms down his back to his bum. He flipped an invisible hood over his head, and with a pretend slap to the ass of his invisible horse, he galloped off into the fake sunset beyond the makeshift tub, bouncing high enough make his entire groin leap and dance; he was sure she watched his bottom shake. He pulled the horse around to a stop next the to the chest of water and slid down, slowly lowering his leg. He stood straight with a final snap of his hip; her eyes rolled and she shook through breath as the last clap of balls on skin echoed around the room.

He smiled at her from across the room. “I need to bathe, my dear.”

She shook her head. “I’m okay with-”

“I _know_ you are, love.” he stepped into the chest, and surprised himself to find he could sit as long as he scrunched up. “I have _blood_ in my hair still. And I want to be clean for what I am going to ask of you.” He laughed when her eyes snapped wide open. He watched her stand and drop the fabric behind her on the bed. He made no effort to hide his fixation on her breasts. Delicate bouncing, nipples pinching up, sensitive to the chill in the air; they called for warmth, for his hands, his face. He let out an obvious sigh, “You are are _so beautiful_ , Tess...” he followed her skin up to her eyes as she knelt down on the other side of him. She leaned in, and he met her kiss with a wet hand to her face.

“I think _you_ are beautiful,” she said with fingers in his beard.

He grinned. “So I am discovering. You, know,” he glanced down as her hand dropped from his chin to his chest, and met her eyes when her fingers tickled further down his belly. “That was rather thrilling,” he admitted.

“Dancing?”

“You might want to smile a _little larger_ , dear, your _utter glee_ hasn’t gone past your ears yet,” he teased. She giggled, and as he pushed his lips to her forehead, her delicate fingers found his submerged erection. Her head turned to meet him, and for a moment he just breathed into her. A moan escaped his throat as she gave a tight tug on his shaft. Her lips skipped across his cheek, and she teased his ear with a slow lick up the lobe, before closing her lips to suckle. His breath caught and his cock twitched in her hand, and she squeezed a little tighter.

“Thank you,” hot breath where his ear, jaw and neck tapered together sent another pulse beneath her milking fingers. He couldn’t speak just yet, winded by the touch he didn’t expect. She pursed her lips against his neck, and his head rolled back on its own to invite more tingling kisses. Her hand in a firm grip, _up, down, hugging, closing at the hilt, feathering circles at the tip._ No room to lie back.

“For the dance?” he managed to say. He startled briefly as cooling water rushed upon him, cascading down over his hair and ears, flowing down his neck near a hot tongue and grazing teeth, rolling down right over his nipple before returning to the bath. The hand wedged between his legs enlarged the itching knot in his groin. Her knuckles brushed the hairs on his belly with every rise and fall. His sack had tightened up, catching her stuffed fist every time she descended.

“I loved it,” she messed her fingers in his hair, gently rubbing. Her mouth found the dent of skin between his collarbones, she used her teeth to suck. She spilled more water over him, and when he moved his head, her breath cooled the drips  

“What did you like about it?” he asked. “I want to hear it.” She moaned at his request and squeezed so fierce it stole his breath. He let his hips buck up into her hold, though she never stopped trying to pump. It was so _different_ with her hand.

“The sound,” she gasped as if she surprised herself. She kissed his neck roughly, groaning and squeezing a handful of his hair, yanking harder, farther on his penis. He could barely breathe with all the sensations. He was dizzied in her touch. “When your... _balls_ slap against your skin. And how your belly moves with your hips.” Her fist jerked faster around his width and she whined with him, as his hand found the hair at the back of her head. His sack tightened up harder as he swelled inside, and he felt a hot stream burst through up into his shaft. He cursed and looked down in anticipation. She milked him like her mission had a time limit, _up, down, up, down, even faster,_ his hips eagerly helping her though she already had him in control. _“This_ ,” she breathed, “your _manhood_ -” he caught her face and kissed her roughly, his lip catching between her teeth “-bouncing up and down.” He pulled back from her mouth with a groan that turned from a grunt to a whine as his seed raced up. Pressure hit the head; a noiseless curse left his lips and he watched as a stream of white jetted out from the tiny egress of his cock into the water before him.

He looked at her, and after staring at product of her labor, she met his eyes. He reached up and held her head, searching her gaze, her face. She was breathing just as hard as he was, her pupils large, still wearing the awe and intrigue she carried when he danced for her. Her kiss was sweet; release, admiration, _love_.

“I more than love you,” he told her.

“I more than love you,” she sighed.

The water around him cooled as they found their breath around winding arms of affection and bathwater. He stared at his seed, bubbled gel dissolving to wisps amongst the water. Tess poured a last scoop of cool water over his head, massaging his scalp and back until the water grew too cold. After a quick pat-dry, he added to the brazier to heat the room quicker. When he turned back to Tess, she was watching his body again.

“What is it you like?” he murmured, crawling on to the bed to kiss her.

“A vague question. What are my options for answering?”

“My body,” he softly laughed.

 _“Oh._ The shapes.”

“The shapes. Like....long?” he teased.

“Long is not a shape!” she giggled. He laughed into her mouth.

“It is on me. Okay, I have another. Do I have to do anything special to get to you...” he felt himself blush, “play with my bum again? Even just that line down there,” he tried to bargain. He felt a little shy asking for such a thing, considering the fuss he’d made over her touching him there while he healed. But _Maker, he wanted it._ “I’ll dance for you again, if you want.” He kissed her softly, trying to ask with his lips.

She couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “You don’t have to barter for it,” she told him. “You could just...shove your bum in my face and ask me to lick it.”

“That simple, eh?”

“Yup.” she gave a nod.

“Okay! I’ll try it! Wish me luck!” he took another quick kiss, and as she giggled and echo of his words, he turned around on the bed. On his hands and knees with his seat in the air directed right at her, he looked backwards and backed up. He tried to hide his deep breath; asking this couldn’t be any scarier than being asked to dance, right? “Will you lick my bum?” She didn’t speak. He saw a smile spread before her face disappeared behind his backside.

Wet and warmth covered the tight ring of his bum, and he gasped. He’d asked for it, expected it, and yet he wasn’t prepared. She held his legs while she licked, the full of her tongue coating him with a pleasure he’d forgotten; he’d remembered it felt good, that was all. She wet him in slow strokes, completely, with the flat of her tongue, stopped licking to kiss. His groin surged hot, as if he hadn’t just spilt himself moments ago. Gentle wags of her tongue made his hips start to roll, as if she triggered a switch within. He dropped to his elbows to rest his head; so slow, so tender. He realized how tense he was, and also realized he was holding his breath. As soon as he forced that end of himself to relax, she flicked the tip of her tongue, making him gasp and tighten all over again.

She softly laughed, hot breath at his anus and above; his balls flapped against her chin when he giggled. She told him to relax, and he took a deep breath, and another. He moaned her name as she drove the tip of her stiff tongue around his rim, over all the ridges and grooves that clenching made. _Relax_ , she insisted. He forced himself to open for her, and with a wonderfully feminine moan, she gently pressed a slick tongue into him.

 _Fuck_. She giggled at the harsh word from his mouth. His own laugh was husky, deep. He told her he hadn’t expected that to feel so good; like sunshine spreading from a window he’d neglected. She continued to swirl with the tip of her tongue, and with a deeper dive, her fingers found his testicles. Tender pressure with each tiny thrust, picking up speed as she kneaded his sack. He was hard again, and she acknowledged him with a further reach and a tug that wiggled his hips. She _sucked_ whenever she pulled her tongue back, pushing him open wider to try to reach the inner rim; _had it always been this hard to breathe?_ She sucked _hard_ , her lips cleverly placed and mocking the shape, causing his rim to pull back out just so, her lips squeezing around his hole as she left him. His arm quaked as he reached back to find her hand, trying to offer breathless appreciation.

Her tongue traced his skin down his raphe, and he buckled again. At first, a delicate trail with the tip of her tongue, her saliva smoothing the ride of creases in his huddled balls. He felt his curls bend as she licked, and her tongue flattened as she made her way toward his shaft. She brought a hand back up, massaged him as she wet her lips. Then she opened wide and closed around his sack. The noise he made sounded like it belonged to her. Hot breath played near his anus as she massaged the other half of his testicles; her breasts hung from behind him, her neck bulged as she swallowed him. He sounded almost in pain when she worked his other testicle in her mouth, but pain was definitely not it. Inside her mouth, her tongue danced with his balls, around them, flicking between them, pressing them to the roof of her mouth. A faint graze of teeth sent little shocks through his groin over and over again.  

He slid from her mouth with wet noises, and a groan from him. She met his gaze as she lay on her back beneath him, smiling proud, adoring. She grabbed his cock firmly, staring at it as she brought it down toward her face. Tongue raised, saliva reflecting various firelight from all around; Alistair gasped before she even reached him. She wet the entire head of his penis with a vast tongue, then drew another gasp from him with a sharp flick to the slit in his crown. He caught her glance at him, and with another smile, she shot the tip of her tongue out, flickering around the eye; his hips bucked determinedly on their own, and when he tried to steady himself, it made his whole body shake. More Orlesian curses escaped him, and the husky giggle she gave made him groan for her. She quit teasing and after wetting her mouth again, she took him in just past the head, closing her lips securely around him. She ran her hands up the back of his thighs and pressed down atop his hips until he filled her mouth completely. He didn’t realize he was holding breath until she dug her fingers in to grab his ass. He watched her, his head on the bed between his elbows, watched himself slide up and out of her, feeling her wet tongue hugging him as he left. The faintest scrape of teeth at his crown threw another curse from his lips. First she guided him, pushing his hips down, urging them up, until he finally understood she wanted him to move. He rolled his hips, breathing so loud he _moaned_ every time he watched his length disappear, then reappear from below her lips; He reached down and grabbed her hair, stroking to show thanks for such _need_ of him. Her cheeks hollowed, and when he pushed in, shadows played; on one side he could see the shape of himself moving inside her.

She pushed him up and out when he pulled back next, releasing his head with a small tilt of her head and a parting kiss. She took a moment to re-wet herself, swallowing, licking her lips, swallowing again. She tilted her head and met his eyes as she stuck her middle finger in her mouth. She moved it around, he saw her jaw shift, and when she pulled it from her mouth, it glistened messily with thick saliva. His eyes flew from hers to her finger, wondering what she was going to do with a finger so wet. His heart and breath skipped a beat as she reached back _toward his bum._ She told him to relax, and as she swirled the tip of her finger at the ring of his anus, he took a deep breath and tried to do as she said. He let his hips hang heavy and forced his hole to loosen for her. She took her finger away briefly to wet it again, and then, _pressure_. She gave the gentlest push until just the tip of her finger was in. Another Orlesian curse; solid, pushing, _pleasure_ even, or maybe _just enough pleasure_ that hung him in anticipation.

“Do you want more?” she asked. He nodded, barely able to breathe. Slowly the pressure built, rising with the digit. He forgot how to breathe. He gasped for air, and yet had enough. He had no idea how much of her finger was in, but _Maker_ it felt so _good!_ He thought she stopped pushing, but the _rising pressure_ was still there, creating an aura of pleasure on the verge of exploding within him. It was so strong it made his cock toss about, his balls clench up, and yet it wasn’t the same as _that_ climax. This was euphoria, her finger teasing something inside him he wasn’t aware he even had. It felt like an orb, magically swelling heat, _vibrating;_ it shivered his hips without end. She waved her finger inside, and he nearly shoved his erection right back in her face; she said his name, but he couldn’t talk yet. His shoulders shook violently in the effort to hold himself up. Though his hole had clenched back down so tight around her finger _he_ could feel how deep the closing muscles went, it was... _phenomenal._ She said his name again, asked him if he was okay.

 _“Maker...oh, shit...Tess...”_ he could barely see straight. He blinked over and over until he found her eyes. He slowly rocked his hips, trying to bring back that explosive sensation when she first wiggled around inside. _“Feels so good...”_ She watched him while she began again, and he cared not about the sounds coming from his mouth. She gently curled her finger in toward his belly; he moved his hips in small circles around her, squeezing tight to lock her inside. He didn’t know where the pleasure came from, but when she moved her finger back and forth, he wanted nothing more than to orgasm like that, and he nearly felt he could. The view below him was such a blur that when her lips closed firmly back over his shaft, his voice rang out from surprise. _Wet, wresting,_ milking down his cock, _inflating_ gratification from behind. He wasn’t sure if he rocked his hips to fuck her mouth, or to drown in ecstasy as he gave way to the bends of her finger inside. He pushed faster, unable to ask for speed, unable to see, blinded from foreign pleasure too incredible to imagine until now.

Climax exploded him. It seemed to come from every pocket of his loins, his hips, his thighs even. Only curses ran through his mind at first. When the brightness dimmed and colors faded, he saw, and felt, his sex still in her mouth. White cream spilled over from the corner of her lips, too full of the rest of him to hold his seed, and yet she still drank of him, wiping his mess back over her lips, her tongue and the walls of her mouth contracting as she swallowed around him. His arms shook ridiculously as he reached for her, and when his fingers messed in her hair, she tilted her head and craned her neck to see him. She started to pull her finger out, but he clenched with a gasp.

“No! No...not yet...” he breathed. “Shit...” even after emptying his balls, it still made him squirm in want. He closed his eyes to recover, lamely stroking her hair, body trembling, completely unraveled like...shit, like he’d made her unravel when he had her up against the wall. He looked around, and now with only faint breath, he realized how _loud_ he’d been, his voice had echoed around him as she pleasured him. He breathlessly laughed, wondering if the others had heard, wondered how far his voice had carried in all these ancient stone halls. And upon remembering where they were, he laughed even harder, his shoulders completely collapsing on the bed.

“Alistair?” she asked.

“Consummating my marriage,” he forced the words over his fierce giggles, “in an ancient temple of the Holy Prophet, with my wife’s finger inside my bum.” she started laughing, now. “Maker, thank You for this woman!” he praised out loud, causing both of them to giggle harder. _Giddy from sex._ That hadn’t happened in ages. He wanted to kiss her. _Fuck._ That meant releasing her. With a sigh, he forced strength into his shoulders. Relaxing his anus significantly reduced the pressure of her finger. _“Believe_ me when I say I wish I didn’t have to do this,” he freely admitted. Reluctantly, he pulled his hips forward, groaning as her anchor was lost to him. He hissed, then whined when he saw her hand fall. “Goodbye, my friend,” he cooed to her finger, “I’ll miss you.” He met his wife’s eyes, and they shared another case of drunken titters. “Oh... _fuck_ ,” he said. “and your _finger_ has turned me into an _Orlesian.”_

She giggled so fiercely she rolled, knocking him from balance into the wall. He grabbed her as he turned, both of them in such a cascading fit that wouldn’t quell. As soon as she was in his arms, he kissed her, uncontrollable laughter quickly turned to eager sighs and hungry hands. The need to return appreciation soon drove him, and around sloppy tongues and tangled lips, he managed to speak, begged her to let him do something, _anything_ to her. _I want to make you feel how you’ve made me feel._

 _Beard._ She wanted his beard.

He searched her face. _Where?_ Desperate to please, _need_ to please.

 _My back._ He rolled her over. _Where you kissed me earl-_ He pressed down before she could finish, and her reaction rolled another coo off his tongue; mouth-hitched, spine shivered, clutching the blanket beneath her. He moved his kiss, dragging his lips to scrape his beard along the shape of her shoulder, and he almost didn’t catch her gasp had it not been for the drawn out exhale, a sound of surprise and pleasure, and _relief_.

“You _waited_ for this.” he dropped a scratching kiss where the bed pushed against her breast, leaving a hint of soft skin seeking his attention. She mewled a feeble _yes._ She had said _back_ , though he would claim her breasts in time. “Where?” he asked.

“Down.” Down he went. He let his tongue trail down a few inches, testing where to plant what made her itch inside. She gave a wiggle and a gasp near the last of her ribs, and down he went. He pushed deep, circling his lips to drag his beard, and his groin twitched at the whine that escaped her and arched her back. _She liked that._ He kissed her there again, lingering his lips to draw out a sigh and shudder beneath his scruff. He wasn’t entirely convinced it was unraveling her like her finger in his bum did, but the wiggle from her shoulders to her hips expressed a new form of _power;_ such a simple touch to produce such intensity. He continued to explore, his tongue gliding down her side, her hips, at the lilac crests of her back, tracing the plump of her bum down to the crease where it met her thigh. He stopped at all these places, though he tasted far more, nestling his beard, burrowing his mouth to call shivers and hisses from her, to tighten her hold on the blanket. The vibrations beneath him nearly muzzied his vision; he _felt_ her sound in his groin.

 _Down._ He sank his fingers in the plush of her rear and _pushed;_ _this part_ of her hips squishing beneath him made him buck, remembering the feel of her backside bouncing against his hip. He groaned with memory and nipped; she hissed and clenched, and softly he laughed. He hovered his chin along the fold, his whiskers gently chafing, and her reactions snowballed as he closed in on her center; gasps and squirms turned to a blatant moan of _craving_ and her hips arched up into him. And her _scent..._ he couldn’t help but limn his tongue over to the closed petals of her core. He kept to her wish, his beard on her skin, but a breathless whine conjured a sound from him as well. He held firm her bottom, completely raised from the bed seeking fulfillment of its own, as he grazed back over to the straying crease. He swept his beard further down, teasing airy nuzzles, relishing every gasp, the bounce of her bum in his hands with every shiver.

Then, she froze, her whole body stiff before him. He looked up, expecting to find he’d hurt her somehow. Her back was arched up off the bed, mouth hung open, brows pinched in surprise. Breath forcibly escaped, tremoring her hardest at the shoulders. She reached back, other fist still warping the quilt into a knot, and she blindly found his head, closing her fingers around his hair. _That. Do that again,_ she sibilated.

 _“Oh...Maker have mercy on me...”_ he sat up, running his fingers down her legs. “Did that make you...”

Her shoulders collapsed to the bed in breathless titters. “So close...”

 _“Huh.”_ he needed to see her face for this. “Turn over,” he drawled. With a filling breath, she wobbled up and turned. She was flushed, beads of sweat, even, on her nose and shoulders, glistening like sunset in the candlelight and fire. Her bosoms rose and fell with deep breath, warmed, stretched and smooth from each nipple; a rippling jiggle rolled through them as she set her bum down in front of of him. “What about _those?_ Can I touch _them?”_ he met her eyes.

“Bosoms?” she teased, laying herself before him. “Or breasts.”

He grinned. “It doesn’t matter _what_ they’re called, I _still_ want to _bury my face_ in them. _Suck_ on them, both of them.” the dark of her eyes widened, and he stared back in amazement. She’d said she liked to be talked to. She swallowed in distinct anticipation, and he bit through a smirk as he lowered himself to her inner thigh. He could _smell_ her again, he made no attempt to hide such an inhale. She moaned the instant he kissed her. “I am going to -” he tickled with the end of his tongue, his beard abrading already. _“squeeze_ them,” he sighed with a chuckle as she grabbed his hair and moved his face over a mere space; he closed down, a little skin between his teeth, and she tensed with an airless gasp. He rocked his face, mimicking movements he used to make at her centre, and she wiggled with a pule and a sharp grip on his hair. “Hold each one as gently as I can,” he pushed down a kiss, and for a moment just _breathed_ on her thigh, wet and red from his tender excoriating, and his name fell from her lips like rolling fog. “and I’ll use my tongue,” he peppered fish-like kisses and shook his beard till he felt the hairs bend against her, “trace tiny circles,” he demonstrated there on her thigh, before tearing himself across the gap to her other leg, deeply inhaling her scent along the way; her honey called to him as if he were no stronger than a bee. “make love to your breasts with my mouth, like you took in my cock,” he wet a length of skin before plotting quick, deep kisses, “take as much of you as I can, _drink_ you,” he moaned over her, his hips starting to move on their own. _“flicker_ the tip of my tongue all around, like you did to my ear-”

She jerked him up by his hair and his shoulder, greeting him with a kiss when he crashed into her. Her hands pressed hard as she dragged her touch down his chest, sending his hips into her belly; she pulled back with a little moan.

“Wrong hole,” she whispered. With his erection still poking her middle, he fell into breathless laughter that shook his shoulders. He buried himself in her neck, instantly her grip tightened, drawing a giggle into whine. He latched on with a grunt and another roll of his hips, releasing her neck with a deep suckle before rubbing his bristles; her own hips writhed below him, and she clung to him like she was afraid he’d stop if she let go.

“If I was down there, at _that_ hole,” he said into her neck, licking from her collar up to her chin with his beard abrading behind, “I would kiss each lip,” he planted a single kiss, _“lick_ each one, _suck_ them one by one,” he burrowed his nose in the crook of her neck, and she whimpered with the swinging scrape of his beard. He sneaked a hand down to catch a nipple, “stretch them each until they fell open in bloom, like the rose I found,” he pounced on her between the crook and the back of her neck, and his mouth made the sound of a ravaging bronto, “and when you’re open for me,” he breathed, turning his head to swipe a scratchy kiss along the length to her ear; she scrunched up in his lap with a gasping yelp, “I want to _taste_ you. _Thrust_ my tongue inside you, _lick_ up your cream,” she whined in desperate pleas as he traced the shape of her ear with the tip of his tongue, “sweeter than honey, better than the softest cheese,” _rolling, kneading, pinching,_ squashing her breast so he could grab it up again, hips drunkenly rocking in search for a mate; hot breath and prickling hair at a spot so sensitive it made her cry out loud every time he moved. “Slide my fingers in, _push_ on _that spot_ ,” he wasn’t sure if it was his words or his tongue along her conch that made her seek something to bite the scream away. Every pluck of her nipple jolted her hips, and between this and her cries, he was nearly trembling with desire. “I want you to scream,” he breathed, flicking his tongue where she wanted him to; she had a death grip on around his shoulders and his head. “Like you made me scream, like you can’t get enough of me.” Another flicker, one more, and she curled up in stutters over his lap, singing high with her teeth digging into the side of his head. His shaft practically thrummed at her hip, waving, desperately seeking her attention; she held on so tight he couldn’t see it, but he was so hard he _felt_ the veins pumping through him. He forced his hips still, wanting her to fall apart before he could even get inside, but her stutters and heavy breath and _sweat_ between their bodies encouraged him. “Sit on me,” he told her, dizzied again. She moved her head around his, maybe spinning herself, trembling when she pulled back, her face stuck in wanting and slick with sweat from their necks to their thighs. For a moment they, just sat breathing, staring. _“Sit on me,”_ he repeated.

Their lips and tongues frisked in fervent coveting, hands a flurry of undeniable need to grasp relief, cure _starvation_ of each others bodies. She was up over his lap before he even realized they’d twisted or opened, and he braced her hip as she fell over for a kiss.

A slow kiss. Hands rising with her hips, slow, _breathing, beating._ He swore he heard her heartbeat echo with his around the room. He broke the kiss with heavy breath to watch her descent. He reached down to position his penis, _rock-hard,_ veins _racing,_ felt his balls throb beneath. Aimed at her core, he met her eyes.

A grunt broke his silence as she pushed down, pushing _him inside_ her. _Hot, soaking,_ her gloss even spilling out into their tangling curls. For a moment she just clung to him, head on his, barely breathing. He pressed his mouth, and beard, to her neck, and she whimpered and tightened around him already. She started rocking, slow at first, but it took no time for her to remember his shape. She rose to her knees, sheathing him again with her hips out, holding on to keep him there. When she paused above, he squeezed her hips and thrust up to meet her instead; the sound she made nearly made him erupt right there. Their skin clapped as they crashed again, echoing around the room with a blend of panting _, squishing,_ mewling and groans, and the beds knocked together into the walls. Her breasts bounced freely as she milked him up, and when he closed over a nipple, she fell into to him with a shudder. He flicked his tongue too fast, suckled too hard, brushed his beard too many times, and she tossed about so wildly it fell them. She groped him even though she couldn’t fall away from here.

An arm pressed hard on the small of her back, grabbing her hip, he drove fast, _full._ Thrust so fast they skipped across the bed into the wall, the beds made a sound like something cracked. He let go of her shoulder to pin her knee to the the wall; she gasped at the chill and her nails dug in, and they both sung at the new angle. _Slapping,_ wailing, deep, hitting that cushion within, and beyond. She locked up, tangled around him, nails at his shoulder, teeth at his jaw, his cue to freeze in _that spot_ until her body stopped stuttering and she breathed again. He was starting to curl up into her with his own shivers in the effort of holding off _right there_. When she finally breathed, a whimper giving way to kisses of thanks already, he nearly collapsed from the wait. Locking her where she tilted most, he pushed his _all,_ rushing _,_ dominating her apex with his own, rooting himself in her as heat surged up to the crown and out; even she gasped when he released.

_Wife._

 

_People never talk about this. They talk about feeling whole or being happy or having reasons to live. But they never talk about the smells, about how the scent of the person you don’t want to live without can melt trouble away._

She wanted to cuddle after supper while he read. She took off her clothes, crawled on the bed, removed his pants and smalls, and laid her head on his hip next to his penis and testicles. Only a few hours ago, they found light in each other's arms as husband and wife; her smells still mingled with his. She snuggled in closer until her nose touched his resting shaft, folding herself up until she fit perfectly between his legs. She stared and breathed in the aroma of his sex, as if his course curls weren’t tickling her nostrils or her lip. He watched her even after her eyes closed and her breath evened. He felt his curls move with the tiny snores that echoed from her open mouth.

_They never tell you this. The Chantry would rather you believe sex is a sin, that to see another naked even within marriage when you’re not intending to reproduce, your soul will start to rot while you are still alive and you will never again feel relief. Yet she is here. She came straight to me, knew exactly what she needed. Whatever had troubled her disappeared when she inhaled the scent of my cock. The Chantry is wrong. It does not cause distress. My sex has comforted her._

_I am a lucky man._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alistair strip-dancing inspired by this gif: [ this gif](http://33.media.tumblr.com/d03c3d2bfd7e514096a96f1c8576a7df/tumblr_inline_nzsp8mXZbX1scrt7s_500.gif) made by [ cheesedog62 ](http://cheesedog62.tumblr.com)
> 
> [ Aesthetics ](http://replicajester.tumblr.com/post/142404333426/alistair-wedding-night-aesthetic-beard-fetish) by me, but images found within aesthetic courtesy of google images stock photos (and 3 teensy Dragon Age screenshots)


	35. Together, Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair stands up to Arl Eamon about his decision to take the throne with Tesslyn instead of alone, and he and Teagan progress their friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music:  
> [Gryhponheart, by Jo Blankenburg](https://youtu.be/mdeGerMw19U)

They looked like an _entire_ traveling open market.

Zevran and Sten rounded up two broken wagons and repaired them into one, and with the horse on one wagon and the cow pulling the other, they left the ruined temple with as many spare articles of clothing, armor, weapons, skins, firewood, candles, a few crates full of salvageable books, even a couple braziers and raised fire basins and livestock. Alistair wasn’t particularly happy about the goats and pigs, apparently feed for the dragon, but he couldn’t argue the benefits of keeping them. And as promised, he let Tess take the dragon skull, _and scales_ , though they’d had to stay an extra day to roast the flesh off. Finally they walked, down the mountain and through Haven; Brother Genitivi and the Traveling Grey Wardens.

Alistair hated the smell and the sound of the livestock even though they were tied behind the trailing wagon with Alistair leading. Pigs and goats, even the cow, reminded him of his childhood, of _Isolde._ Tess was there, marking his hand, doing her best to get him back up to the man she needed. It showed Alistair just how much she depended on him, how quickly she took up defense within herself, completely shut down to everything else but Alistair and did not return to the world around her until she felt him relax and take charge again, draw on _her_ hand this time. He had once joked making circles on the back of her hand was like an on/off switch that might be found in a mad mage’s laboratory, but he realized now he had been closer than he’d teased. The circles worked instantly for her smaller issues, like him shutting down over lightning or livestock. Simple as _on/off._ When he started to get upset, she instantly became _off_ to the world, and only returned when he did, _on._ Their connection for comfort and calm went beyond conscious healing, it seemed. Alistair had become her survival instinct. He understood that for her this mean _him_ or _die._  

Alistair made sure the journey back to Redcliffe was as easy as possible for her. He had Zevran kill a pig so Tess wouldn’t have to hunt. Alistair set up their tent again, set up their fire, just like used to do. Aside from her concern over his disagreeing on the livestock, Tess remained in a string of good days. She seemed happy, eager to share, and at night she trembled for his touch. There was always something new, a new touch, a new whisper, and she desired to please first. It was a love far different than he had ever expected, but he wouldn’t change it for any form of _normal_ he’d heard of _._ Experiencing everything with Tess, back to when they’d met, was like a fairy tale adventure all it’s own, demons and monsters aside. This was something unique, only for the two of them, and she flourished in it. The circles were a resting comfort, even, rather than emergency action. It seemed she was finding herself, or had come to peace with who she had become.

It took the party just over a week to arrive back at Redcliffe; the goats kept trying to detour to graze, and the wagons had to be rearranged to fit the animals inside the second one. Goats, dwarves, a golem, a Qunari and a woman in Chantry robes; they only seemed to be missing flying nugs and a gryphon, possibly a dragon or two. Only Grey Wardens kept such obvious company.

Teagan greeted them upon their arrival once more, but the Bann’s expression was troubled for once. Before Alistair could ask what was wrong, Teagan gushed.

“Maker bless you! It’s been so long I feared the worst. There was talk of a dragon  in the mountains in the direction Ser Perth sent you.”

“That was us,” Alistair said. “But that was only days ago. Why would you fear the worst?”

“Aside from the fact you’ve been gone three months?” Teagan asked. “Eamon is...I’m surprised he still breathes.”

“We have Ashes,” Tess said.

“Let’s hope this works.” Teagan studied the ever-growing party. “I’d offer your livestock shelter, but our stables _mysteriously burned_ a few months back. _Your Majesty_ ,” kissing ass after reminding Alistair of his fiery deed.

A chuckle preceded Alistair’s words, “Stick out your tongue and _lick_ while you’re down there, Teagan,” he joked. Teagan grimaced, and Tess just stared at Alistair and tried not to smile.

“Hm. I thank You for the kind offer, Your Highness, but I don’t wish to overstay my welcome.” Teagan mused. Alistair giggled, while Tess turned her head and covered her face, Zevran smirking from the other side of her.

Teagan regained his business face though. “Come. There are mages from the Circle here-”

 _“What?”_ Tess’ voice couldn’t have flattened any more.

“They are keeping Eamon alive, but barely. They administer healing sessions every day, drip potions down his throat. He is very thin. But they know of the recipe to cure him if you have the Sacred Ashes. Please, come in and settle so we can get this started. I’m truly surprised he’s held out this long.”

Alistair ordered Sten to close the castle gates, and Zevran to follow letting the goats and remaining pig out, the others to unharness the horse and sow and carry belongings in. He and Tess unpacked in her quarters and Po plopped down right in front of the fire as soon as a servant had it roaring. Alistair told the girl to draw a hot bath, and while they waited for her to draw and heat the water, they found Teagan in the Arl’s chambers.

“Are...you sure he’s alive?” Tess asked as the three of them stared over a very thin, slumbering Arl Eamon.

“He’s not stinking yet,” Teagan said. “Eamon is breathing, just not...they put him in some sort of hibernation.”

“He is not dead,” an elderly male mage entered the room. “The Arl hangs on the brink of life, though. As you can see, strength has left his body.”

“I’d say all but his bones have left his body,” Alistair said. The Arl barely looked recognizable. Sunken in all around his cheeks and jaw, too many shadows and sun-starved, chalky and sallow skin, his fingers along with Maker-knows what else defining the phrase _skin and bone_ ; he must resemble the dead under his finery.

“I’m told you have the Ashes of Andraste?” the mage asked.  

Without looking up, Tess untied the small leather pouch in her hands, but Alistair stopped her. “Wait,” he said. “Eamon is...not even going to be able to walk in this condition, much less sit up or talk, or drink water. Is this worth it? Is trying to keep him alive doing him any good?” he looked from the mage to Teagan.

“He’s not dead,” a young voice came from behind them. They turned around in surprise to see Connor cross the room to them. “I see him when I sleep, in the Fade. He’s lost, and weary. But not dead.” Connor looked up at Tess. “Hello, cousin.”

“Hello...cousin...” Tess said, unsure of him.

“Are those the Ashes of Andraste?” Connor was calm and almost empty, odd considering what he’d been through.

“Yes...”

“Mother thought little of Andraste. She said such a simple woman would not have caught the Maker’s eye.” Connor hesitated, and Tess looked at Alistair uncertainty. “Can we try them? Mother may have been wrong about her.”

“Of course.” Tess blinked, still unsure. Hesitantly, she took a mere pinch from the handful of ashes and held it in her palm out toward the elder mage, who then huddled with the Ashes to a desk off to the other side of the Arl’s bedchambers.

“Hello, Alistair,” Connor said, nearly as vacant and stony as the waning Arl.

“Er...good day, Connor...how...are you holding up? Do you feel...you...again?” what in the Void do you say to a little boy who’d been possessed and survived to remember it?

“I’m well. It’s kind of you to ask. I heard my tutor proved troublesome. I’m sorry you had to deal with him. You’re the new king, then? You look nothing like Cailan with the beard.”

“Connor, why don’t you check on our other guests?” Teagan gingerly excused the boy. “There are two mages here you may benefit to speak to, if you so desire. Go on. I’ll be out soon,” he urged. Connor agreed just as impassively as he’d spoken to Tess and Alistair. Teagan gave a quiet sigh and rubbed his temples with one hand when the boy exited the room. “He has been mostly silent and spoken strangely like that. I’m worried there might still be a demon inside him, or an echo of one anyway.” He sighed again and looked at Alistair. The Bann’s eyes settled on Alistair’s beard. “Maker’s breath, he’s right, Alistair. That thing keeps getting fuller and fuller. I suspect you’ll need hedge trimmers soon.”

“Thank you,” Tess accepted it as a compliment. Alistair bit back a grin and kissed the side of her head.

“As if _you’re_ growing it.”

“I am,” she answered Teagan.

“So she’s making you? Do you _like_ it, Alistair? Truly? I daresay I might not recognize you in the morning if you shaved tonight.”

“She likes it,” Alistair answered, thankful his smirk naturally stretched to his right, first, and Teagan stood at his left.

 _“She_ likes it? Why in the name of all that is holy would you want him to have a beard that big?” Teagan practically hissed. Tess and Alistair exchanged a glance of secrets that leaked on their own accord when Teagan read their spreading smiles. _“Oh, for the love of...!”_ the Bann sighed with a look of regret. _“Why_ do I even bother talking to _either_ of you?” he whispered.

Alistair grinned shamelessly. “Because who else loves you like I do, Teagan?” he teased.

“Considering your proposal outside, I think you love me a little _too_ much, Your Majesty,” he ended in a hiss as the mage turned around to join them.

“Yes?” Alistair asked the mage.

“The Ashes need to soak with elfroot for half a day near a fire or out in the sun, my Lords,” the old mage informed.

“Use the fire, it’s too late outside,” Alistair said. The mage returned to his alchemy and Alistair turned to Tess. “We finally have time for a hot bath and nap. Would you like to wash my beard, love? And then my beard can wash you?” he offered his wife, however ribbing Teagan.

Teagan groaned again. “Please remember you are not alone this time? _Both_ of you.” he gave snickering Alistair a shove toward the doorway, all the way out the door in fact, and Alistair grabbed Tess to drag her along

“Hey, Teagan? Do you have any oil?” Alistair asked far too cheerfully, far too casually.

“You should have plenty of candles up there, Alistair, even as long as a Grey Warden is rumored to hold out,” Teagan informed as if he knew where the conversation was going.

“No,” Alistair couldn’t stop giggling, “I don’t mean that kind of oil.”

“We don’t _need_ oil, husband, that’s what my tongue is for,” Tess threw in.

Teagan withdrew his hands in disgust, and Alistair tried to quell his laughter so hard it shook his whole top half. Teagan inhaled and exhaled deeply with strong glare of mortification and incredulity aimed right at Tess, whom Alistair couldn’t tell if she was biting back a smile or regret. “You know, part of you is still an eight year old child to me,” he said.

Waves of giggles bubbled up immediately. “Not anymore, though! Am I right?” Alistair attempted a slow, calming breath, but it came out as if a dreamy sigh, causing another eruption of titters.

“Just -” Teagan sighed. “Go, just go. Both of you. Please. You’re making me question myself.” he cut them from sight with a close of the door.

Tess grimaced and groaned. “I can’t _believe_ I did that in front of _family -_ in front of _him!”_

 _“That_ is the sole reason I want to keep him around. My best Arl ever.” Alistair laughed to himself.

Unwinding in a working, furnished castle instead of dew-collecting tents or frozen-over temple was a sigh of relief. The steaming bath melted giggles into sounds that resembled acts of pleasure. It nurtured knots and sore muscles, eased the tender pain that still haunted Alistair’s thigh. It milked desires that caused a servant to rap upon the door in concern for a person howling _in need of help;_ Alistair grunted out _No, I’ve got it, thanks_ , before the servant let them finish in peace.

The potion worked. Eamon awoke, but dehydration and starvation left him too weak to do anything, even aside from the hibernation-like spell the mages had encased him in. It was as Alistair had predicted, however, whether they needed Arl Eamon’s support to remove their bounty was still strong enough concern to force them to stay until the Arl could at least sit up and talk. Seeing the old Arl slowly regain strength just to talk reminded Alistair of Tess recovering from withdraw, yet Alistair wasn’t moved. He wondered if he _should_ be sympathetic. He did not feel guilty for lacking it.

Eamon was not happy to see Tess. When he was strong enough to sit up and talk, he took one look at Tess as she and Alistair entered the Arl’s bedchambers and offered a rather odd blend of a groan, a scoff and a sigh. “This is _not_ a good sign. Young Lady Cousland. Why am I not surprised to see you after hearing my home has been dismantled?” Eamon sounded older than he looked.

In a blink, Tess hardened. “Blame that on your _foreign tart_ , cousin, not me. I have never upturned your house. _Intentionally_ ,” she added quieter.

“Ooh, more stories I’ve missed out on?” Alistair joked.

“I’ll tell you over a drink tonight, Alistair,” Teagan said softly.

“And _Alistair_...” Eamon’s eyes scoured Alistair from head to toe and back again.

It was strange, being back here with the Arl awake. _Maker, why do I suddenly feel ten again?_ It was like Eamon looking him over and spinning him to check for mud or rips in fabric before the Templar hoisted Alistair up on the horse, or when Redcliffe hosted noble parties. _The Arl’s awake, and I am no longer welcome inside._ The review in the old man’s eyes was appraisal, perhaps criticism; Eamon was searching for the lost little stable boy. He could hear the voice in his head just like back then, _Alistair, you’re covered in dirt, what in the world have you been doing?_ Even though he was far from that same little boy. He silently groaned to himself. He was starting to loathe revisiting.

“I would not have recognized you if Teagan hadn’t told me. You have changed greater than my ability to recognize you from memory.” though Eamon’s voice was kind, kinder than he had spoken to Tess even, Alistair couldn’t settle the twisting in his mind.

“You’ll forgive me for the unpleasantries, Arl Eamon, but our first visit a few months back surfaced memories I spent most of my life trying to forget ever happened. It would be inappropriate to discuss them at this time, so know that we are strictly here on business, not a reunion,” Alistair stated. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Teagan’s gaze shift to him.

“Well...down to business, then.” from the look on Eamon’s rawboned face, he understood the disconnection Alistair now had to him. Part of Alistair...sort of felt guilty; he had not expected Eamon to show any emotion toward him, particularly remorse. It wasn’t worth the vexation though; Eamon had already assumed the disastrous state of his house was all Tess’ fault, without a care or possibility to anyone else. This was not acceptable to Alistair. “First...Teagan refuses to speak of Isolde, and my son is practically Tranquil. Will one of _you_ be so kind as to tell my why my wife is not here and my son won’t speak to me?”

Tess straightened and clasped her hands behind her back, “Good news, cousin!” she said cheerfully, rocking back and forth from toe to heel. “Your wife is dead and Connor is a mage!” Teagan covered his face with a defeated sigh.

“What?” Eamon’s gaunt face distorted in dubiety.

“Your _wife_ caused all this mess, _not me_ . While _my_ home burned, courtesy of Rendon Howe, your _exotic_ little _cherry_ decided it was a good idea to sneak around behind your back to hire a _blood mage_ to come secretly train Connor _magic_.” Tess enjoyed this far too much. Alistair could see it was family in general she disagreed with, Teagan probably one of her more healthy relationships. Teagan and Tess winced nearly in unison.

“I may not be able to eat cherries anymore,” Teagan muttered.

 _“This_ is what happens when you make _me_ talk! He’s _your_ brother!”

“And how do _you_ propose to tell _your_ brother about his wife and son, hm?” Teagan pressed her.

Tess hesitated, pointing at Teagan before she aimed at the thinned Arl. “Then maybe you should stop _him_ next time he gets cheeky and accuses _me_ of summoning demons!”

“He didn’t accuse you of summoning demons, Tesslyn,” Teagan sighed.

“He just now said it was _my_ fault!”

“All right, _children_ , stop arguing,” Alistair intervened with a smirk.

Tess scoffed with arms crossed over her bosoms. “Father, _brother’s_ being an ass!” she played along.

Alistair grinned. “Do I need to send to your rooms?” he joked.

“You’re not my _real_ father!” Teagan retorted immaturely. Tess snorted and slapped a hand over her mouth so hard the noise echoed in the room, and the two chortled at her. Alistair pulled her against him, pressing into her hair in adoration he knew he couldn’t hide.

“This is an interesting scene I see before me,” Arl Eamon said. Alistair looked over at the weakened noble, keeping Tess in his arm. “The king is dead, his adviser a traitor. There is an opening for the throne, and Fereldan’s heir and most likely candidate stands here already allied with the country’s two most notorious rebels.”

“Maric was a rebel, too. Look how _that_ turned out,” Tess shot back, not bothering to move her face from Alistair’s shoulder.

“Tesslyn’s got the power to enforce anything at the Landsmeet, brother. Having her in reach means those sworn to her family must follow,” Teagan said.

“Having me in _reach?”_ she scoffed. “having me in reach just gets you _slapped.”_ she stretched out her arm, but her grab was an obvious few fingers short. Alistair and Teagan shared a glance with attempted suppresses of giggles, and Tess scoffed again, slumping further into Alistair. “Slap him, please? I can’t reach.” Alistair buried his manly giggles in her hair, reaching out to lightly swat Teagan all the same.

Eamon’s stare cut through the humor like a pinch to perfectly cooked pulled pork. “What is it, Eamon?” Alistair asked.

“Am I to assume that this means Fereldan gains a Queen along with her new King?” Eamon asked.

“Indeed it does.”

Eamon sighed. “There are things that need to be addressed regarding that, but for now...” the old man sighed again. “Teagan said you are both Grey Wardens?”

“We are,” Alistair answered.

“Is Tesslyn not allowed to answer?”

“She can if she chooses.” he looked down at Tess. “ Do you feel like answering?” he rubbed her back. She growled against him, and he had to suppress another urge to giggle; Teagan poorly covered his with a cough.

“Tesslyn, how do _you_ fare as a Grey Warden?”

 _“Oh, fabulous._ I’m in the home of a lesser, not to mention mummified, noble asking for help to clear a bounty from a traitor who let my cousin die. I haven’t a _fucking clue_ how to be a Grey Warden, Eamon. What do you think?” she turned out of Alistair’s arms. “Isolde had said you didn’t fall ill until after Loghain returned from Ostagar. Why is it not a single noble raised a sword when Howe’s men set my home on fire? You’ve got an army.”

“None of us heard until after it was completely taken over, Tesslyn, I could not have helped what already happened.”

“That excuse is becoming more pathetic as time goes on. Did all nobles lose their senses? _None_ of you can put two and two together? Loghain shows up with his _entire_ army, armor still shining and not a single arrow used, but Cailan and all the Grey Wardens are _dead_ , and _everyone_ thinks this is _perfectly normal for battle?_ Come on! Eamon, _really,_ be honest with me - how much did you fetch for your brain? You could have _stopped_ this while I was healing up from _barely_ surviving that damn battle. You could have gone to Denerim with Teagan and let him run his mouth like he does best when he catches suspicion. You’re the next highest on the line, _this was your job_ with me and Fergus and Father gone. _You_ are supposed to rally the Landsmeet in times of opposition when the Teyrn falls. This tall, fancy castle isn’t just for _sitting_ in all day with a pretty view. You would have seen the smoke from Highever. You would have seen the smoke from Ostagar. You would have seen the whole army march back to safety.”

“I would have needed a Teyrn to accompany me and back up my word, would I have not?” Eamon challenged calmly.

Tess glared. “Not with Highever razed. You know damn well that with the Teyrn gone and an unexpected person suspiciously in his place, you go straight to court and report treachery. But instead, _I_ have a _fucking bounty_ on my head!” Alistair reached around and took her hand, and though she insisted she was fine, the first loop created a sigh. Eamon curiously watched their hands and the effect it had on Tess.

“What Tess is trying to say is we have problems getting from town to town with the bounty over us, and in order to raise the army required to fight the Blight we need the bounty cleared. We need _you_ to do that.” Alistair said.

“Tess, eh?” Eamon grew curiouser still. “This I can do. But she needs to come with me. She is higher ranking after all. The title of Teyrn has been passed down to her by birth, so now as Teyrna she is required to present what evidence she has and rally the land against the traitor. Her voice is loudest, in a manner of speaking. She has a duty to the people, Alistair. She cannot accompany you when you finish your quest.”

“That’s not happening,” Alistair said over Tess, who started to protest. He deepened the circles on her hand. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, Eamon, but she’s a Grey Warden too. This is a Grey Warden’s job.”

“And then what? You two go tromping off in puppy love to save the world and then take the throne?”

“There are _few_ things wrong with your assumption, but yes, something _along_ those lines.” Alistair wasn’t sure about Eamon anymore. This was sounding more and more like the man who was influenced by Isolde after all.  

“I have no problems with you taking the throne, Alistair. And you are the heir, it is only fitting. But Tesslyn cannot accompany you. She is not...stable enough to lead a country.”

Alistair pulled Tess back in his arms with a frown, tracing on her hand between their chests. “You’re brave to mock when you’re unable to get out of bed. There is _nothing_ wrong with Tess. Do you even know the meaning of _stable_ , Eamon? You realize it’s about _balance_ and _trust_ , don’t you? Your own wife was _extremely_ unstable, yet you never told her she couldn’t have anything.”

“This isn’t a matter of wives, Alistair. Tesslyn is under extreme suspicion for multiple deaths of nobles across Fereldan and even wanted in other countries-”

“Yes, I know. Contracts and sneaking and impersonating, this is nothing new.”

“She cannot marry a King with these suspicions looming over her. Who would trust a Queen who so freely kills and steals? She has public outbursts, draws her weapon at Landsmeets, suddenly walks out of meetings if she doesn’t like them.”

“She is already married to a King, and there’s nothing you can do about it,” Alistair told him. “You can’t stop me from taking the throne, and you can’t stop her from being my Queen.”

“You’re already married?” Eamon and Teagan echoed.

“Piss off, both of you.” Tess muttered.

“Haven was a honeymoon, then, not a quest?” Teagan suspected.

“He nearly lost his leg!” Tess cried out.

Alistair tenderly shushed her with a few quick swipes on her face. “Shhh, Love, I have this. Don’t worry about them,” he whispered. She winced against him though her whispers were clouded by Eamon.

“You may not become king already married to her, Alistair. Her very behavior causes her to forfeit the throne, she represents crumbling under pressure, resulting in spontaneous rash decisions. She is not the example Fereldan needs to give to our neighboring countries.”

“That’s bullshit, Eamon!” she spun from Alistair’s grasp before he could stop her. “I was the _only_ person trying to raise Fereldan from the flames before she got hot, and now, thanks to people like you who’d rather blame _me_ for the actions of someone else, Fereldan burns! I can’t start fires this big, and Alistair was to be my greatest attempt to patch the holes I created all those years ago! I am _not_ the problem anymore! _Loghain_ has been the problem! He was the _reason_ I even did all that! _He contracted_ me to do all that! I am _not_ that stupid little girl anymore! You _can’t_ keep _blaming_ me!” she was losing control quickly. The circles weren’t seeming to make any difference either.

“Tess, come on, let’s go.” But Alistair was ignored in the heat of the argument.

“Tesslyn, you are needed to speak at the Landsmeet. As Teyrna, you are a far different force. The people of Highever will be loyal to you because they were taken care of by your father. It is _your job_ now to continue his work. Highever needs to continue on, and with Fergus missing, you _must_ step up. You can carry the weight of your people to the Landsmeet to pronounce Alistair King. You can still put him on the throne,” Eamon told her.

“I can’t. I can’t just... _leave._ You don’t know what you’re asking me,” her voice lowered like she was trying to hold back tears and her head jerked

Pressing harder circles into her hand, Alistair said, “If she can’t be trusted as Queen, then there’s no need for her to go to the Landsmeet.”

“Queen is not the same as Teyrna, Alistair,” Eamon insisted.

“But she would be responsible for a large amount of people either way, so I’m failing to see the difference.”

“I know this is hard to hear, especially since you don’t realize the gravity of her past on her present ability to govern herself -”

 _“No!”_ Tess hissed. “No, I’m _not_ like that! With him, I’m _different!_ You can’t just throw me out like this!”

 _Circles weren’t working,_ no matter how hard or soft he pressed, how vast or tight the loops.  

“Tesslyn, you lack self-control,” Eamon said, though he softened his tone. “Your past shows you would be a threat to the throne, and only until you can prove to the Landsmeet over a period of consecutive years will you be allowed back into marrying circles. The Landsmeet will only see the little angry, selfish, spoiled noble girl who stormed out in a flurry of jealousy when Cailan married another woman, who screamed through the castle after Cailan as a child. You were at Lancing manor the night before young Dinea was found with an open neck and missing eyes. You were rumored to visit the Eddlebrek home the night went Sophie wound up dead the same way-”

“That is _not me_ anymore!” she tore herself from Alistair to pace.

“Eamon, you need to stop, now,” Alistair warned.

“This is sufficient evidence to suspect you would only endanger the life of the King and any visiting nobles or emissaries if you shared the throne,” Eamon raised his voice  a notch. “I am sorry, both of you, but Alistair you have _no_ idea what you think you are in store for. Tesslyn is unstable -”

“Stop it!” she yelled.

“Tess,” Alistair reached for her, but she paced away, hands twitching at her belly in squeamish fits.

“She is violent -” the Arl continued.

“You’re lucky I don’t have my weapon on me, Eamon!” she cursed at him.

“Eamon, _enough_ ,” Alistair tried to press.

“Threats and cursing are not what Fereldan will place in charge of future Arls and Teyrns. Her vote will be respected out of acknowledgment for her late father’s loyalty to the throne, but I will be forced to keep her at my side even in court, until we leave. Until the Landsmeet convenes, Alistair, you are free to take your party to continue your quest.”

“No, no, no! You _can’t take_ him from me!” Teagan caught Tess before Alistair could. She struggled violently to reach the bed-ridden Arl, her words jumbling together in desperate threats, Eamon _can’t take him_ , tearless sobs of _needing him_. Teagan passed her to Alistair, who could only think _months of progress, gone._ Months of conditioning her to calm at a simple sweep of his finger, _gone. Tess_ _gone._

Alistair wheeled Tess away by the shoulders. He glared at Teagan while he led her from the room Eamon’s voice trailing after him about _this is a perfect example_ . “Shut him up, Teagan. I don’t care _how,_ just do it!”

She crumpled to the floor in a shattered sob as soon as they were in the hall, shallow breath leaping her shoulders with each gasp. _Damn these nobles._ Alistair bent to pick her up. She clung to him not in fear of being dropped, but fear he would disappear if she let go. Her tears soaked his shirt so fast he could feel trickling down from his collar. He walked swift, assuring her he had her, not stopping until they were back in her quarters.

He set her down to close and lock the door, and he leaned against it with a sigh. “Love...” he pulled her back in his arms and held her as tight as he could. She clung so tight she pinched and dug into his skin, fright and pleas rapidly colliding into _don’t let them take me_ and _don’t leave me here_ and _please Alistair!_

Nothing broke him more than hearing her _beg_ him to save her.

This wasn’t even a time he could cry with her, either, she needed him to be _calm_ and _safe._ Moments went by of stroking her hair, tenderly shushing between resting his lips on her head, trying to sneak in the rune and spirals while she cringed and grabbed and tried to hide - _Maker, she was_ hiding _in him -_ before she was calm enough to hear _just breathe with me._

Eamon did not understand what he’d done to her. And if he did, Alistair would make sure he’d never be able to again.

“Please don’t let him take me, Alistair!” even as her voice lost strength.

“No one will take you, _I promise,”_ he told her. “I’m between you and the door, anyone who wants to try has to get through me first. I’m right here, love, I promise. I’m not leaving you, you’re not leaving me.” he pushed her head back to see her face. “What do you need, Tess?” he asked softly. Her cheeks were nearly raw, already shining from grinding in salty tears at his form. “Would you like a bath? Would that help? Hot water, all to yourself. I’ll wash your hair, and you can just lie back.” She shook her head, lip still quivering. “What, then, Tess? We need to get you calmed down, love. Circles aren’t working right now, and I’m sorry. We need to find something else for now. Can you help me with that?” her eyes shifted as she tried to gather thoughts, but he could see she was beyond thinking for herself right now. “What about rocking? I could just sit and hold you, and rock you until you fall asleep? Sitting warm together in front of the fire. Would you like me to sing? Or read?” so gone she didn’t know what she needed. “What, love?” he whispered. He brushed her face, pursing his lips to kiss her to avoid tickling with his whiskers. What else was there here? Dance? Write? Smells? “Do you want to lie in my lap?” he asked. “I’ll take off my clothes and you can just lie there until you fall asleep?” a pause in her eyes and breathing before she met his eyes; _this_. She wanted this, his smell. He nodded. “All right.”

He pressed a puckered kiss to her forehead and led her to bed. He threw back the covers, steadied her as she sat, promised _I more than love you,_ and she choked out the same. He watched her as he undressed. Her shoulders and chest shook in uneven jumps as she tried to calm through deep breaths. Tiny streams of tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. He pulled a spare quilt around his back when he reclined against the wall, and he tucked the main covers around her as she settled in. She always folded herself up to fit perfectly between each curve of his legs.

Her tears were cool as they dripped through his curls to his skin. He traced on her cheek while she breathed him in, watching her chest jerk every few breaths. She’d spent plenty of time inhaling his skin before, his neck, his arm, his chest, wherever she nestled. His groin must have either a different or stronger scent, or perhaps it was the sense of _togetherness;_ that alone was a calming thought. She was asleep before he thought she would be.

He almost wished Eamon had seen all this. He wished the people who intentionally caused her to lock up in fits of fear and helplessness saw just how they affected her and what it took to calm her down. He wanted Eamon to know what he was capable of when it came to Tess, that he alone could save her. It wasn’t just silly puppy love, they _needed_ each other.  

He would simply make sure Eamon never tried that again.

After Tess fell into her tiny snores, Alistair slowly wedged out from underneath her, carefully replacing himself with the quilt he’d leaned against and pillows. She was tucked in around every nook and bend, as secure as he could envelope her, before he bothered to dress. Po whined from the other side of the door, and when Alistair let him in, he whispered for the mabari to lay at her side on the bed, _keep her warm, keep her safe._ Alistair scribbled a quick note on the stationary at her vanity, _I’m only downstairs, I’ll be up soon_ and left it on the night stand closest to her head. He stoked the fire and added a log, then closed the heavy door as quietly as he could on his way out. He quietly told a servant carrying linens not to bother Tess, she needed rest; and then down the spiral staircase.

Arl Eamon was not in his chambers. _Good. He’s well enough to be up an about, he’s well enough to chat._ He found the brothers in the Arl’s study, door wide open to reveal Teagan pacing the room and the Arl at his desk; he contemplated informing the old man he and Tess had tested the desk’s sturdiness.

“Arl Eamon,” Alistair called out as he made his way down the hall. Teagan gave a double-take as Alistair closed the door behind him.

“Is this where I have to tell you I prefer women, Alistair?” Teagan teased. Alistair smirked at the Bann.

“Is there something I can help you with, young Alistair?” the old Arl said.

“Yes,” he said adamantly. “Eamon, I understand this is your house,” he began. This drew Teagan’s attention as well. “but let me set one thing straight. _Never_ do that to Tess _again_ .” He stood right in front of the desk, forcing the Arl to strain to look up at him. “I don’t care who you are or who you think you are, _no one_ gets to antagonize her like you did. I’m sure you heard the mess of tears she was outside of your chambers earlier. _You don’t get to do that._ Not again, not ever, not you, not Teagan, not any other _noble_.” he looked Eamon in both eyes.

“What I did was not intentionally cruel, Alistair. You both had to be informed of what _will_ occur at the Landsmeet should you announce her as Queen.”

“It is most certainly intentional when you see her escalate from _calm and giggling_ to _shaking and shouting_ in a matter of minutes. It’s not like you couldn’t help yourself. I have been working for _months_ to help her learn to calm herself when little hiccups occurs. What you did was condescending. You don’t get to _look_ for ways to keep her as a tool to use when it suits you -” _Maker, isn’t that what Tess did with him at first?_ Alistair _really_ hated the way nobles were raised to act. “She is _so_ much more than that. I don’t see you treating Teagan this way, and I have _no_ memory of you speaking to Isolde like that. _No one_ gets to push my wife over the edge! You don’t get to throw out memories that push her into hysteria so severe she _can’t be calmed!_

“It doesn’t matter if you think you’re doing the right thing - you’re _not_ , by the way," he continued, "in case you haven’t noticed! You don’t know what she’s been through to become the woman she was when we walked in here; you don’t know what’s she’s been through her whole life behind closed doors when Loghain tried to pretend nothing was wrong...or... _do_ you?” his tone dropped to mirror the suspicion in his mind. “You knew what _Isolde_ did to _me_ and yet you let it happen...even though you knew I was small and defenseless and needed a family, needed _help._ But creating an heir was more important to you, I recognize that now. Is that what happened with Tess? Did you know what was going on? _Did you_ know, but turned your back to save your title? _Did you know and not help her?”_ Alistair observed the Arl’s reaction to the chill in his voice: Eamon didn’t seem to want to look at him. Out of guilt perhaps? Or did he not expect Alistair to stand up for himself, for another? “And now you think yourself above her, trying to use memories against her to get her back down from being Queen, things that she had no control over, products of manipulation and torture - things an _Arl could_ have had control over. Why are you so willing to throw her to the wolves in the blink of an eye? Maybe you’d prefer the Landsmeet turn her into _hogslop?”_ Teagan stepped back even further when Alistair approached the Arl at his desk. “If you separate us, you are throwing her _right_ back to Loghain. Where she goes is _not_ your decision to make. She does not answer to you _,_ nor the rest of Fereldan, she answers to _me._ She _belongs_ to _me-_ ”

“Alistair, your reaction alone to a noble’s decision to keep a chaotic unknown away from the throne will not bode well in Denerim. Perhaps you haven’t been listening, perhaps you’ve let yourself be misguided by poor Tesslyn, but I just can’t endorse this. Teyrna or not, the nobles know of her rash sudden decisions, she has a reputation from here to The Donarks, to Par Vollen and back. _She is manipulative._ She panics when her plans fail and she _kills._ She stormed out of Cailan and Anora’s wedding because _she_ wasn’t made Queen; people _still_ talk about this. She is unstable and acts upon personal greed in the blink of an eye. The Landsmeet will _never_ risk the possibility of treason,” Eamon argued, a cool head like Teagan had had in the face of Isolde’s desperateness.

“You’re kind of running on thin ice in the face of treason, aren’t you, Eamon?” Alistair just stared. “You let your own wife treat an heir to the throne like a rebellious slave-” Eamon opened his mouth, but Alistair continued before the Arl could speak: “Bastard or no, the Landsmeet would have searched for another possible heir with both Maric and Cailan’s death. Blood triumphs over status every time; it’s the same principle that says you have to hand Connor over to the Circle as soon as Kinloch is back in order, _his mage blood trumps nobility_. You let your _Orlesian_ wife hire a _malefecar_ right underneath your nose; I have learned a lot about a man’s responsibilities at the side of a woman, and her actions will always be seen as _your fault._ You know Fereldan politics enough, Eamon, you can’t fool me. You can’t allow open treason in your own house and then try to prevent someone from becoming Queen for a _mere possibility._ If that’s the case, then _everyone_ in the Landsmeet is already guilty, because _everyone_ is capable of betrayal and murder. There’s not a damn thing you can do to take her away, _I will not allow it._ I would burn down a _thousand_ buildings if it means keeping Tess at my side, and I sincerely hope you don’t intend to challenge that. It will not bode well for Fereldan. I need to know, _do you_ intend to put me on the throne?” though the Arl wasn’t looking, Alistair never broke the stare.

“There are no other claims, Alistair. It’s either you or Loghain. I’d rather _not_ spent my last few years bowing down to the man who tried to kill me,” Eamon said.

“If you intend to make me King, you will do as I say. I may not know the _ridiculous_ details of Fereldan’s court, but I have a damn good reason to be the best King this country has seen.” Alistair pointed up toward the direction of Tess’ quarters. “If you don't want me on the throne, _fine_ , do what you want, I don’t care; it’s not about _where_ I end up but what I can do with the rest of my time with her. Future royalty or not, we are both still Grey Warden. Without her I would have died in Haven, our companions split our mission failed, just to try to wake _you_ up so we _could_ gather resources unchecked for the Blight. Without me, she falls. I’m not saying this to be vain, I’m not _bragging_ , it’s just something that _is._ I alone know how to comfort her, and in return her presence keeps me focused on her safety. You want her to be a good little noble and take care of the people? Then stop insisting she question herself.

“She is a Grey Warden, and only a Grey Warden can stop the Blight. I will not make her do this alone, and you will _not_ take her from me to make _me_ do it alone. Don't you _dare_ try to take her away. If you don’t want me to be your King, _great_ , that’s _splendid_ , stop the games, stop procrastinating so we can end the Blight, and Tess comes with me all the same. But if you _do_ want me on the throne, then you will sit back and be a good little Arl. You will _accept_ my marriage to Tess and know there’s nothing you can do about it; _she_ goes where _I_ go. _Regardless_ of the Landsmeet, there is _still_ a Blight and I _do_ intend to stop that, _with Tess_ . I will _do_ what _I_ think is necessary to keep her safe, I will protect her at _all_ costs, even from you, old man. I might add this is in the _best interest_ for Fereldan, for in by making sure everything is safe for _her_ , the entire country remains safe.” Alistair hoped his point got across.

Teagan had stopped pacing behind Eamon. He caught Alistair’s eye with a raised brow and a slight bow, while Eamon sighed. “I hope you know I saw that, brother,” Eamon croaked.

“Of course you did. You wouldn’t be my elder brother if I failed to sneak things by you,” Teagan joked.

“You support this? Truly? Tesslyn included?” Eamon asked.

“It was never the plan to put Tesslyn on the throne -”

“Plan?” Eamon craned his neck.

“Yes, brother. We have no difficulties playing up our utter annoyance with each other in front of others.” this was Noble Teagan. Alistair hadn’t seen this side of him yet. “She has been in Orlais for the past five years gaining the trust and support of Empress Celene. Ever since Cailan married Anora, tying Loghain to the throne, it has always been the goal to bring Alistair in when the time was right. Unfortunately things didn’t go quite as planned. We did not expect Rendon to kill Bryce and Eleanor, nor did we plan on Tesslyn being Conscripted...nor on Alistair also being a Grey Warden. But by...startling providence, I believe that what we are doing is the right thing. The death of her parents hands the title down to her, she is now the most important woman in Fereldan; no one can deny her orders with Cailan gone. As unfortunate as the deaths of Bryce and Eleanor are, it placed Tesslyn directly into the hands of Alistair. _Literally._ I have seen the lengths he will go to prevent trouble for her. And she is... _different_ with him, she truly is. Alistair has a remarkable affect on her. Each time they return, I find she has softened more and more. And considering what frightened her tonight was being separated from him, she may actually love him. Had she loved Cailan, he’d still be alive and Loghain in pieces trailing from Ostagar to the center of Denerim’s market. She will protect Alistair.” He paused. “Alone, brother, Alistair doesn’t stand a chance. He is too much like his father and brother. But with Tesslyn, he is capable of great, and impactful feats.”

Eamon was silent as Teagan sat against the edge of the desk. Alistair wasn’t about to question this in front of Eamon, but he’d been oblivious how far this idea of making him King had or still stretched. Teagan made it seem like direct work of the Maker Himself and Tess had said the same thing before they reached Lothering. _She’d been ready to give it all up, and then the Maker delivered her right to Alistair._ Was this really grander than the world itself? They both really believed this?

Alistair wasn’t backing down either way. “If you absolutely want me on the throne, you’ll have to settle the bounty yourself. If Tess and I don’t end this Blight, there will be no throne for anyone to compete over.” He softened his tone, “Tess needs time to rest. I cannot ask her to suddenly face rough terrain in the morning after what just happened, and we still need to go to Orzammar and find the Dalish. How about in good faith for both you and I to find the end we’re aiming for, you teach me what you should have taught me growing up? I need to know silly fine-line details of politics from Cailan and Maric’s point of view. You could do that much for Tess.”

Eamon sighed. “I’m not sure if the Chantry changed you or if she did. The little boy who grew up here -”

“Who grew up in your _stables,_ you mean,” Alistair reminded him. “Did you know I still hate that smell?”

The old man took a moment, closing his eyes in another, silent sigh. “Just don’t forget who you once were, Alistair. Listen to your heart now and then.” he sighed once more and leaned back. “Very well. Whenever you stop to rest, I shall do my best to teach you Fereldan court.”

“And no more refuting Tess,” Alistair added. “I will not have all this time trying to help her _wasted_ by your love for a large home and a fancy title. She has healed and grown tremendously, and she _wants_ to be. I will not tolerate abuse toward her of any kind, no matter where she and I end up. You _will respect_ her.”

“Tesslyn will be respected,” Eamon agreed.

“Good. I’m glad we had this chance to talk. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to return to my wife before she wakes up in fright that someone _actually has_ taken me from her.” Alistair turned to open the door. “Teagan, don’t go to bed early. I need a drink later.”

Tess was sitting in front of the fire when Alistair returned to her quarters. She was wrapped in a blanket on the rug and did not look up when Alistair entered the room and closed the door behind him.

“He’s right,” she said gravely.

“About what, love?” he locked the door and went to her.

“The Landsmeet won’t trust me. I’ve had...too much blood on my hands.”

He settled in next to her, his back to the fire so he could see her face. “I don’t believe that. If the Landsmeet can trust you as a Teyrna, they can trust you as Queen.”  

She shook her head. “They don’t see it that way. As Teyrna, I’m just...holding my father’s title. He hasn’t been dead long enough for me to be able to rise or fall above his leadership. I’ll only be speaking for my parents. Even if Fergus were here, they’d try to use me against him. Even if they forgive my past choices...I killed an Arlessa. And Connor...I _killed_ his _mother_ . Look what that’s done to him. Eamon won’t tell anyone he’s a mage, eventually he’ll be secretly sent off and claimed as _dead_ or something, but for now Eamon will use Isolde and Connor against me.” she frowned in worry and rocked, and Alistair slid open to her. She clung to him when he cradled her. “They’ll keep you in Denerim, and I’ll...” her breath caught before a gasp and wet drops to his arm. “I have to go back to Highever...and try to... _alone_...”

“No, no, no,” he shushed quietly. He held her tight to his chest and slowly swayed. “No one will take you away, Tess. I promise that will never happen. Either you stay with me, or I go with you. No one separates us.”

“They’ll try. They’ll keep trying until they win. Who-who wants someone who killed their daughters helping the King run the-run the country? Who will let _me_ sleep in the same building as the _king?_ N-nothing will matter. Even if we can stop this B-blight before we ever get to Denerim, I will still be that evil, sp-spoiled, little renegade!”

He tilted his head to better see her face. The glow from the fire reflected dejection, despair. “Tess, that’s _wrong._ If you were really the woman he said, you couldn’t have brought me back.” he gently tilted her head. “Without you, I would have died. I was _ready to die_ , Tess, I just didn’t have the guts to do it myself. I was going to hobble around clutching your portrait until bandits or nature took me. _You stopped_ that. _You_ gave me strength and reason to keep trying. Watching you when I can’t take your hand quick enough, I know you leapt high above yourself to take care of me. You’ve done this since we met, do you remember? The tower at Ostagar, with the Ogre. Every time you think your dog might die. Flemeth, even. _Me_ . You have an incredible ability to evoke _might_ and focus and a clear mind from _absolutely nothing_ when something important to you is in danger. I would not be here right now if you hadn’t summoned the hero that hides in the back of your mind. _That hero_ is the woman you are, _not_ the volatile little spoiled noble Eamon wants you to remain. _That_ person only helps _him_ , he’s after a young voice that can carry on after he’s gone, and he knows you can and will play the High Airs Noble. He can’t rely on his brother for that so he’s using you; Teagan is _too_ rebel to continue on in Eamon’s footsteps. But a common noble is not what we need right now.

“What I have _always seen in you_ is that hero you try to hide. You have _always_ been her.” he feathered his fingers down the contours of her face, and her eyes finally rolled up to his. “Just like the old tales of knights and fantastic heroes. Tesslyn the Brave,” he searched her face as he brushed, “Mighty She, the Dragonslayer, the Tempest, the Eye of the Storm and the Storm Herself. The Hero of Fereldan.” he plucked her bottom lip when his fingers rested at her chin. “So beautiful whole families of Kings fall all over her,” only partly teasing. She didn’t smile like he was hoping for. “I can’t do this alone, Tess. Even this strange herd we’ve collected means nothing without you. _I need you_ to help me. _You_ are my strength, you inspire me to strive for greater things. You are _my_ Hero.”

“But if the Landsmeet agrees with him -”

“I dare every single noble and their entire house of servants to try to take you from me,” he said. “I will drop them all instant and stick them before they find their feet again. Eamon can handle the nobles by himself. _You and I_ have a Blight to end. I hate that it’s come down to only us and no one else, but this just how it is right now. King or no, I will never leave you. No one will take you, no one will take me. I will stop the Blight because I don’t want you to live in such darkness, but I need you to help me. I need your _presence_ , and I need your arms, and I need your bravery. Alistair has _never_ been a hero. But Tesslyn was born one.”

Her eyes glossed up again. “You saved _me,”_ she said.

“Because you gave me something _to_ save.”

“I don’t know how to save anybody.”

He searched her face, thumbing off the tiny distinct tear drops that dropped heavier than the stream down her face. “You save me every day, Tess,” he let her know. “I wake up knowing it’s okay to breathe, because you’re right there.” Her eyes slid between his as he stared. “You’re always there at the end of my arm, letting me know it’s okay to keep walking. You’re always there when the sun goes down and I feel cold. _You_ took care of me when I couldn’t walk. You reminded me life was worth living when I saw _no_ reason for it. That is _absolutely_ saving me.”

“What happens, though? If they say you can’t be king with me?” she asked.

He thought for a moment. “Would that really be so bad? There are plenty places for us to go. We could go find some nice land near the ocean, like in Fade...” her eyes darted on his. He wove his fingers in her hair. “We could do that. Just our own little corner of the world. No neighbors, just us. I’ll build you a strong house to keep out the wind and rain...and a lovely little balcony to sit on with our morning tea...” his eyes trailed down her face to the burn scar that traced her left shoulder and the side of her neck. “Nothing there to possibly hurt you,” he promised. He bent closer to kiss her scar and her fingers tightened around him. “And upstairs, I think I’ll build another bed. A big one.” she searched his eyes wilder. “That way, when we get you fixed up inside and cure ourselves of this Taint, we have somewhere for our girls to sleep...” her eyes watered up again. He cupped her face and gently laced his lips with hers. “Eleonora and Carlyn,” he remembered perfectly; another kiss, “and a few boys. As many babies as we can handle. And every morning, before the children wake up, I’ll caress you and tickle you with my beard and make love to you, and I’ll try not scream so I won’t wake the kids,” he joked. She choked out a laugh that broke through her tears, and he smiled with another kiss. “And every night, I’ll draw a steaming bath and rinse all the cares of the day away. And then make love to you again.”

“Do you -” she took a deep breath and wiped her face with her hand. “Do you think we won’t be able to have that if you...if you’re king?” she asked.

“I absolutely think we can have that if I’m king. In fact, we’ll have enough resources to send others to look for a cure for the Taint. And, you’ll be in charge of them. My new Warden Commander.”

She groaned. “No, no, Alistair, I draw the line there.” he chuckled, watching her shake her head. “I can’t be the new Warden Commander. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do _now,_ let alone take charge, especially if they let me be Queen. I mean...well, what would Sten say?” she asked.

He paused to think. _“She should be making cookies,_ ” he did his best impersonation of their Qunari friend. She giggled into him, and he squeezed her tight with another kiss. “It doesn’t matter where we end up, Tess. They won’t separate us, I promise. Whether we live in the castle in Denerim or a private little cabin on our own beach, we will be together and heal you up and get rid of our Taint and have lots of babies. Wherever we are, I promise. You and me together,” he kissed her head. “until the end of our days.”

She was quiet for a moment, simply holding on to him while he gently rocked. “What if we can’t stop the Blight?”

“We don’t have a choice, Tess. I’m not willing to risk either of living without the other. We’ll find a way to end it. Then we can choose our new home and _really live_ together.” He paused again, and she flinched a little when she felt him smile against her. “And before we kill the Archdemon, I want you to hire a painter. When _I_ kill the Archdemon, actually,” he played. “I want a portrait of me standing on the dragon’s head.” she giggled into his chest; he hummed another kiss. “Together, then?” he prompted. You and me ending the Blight together?”

She breathed deeply in his hold and nodded. “Okay. Together.”

 

 

“Are you honestly married?”

“I believe so.”

“You believe so. How is there doubt?” Teagan asked.

“There is none. We said our vows in front of Andraste herself without catching on fire. I believe it’s real.” Alistair sipped his brandy as he stared up at the moons in the night sky. It was strange to know there could be marvels like each star, each constellation, things that seemed so pure and unplagued by things like politics and the Taint and filth could exist literally right above the mess of the aforementioned problems without being affected in the slightest.

“A Revered Mother may not see it like that,” he warned.

“They can kiss my ass.” Teagan choked, and Alistair smirked into his drink. “She is my wife, and our vows were accepted by the Maker, I know this. She is absolutely my wife.”

“So Haven wasn’t just a honeymoon then?” Teagan asked. Alistair paused too long, and Teagan muttered a laugh with a shake of his head. “I hope one day soon I’ll stop asking accidental promiscuous questions.”

“What kind of sort-of uncle would you be if we didn’t peck at each other while my wife slept?” Alistair joked.

“I never spoke like this with Cailan.”

“He did seem they shy type,” he grinned.

“I’m honestly amazed the Maker isn’t smiting you right now,” Teagan said through a long sip. Alistair laughed loudly. “So tell me about this axe, sort-of nephew? The elf said you almost lost your leg.”

“Are you asking me to take off my pants, Teagan?” he said with a straight face.

Alistair laughed when Teagan sprayed rum a good few feet out in front of him. “Maker forgive me for helping this boy get to the Crown.” Alistair grinned, refilling his glass. “Regardless of your attempts to lure me into your pants, I’m glad to see you recovered. The elf said you took a rough turn. I can’t imagine what’s that like to go through.”

Alistair thought for a while, silently sipping Eamon’s ridiculously bitter strong drink. “Have you heard any news of her brother?”

“Of Fergus? Not yet. Should I have? Have you heard from him?”

“No. But we could use him, sooner or later. He spent a good deal of time with Cailan at Ostagar. He may have information we don’t.”

“You want me to send out notices?”

“No, that’s too obvious...” he tapped his foot while he thought. Then he raised his eyes to Teagan’s. “Do you have men to send out?”

“I do. I could send out my personal guard. I’ll be staying here until Eamon recovers anyway.”

“Good.” he swallowed another swig. “Send out only a couple. Inconspicuous scouts. If he’s injured, tend to him. If he’s well, just follow him. And tell no one except me.” He tossed back the rest of his drink with a violent shiver and pinched face.

“Are you ever going to learn not to shoot this drink?” Teagan teased.

“Nope! Now, if you’ll forgive me, I’m leaving you. I’m going to wake up my wife. One way or the other.”

Teagan nearly snorted. “You’ll want to learn to censor yourself for court, Alistair.”

He grinned. “You are not the court, Teagan, you are my wife’s cousin and my favorite Arl. Consider this a perk.”

Teagan laughed softly. “The Maker has blessed me indeed,” he joked back. Alistair gave him a tipsy smile before disappearing into the dull stone castle. Teagan would definitely be worth keeping.

 

 

Eamon kept to his word. He started that next day with a lesson on basic King behaviors; composure, articulation, proper titles. When Alistair told him he couldn’t remember so much information at once, Eamon gave him a pile of books to read; if Alistair wanted to be king, he’d have to memorize how to be so, down to the smallest detail. Teagan fully-stocked again with as many blankets and tarps and firewood as they might possibly use. The Bann clearly supported the new King.

Teagan bid them _good luck_ at the gate. “It’s good to see you’re acting like a king, Alistair. I’d hate to reach the end of this to find you with your bare ass in the air. I can’t possibly imagine that could be good for the Palace. Formalities and all.”

Alistair grinned. “Don’t worry, Teagan, the only one who gets to see my bare ass in the air is Tess.” He turned to his Warden in query, “Speaking of which -”

“Let me guess, you want me to walk around the rest of Fereldan with my hand shoved down the back of your trousers and my angry finger hidden from the sun.”

Alistair couldn’t stop the giggle fast enough, giddy from just the thought of such _constant pleasure. “Maker,_ that would... _amazing...!”_ he bit back another laugh with a grin to Tess. “I promise, it’ll stay warm.”

Teagan smirked like he wished he wasn’t amused. “Between this and the beard, I think I’m done. You’ll forgive me for not seeing you out. I need to go lose my breakfast.”


	36. Like a Fairytale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grey Wardens' party reaches the Dalish camp at the verge of the Brecilian forest, and Alistair is mesmerized by the mysteries of the elves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood music:  
> [Voyage Dans La Lune, by Jo Blankenburg](https://youtu.be/w9Gbw7w4G7g)

Lothering was lost to the Darkspawn. There seemed little option for approaching the Brecilian Forest, where word amongst traveling guard and a courier placed elven scouts. If Alistair’s party took the smoother trail of the northern highway, they would lose almost seven days, compared to hoping the straighter shot between the farmlands of Fereldan’s center was easy enough to get them there in maybe four days. Ultimately Alistair decided to risk between farmlands; worst-case scenario, they’d run into wild animals or Tess would have to play her _Noble_ act. They would be unseen from the road for most of the journey, and have a good deal of privacy even at night with their campfires aglow.

The days were shortening and growing colder. Autumn settled in with a nighttime chill that had everyone doubling up furs over and in their tents and huddling closer together around a single bonfire. Even Alistair made his and Tess’ camp closer to the others. The two wagons positioned just right kept out wind, and though Alistair still didn’t like the goats, their cluster of hairy bodies added a bit of warmth from the cold fields.

Zevran began babbling as they neared the road with the Brecilian in view. Grand oaks tall enough to overshadow each other could be seen almost a day away on foot, and the elf would not, or could not shut his mouth for even food. As they crossed the road, Alistair picked out words like _mother_ and _Dalish_ and something about _not since_ he _was a child._

“Zevran, are you _nervous?”_ Alistair laughed.

“I - _no,_ I never get nervous. Why? Am I sweating?” the elf asked rapidly.

“You’ve only been rambling for the past few hours. You sound pretty nervous to me.”

“You don’t need to be nervous, Zevran. My family has had elven servants for generations. Elves are a decent bunch,” Tess said.

“Servants were decent. How reassuring,” Zevran mused sarcastically.

“My family has always treated them kindly, they were never slaves. We don’t have an Alienage in Highever. The elves generally flocked together anyway, but where the majority of them lived was just another district.”

“I’m sure the free Dalish will feel the same way,” still wry. “Elves are very different outside the city.”

“You’re an elf outside the city,”

“And here I am, sworn to aid Grey Wardens in stopping a Blight.”

“Did you not sleep last night, Zevran?” Alistair chuckled.

“Point taken, little man. Still,” Tess added, “I guarantee they won’t be trouble. Nothing to worry about.”

Despite how Alistair believed her, the elves who greeted them were not like the ones Tess had described. Scouts, and good ones judging by the way Po hadn’t even picked up their scent prior to their sudden jumping out. Three of them with scowling faces.

“Turn around,” a female elf stated firmly, standing with two others to conveniently blocked the party’s path.

“You were saying?” Zevran said flatly to Tess.

“Why?” Tess asked. “Are you part of the Dalish clan that was seen around here?”

“You are not one of the Dalish, therefore you are not welcome. Turn around.”

“I will _not._ ” Tess frowned. “I need to see your clan leader.”

“Shemlen don’t deserve to see the clan leader. We are not stupid, we know what humans intend for our kind. We will not risk an incident, however minuscule,” the she-elf said.

“The Dalish have an obligation to us-”

“The Dalish owe nothing to shemlens. You’ve taken more than enough from our people as it is. If you do not turn back, you will pushed back with force.”

“Try me and see what happens,” Tess retaliated. “You have to let us through.”

“We don’t have to let you do anything, shem. _You’re_ invading _our_ camp. This is your final warning. You’d better be gone when I look this way again.” the she-elf turned her back and walked, leaving Tess standing agape.

“Hm. Yes, I see it now. _Decent,_ ” Zevran said dryly.

Tess scoffed. _“What_ is _wrong_ with them?”  

“City elves are very different. I tried to tell you this,” Zevran shook his head.

“They _can’t_ just _deny_ us!” she might as well have been slapped “When did elves lose their sense of courtesy!” she hissed, then growled. _“Ooh!”_ she stomped off toward the she-elf.

“Be ready, Zevran,” Alistair said, staying behind. Tess was worked up enough, she could do immediate damage if it came to that, but only three scouts out of an entire clan was an unlikely hope. 

“Listen here, you _skiving_ little _forest rat!”_ Tess cried softly. Zevran stifled a laugh and groan, and Alistair did the same from behind his hand, though amused where Zevran wore dread.

“What did you call me?” the she-elf whirled back around.

“You’ve got a bloody contract to fulfill and you’re going to sodding do it whether you like it or not! Now take me to your leader and convince the little fluff ball he’d better honor the Grey Warden treaties or he loses his entire clan!”

“Fluff ball,” Alistair said quietly to Zevran. “My wife just called the Dalish Keeper a fluff ball.”

“Let me now say it’s been an honor, before the Keeper arrives and all chance for words are lost,” Zevran joked back, his face still fallen.

“You cannot be a Grey Warden. No Grey Warden would travel with such a herd,” the she-elf gestured to the party.

“She and I are Grey Wardens,” Alistair spoke up, stepping forward to stand with Tess. “The rest of our party are our traveling allies.” The she-elf stood almost two heads shorter than Alistair, even shorter than Tess and Zevran. “The Treaties cannot be ignored. If you have a Keeper, the Treaties demand we speak with him. If you don’t, we have right to remove any possible obstacles that prevent us from stopping the Blight. Since Lothering not so far away has been sacked and burned by Darkspawn, don’t you agree it would be better if you complied? I doubt you’ll live very long when the Darkspawn turn this way.”

The she-elf looked like an angry child glaring up at Alistair. “Very well, you and your party may enter. But if we find you’re lying, you won’t last long either.”

Alistair watched as the she-elf turned and walked away again. He leaned down to kiss his wife. “I _more_ than love you, my dear,” another kiss; she curled up into him under his touch. “And I dare you call the Keeper a fluff ball to her face.” She snorted into the kiss, making him giggle right after he just pulled the _threatening giant_ act.

He waved for the others to follow them, and they trailed behind the moody she-elf while her companions went back into hiding.

Alistair found himself more in awe than he’d prepared for. Though the actual numbers were fewer than he expected, to see so many elves, and _only_ elves in one place was amazing. Stone statues of women towered him ahead, one he recognized as the goddess Sylaise the Hearthkeeper by the flame in her hands, the other Andruil the goddess of the Hunt. Lanterns made from some kind of vine wrapped around and hung from short bare trees, and _aravels._ Alistair had only ever read about aravels, but they were more magnificent than any books described. A mix between wagons and boats, little windows carved into the sides, with leather tarps set up over and around them, turning them into little houses. Carefully formed wood lined specific areas with just as much mystery as the elves themselves held. He saw four...no, seven aravels, as his feet automatically walked him alongside Tess; she was not as moved as he was. He also saw masks he recognized as June the god of Crafts and Elgar’nan the god of Vengence. And all the elves...children, men, women, _families_ it seemed. Alistair towered over all of them, but that didn’t take away his wonder and excitement. He loved to see their ears. He didn’t know why this fascination burned so bright in him. Such a simple difference were elven ears, however it made them seem...holier, maybe,  _pure,_ like they were direct creations of the Maker. He felt like he should be revering them, offering something even to the children to earn their favor and good fortune.

Alistair had never heard it possible for a story come to life before, and yet here it was. It was like his entire study of the Dalish had jumped right out of a book, more vibrant and mystical than anything he could imagine. He almost feared it all a dream, as if he would wake up any moment. They were all so delicate and graceful, even the men; and the families...he heard himself let out heavy breath of esteem, _Maker, they have halla!,_ and two more aravels next to them.  The elves were not spectators observing life as it flows on around them. It seemed they were instead part of the very nature that they’d set up camp in. Even their tents and aravels and statues seemed to belong to the very forest. There was _life_ here, he could practically feel it buzzing around him.

A growl broke his daze, and Alistair looked over to see Po snarling at possibly the tallest elf in camp. The man-elf donned no hair, allowing for his magnificent _vallaslin_ to stand out, dancing up his forehead like a feathering stalk of elfroot on its side lain over an open book, and what looked like crooked branches across his cheeks. _Vallaslin_ had intrigued Alistair since he first read on it, they were _blood writing_ and the Dalish used them to stand apart from humans, visuals reminders to each clan member that their people would never submit to humans and their beliefs again. The few elves he’d seen in the Circle had no _vallaslin_ , city elves did not get tattooed, they already lived by human rules. To see this up close was inspiring.

And then there was Po, still growling like the elf was a thief trying to rob Tess. Alistair failed to see what the mabari did; this man looked just as mystical as the rest of the Dalish camp together, wearing robes with stitching and patterns and colors far more intricate and grand than the Circle made. The man seemed the epitome of a wise sage.

“A hound. As if we don’t have enough problems with dirty mongrels,” the sagely elf scoffed.

Alistair felt like he’d been slapped. _This_ was a peaceful, nature-loving elf? What kind of peaceful creature degraded dogs? And _his_ dog - Po might as well be his. Tess spoke up before Alistair could. “What is with these cheeky elves? _Pardon me,_ elf, but I would have you apologize to my dog.”

“I hate to say I told you so, but - wait, no I don’t. I told you so,” Zevran whispered to Alistair.

“I will not apologize to a mindless hound,” the man spoke to Tess more like Alistair had imagined a wise elf might speak, a soothing, welcoming tone; civil to people, not dogs. “What is the purpose of your visit with such a large caravan?” he asked before Tess could spout off about her dog _not_ being mindless. “If you came to trade, I must ask you to leave. We are not interested in the wares of humans.”

 _“I_ am not a human,” Zevran spoke up.

“Nor I,” Shale grumbled with its usual insulted scoff.

“I myself am far from human, and we have dwarves was well. It is unwise to throw out insults when you have not taken the time to look around,” Sten said with a frown.

“Is it not also unwise to insult a clan’s Keeper?” the bald elf asked, retaining the same calm neutrality for Sten.

“The elves who used to cook my meals and clean my bedpans were _far_ more polite than the only Keeper _I’ve_ met,” Tess purposely drawled. Alistair wasn’t sure what to expect; would the elves attack with such a direct insult to the history of elves serving humans? But if this Keeper was prone to insulting at first meet, didn’t he deserve it?

The Keeper narrowed his eyes at Tess. “We do not intrude upon _your_ home and offer threat and insult, shemlen. If you do not tell me why you have come, I will guarantee you are escorted out.”

“You can’t _escort us out,_ fluffy -”

“Fluffy?” the Keeper echoed as if wondering what in oblivion this kind of insult was.

Tess proceeded as if she hadn’t heard a thing, while Zevran coughed loudly behind Alistair to cover a snigger. “This is a forest of Fereldan, it does not belong to the elves, it belongs to the _humans_ of this country.” the Keeper frowned deeper as Tess went on, “if I really wanted to, I could order you out and you’d have no choice but to obey my word, lest you wish _war_ on this pitiful handful of defenseless elves.”

“Wait! Wait.” Alistair stood between Tess and the Keeper as the bald elf opened his mouth. Maker, this was _nothing_ like what he’d dreamed a Keeper of knowledge and tradition would be like, even before Tess turned to offense as she usually did. “Listen... _Keeper_ , we are Grey Wardens, she and I -”

“Ah.” the Keeper was suddenly clear-faced and neutral again. “You might have simply said that upon our meeting, saved us both a measure of trouble.”

Alistair paused. “With all due respect, you insulted a family member. The mabari is one of us, and another warrior. Would you not try to protect _your_ family?” when the Keeper said nothing, Alistair continued, “Okay, _look_ , there’s a Blight going on, if you happen to be unaware -”

“And you come calling on us to honor your Treaties? Yes, I am familiar with this,” the longer he spoke when unprovoked or not startled, the easier it was for Alistair to fall back into awe of the mystical aura of the camp. “Unfortunately I cannot offer aid at this time. As you can see we have very limited warriors, and sending any with you would leave us unprotected. We have too many untrained children to allow their independence quite yet.”

Tess took a deep breath, and she placed Alistair’s fingers over her right hand as she stepped up beside him. “I... _apologize_ , Keeper,” she breathed noisily again. “I am...working on my temper.” This was a tremendous step for her, her pride was not easily stuffed aside; Alistair felt her efforts deserved some sort of reward, perhaps that night.

The Keeper hesitated, eyeing Tess cautiously as well as the circles Alistair drew on her hand. “An apology is...unexpected, and acknowledged. As am I, my own patience and nerves expended...which brings me to the reason I cannot honor your Treaty, Grey Wardens...” he trailed off.

“Let me guess, you have problems of your own and you need help solving them?” Alistair predicted.

“I would not outright ask outsiders help, let alone humans, however...” the Keeper enticed them with a story of werewolves attacking the clan. He spun the tale so passionately, showing Alistair and Tess around the victims of the attacks, told about a curse so old most the elves present in camp weren’t old enough to remember, and Alistair was quickly caught up in the mystique of the Dalish once more. It was back to the fairy tale, now with a new chapter on werewolves and ancient curses. Alistair marveled like a small boy eager for a mighty adventure all over again. Despite the obvious dangers of crossing werewolves, Alistair found himself agreeing to hunt and slay a white wolf to end the curse that haunted this Dalish clan; this was the only way for him to be a part of a great elven story passed down to future generations.

The Keeper, Zathrian, permitted them to talk to the clan for trade or lore. As long as they kept their arms sheathed, they were welcome to make camp and rest until the elves could be saved to honor the Treaty. Alistair was still trying to absorb as many details of these elvish surroundings long moments after the Keeper excused himself to meditate. Alistair felt he could easily overlook the human-like prejudices of the scouts and Keeper within this new wonderland. There were simply too many fantastic things to study, to touch, to listen to.

Tess was hardly amazed, Alistair didn’t fail to notice. He let her guide him toward the small, enclosed herd of halla. Only when they were out of sight from the Keeper did she stop and sigh in relief. Alistair couldn’t help but laugh; he knew her quick switch to temperance had been too easy.

“All right, what is it you’re trying to get out of him?” he asked, standing in front of her as she leaned back against a weathered stone pillar. She tried to play puzzled, but he laughed quietly with a grin. “The _last_ time you yielded so quickly was when we picked up Zevran. So what is it you want from this Keeper?” he was far from upset, instead amused and anxious to know what her mind was brewing.

She gave a nod toward the halla. “I’m bloody _starving!”_ she whispered. Alistair couldn’t help his laugh.

“You suckered up to him so he won’t get mad when you eat one of his halla?” he giggled hard.

“Roasted, if I recall correctly,” Morrigan smirked, looked over at the white stag-like beasts. “Garnished in dill and elfroot, yes? I see plenty of wild elfroot about.”

“What?” Zevran did a double-take at them, his face etched in horror. “You’re _not really_ going to _kill a halla_ , are you?”

“I’m hungry, and they look very tasty,” Tess stepped away from the pillar.

 _“What? No! Are you mad? The halla are sacred animals to the Dalish!”_ Zevran hissed.

Tess grabbed Zevran by the shoulders when he stepped in front of her. “Look away, Zevran. _Look away.”_ as she moved around him.

 _“Ohhh no, no, no_ , this is so wrong, mother from oblivion help me!” Zevran rambled. “It is no longer the Crows I must fear, but my own distant foreign relatives!”

“Zevran, stop panicking, I’m just going to look. For now,” Tess laughed.

“Lovely. If you need me, I will be inside my head. Composing my own eulogy,” Zevran said flatly.

“Oh, you whine like every other man. Instead of pouting, you should consider yourself quite lucky,” Morrigan said to Zevran.

“Oh? Being hunted by your own kind is a fantasy of yours, I presume?”

“Morrigan, why are you tagging along with us anyway?” Alistair asked, securing Tess’ hand as he fell in step beside her.

“The same reason the mabari is. Convenient protection. Can you imagine what these Dalish will do to me if they find out who my mother is?”

“Asha’bellanar, that’s right!” Alistair grinned. “Maker, the fun I could have with that...”

“There are many places to hide a toad in these woods, Alistair. Keep that in mind.”

He couldn’t help a chuckle. “Remember these are the _Dalish_ , Morrigan. They’re probably...animal rights activists or something.”

“I’m positive you would simply be _just another toad_ to them. They’d likely not even find you, for your little toad mind would take over and you’d desire nothing more than to leap and burrow in mud all day.” Morrigan seemed to enjoy the image she was seeing in her mind.

 _“I’d_ be able to find him,” Tess spoke up.

“He’d be a _toad_ , Tesslyn. How could you find _one toad?”_

“He’d be the only toad in Thedas with the Taint,” she pointed out. “I’d feel him, I’d feel his Taint. And he doesn’t feel like Darkspawn, so I’d know it was him.” Alistair grinned, proud of his wife. 

“And you’d what, exactly? Carry a toad around all day?”

“Absolutely! I’d take him everywhere with me. And with any luck, he’d be a poisonous toad, so if I have a hard day, simply-” she stood on her toes and noisily licked Alistair’s cheek, and he giggled as she wet near his eye, “and poof! _Now_ it’s a _good_ day!” Alistair couldn’t stop the laughter, couldn’t push the image of Tess holding a little froggy-Alistair and just licking over and over.

There were simply too many wonders to see. Tess kept talk with the keeper of the halla civil so Alistair could pet one. Despite her talk of hunger, starvation was nowhere present in her face as she joined Alistair at particularly friendly young halla. Her eyes sparkled with amazement, and stroking the magnificent white creature put her in a state of happiness he had not seen on her yet, a happiness very different from when Alistair doted on her or when they shared bedtime laughter and cuddling. He saw himself in her then, when he stared out over the lake in Haven the morning after his attempt to escape; she stared at the halla like she had forgotten purity existed in the world. The friendly young halla butted in and nuzzled right up between them when Alistair took a moment to hold Tess in her state of joy.

Alistair and Tess stood with Zevran, Morrigan and Po near the little statue of Fen’harel, after he and Morrigan argued over the true lore of the Dread Wolf. While Alistair was trying to prioritize in his mind, _simple lunch now or venture into the forest to hunt for proper game?_ , he found himself growing distracted. There were so many elves, sitting delicately around fires, or elegantly strolling by...all so beautiful, even the men, he had to admit. The women especially were very easy on the eyes, petite, pretty, perfect curves in perfect places. He couldn’t help comparing Tess to them; while he loved his wife's body to no end, the elves were dainty, small enough to seem like they’d fit perfectly in his large hands. Their breasts hung looser in their clothes than Tess’, and though considerably smaller-bosomed than any female in Alistair's party, the elves’ seemed...was there any other word for _perfect?_ Their narrow waists drew in before narrow hips; he found himself far too attracted to the curve of their bottoms, the shape of their thighs, especially how their inner thighs tapered down to delicate knees and perfect calves. Alistair couldn’t help but marvel all over again at this utterly perfect race of women.

 _People,_ he shook his head; marveled at this race of _people._

He looked down at Tess, afraid she was watching him practically strip these elves in his mind. Not only did he find she was staring just as curiously as he, but she voiced the silent attraction in his head.

“Do all of these elves seem ridiculously pretty to any of you? Or is it just me?” Tess asked, her head moving to follow the backside of female elf who walked away from them. “I mean, even the men are _pretty_. And pretty as in, _slap them in a dress and I won’t be able to tell the difference.”_

Zevran chuckled. “You know, my mother was Dalish. So that means _I_ am Dalish. Do I count among _all these elves are ridiculously pretty?”_

“It’s not advisable for me to answer that with my husband present,” Tess said.  

Alistair laughed. “Yet you have no problem talking about the other pretty elves,” he teased.

“Hey, did you see all those masks up where we first came in at? Do you think they have a mask fetish?” Tess queried.

“Oh? Are you suggesting they use the masks of the Creators in bed?” Zevran asked curiously. “Like role-playing? That seems rather fun, now that I think about it...”

“Do you see?” she hissed, pointing to a male elf that walked some distance in front of them. _“Look at his fucking bulge!”_ she grabbed Zevran’s arm excitedly.

“I have a feeling I can speak for all Dalish when I say _elves are hung,”_ Zevran said. Alistair groaned in his hand, half embarrassed, half amused to hear his wife giddily gossiping over elven testicles with another male elf who was just as excited as she.

“Maker, this is all so confusing. Do I like the men? Or do I like the women? And how do I tell the difference? _Just look at him -_ wait, _is_ that a him? _Shit_ , he’s gorgeous!” Tess said.

Alistair tittered quietly, feeling his face burning. “I am _so_ glad I’m not the only one thinking those thoughts,” he admitted. Tess did a double-take up at him.

“Oh, that’s right. The elves in the Circle,” she recalled their talk the night before Lothering. “I almost forgot you like elves.”

Alistair smiled sheepishly at his wife. “Don’t worry, I’ll still be yours at the end of the day.”

“Already planning for sundown, eh?” she smirked.

He grinned just for her. “I guess there’s no hiding it now that you know where my mind’s at, right? Where _both_ our minds are at, actually.”

“Would you like to me to secretly borrow one of those masks up there?” Zevran offered.

“And a pretty dress please, like the one the cranky elf is wearing,” Alistair joked.

“And a staff, too, right? Are you going to call me _Keeper_ all night?” Tess grinned crookedly.

“We can _absolutely_ play that game if you want,” he teased. “I’ll be the Halla Master, you can be my Keeper...” he leaned in to kiss her face. “and you can ride me like I’ve lost the reins,” he muttered in her ear. She curled in with a tiny shudder when he tickled and pricked her ear and cheek with his beard.

“Damn you,” she breathed, clinging to his collar. Alistair softly laughed, gently crushing her against him.

“Fine, I’ll save my scruff for tonight,” he teased. He sighed in the squeeze of her embrace and murmured _love_ into her skin.

Morrigan sighed irritably. “If romance is on your agenda, could you not venture into the forest and find a cave? Alone?”

“Because you _keep following_ us, Morrigan,” Alistair reminded her. “You’d just follow us there as well.”

“He has a point,” Zevran looked at Morrigan. “If you are in the mood to be comforted, you have yet to ask. My arms and hands are far from busy right now.” Morrigan huffed out a small cry of protest and muttered something about _dwarves_ and _not perverse_ as she tromped off.

“Right.” Alistair chuckled. “Now that that’s taken care of, where to? The cranky elf said the story teller was there-” he pointed to the campfire closest to the elven tents. “Or the smith...”

“Story teller.” she mumbled from his chest. “And some food. Do you think they’ll notice if we drag a halla over that fire?”

He laughed a little. “You still want to eat them after that little one tried to cuddle with us?”

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

“All right, food first. Actually, that does sound good...”

After a quick lunch, Alistair and Tess, with Zevran and Po tagging along like lost pups, made themselves comfortable by the fire with Sarel, who called himself the unofficial lore-keeper and scribe apart from the Keeper and his apprentice. The short version of Dalish history they were told was not so different than what Alistair had read in books. While the elves around that particular fire placed primary blame on humans; _the way they kept enunciating_ shemlens, _the elven word for humans, and it’s shortened_ shem _hinted intentional disrespect;_ the Chantry’s accounts had been surprisingly accurate. The present Dalish still proudly held grudges against present day humans in general, despite knowing neither Alistair or Tess personally had ever wronged and enslaved their ancestors, but Alistair was far too fascinated by the bodies in front of him to care.

 _Elves. Real elves._ He couldn’t get over the amazement of being in an actual elven camp. He felt like he was standing on an open book along with them. Grand, mystical adventures were bound to happen in a few pages.

And as before, Tess didn’t quite share his enthusiasm. Alistair watched as she tucked her feet in and turned on the bench, and silently slipped off a few paces to sit next to a young male elf. Alistair tried to listen to Sarel tell about the werewolves the Keeper had mentioned, but without Tess right there, it was hard for him to concentrate; her immediate presence had become such a constant for him, anything separate was hard to endure unless he was drunk, _in which case everything around him buzzed._ Tess didn’t look up when Alistair sat next to her, their legs crushing together, but an immediate squeeze of his hand told him she was grateful he was there.

The young male was nearly a man, he’d told them. Cammen was his name, and he stared off with heartbroken, starry eyes at a red-headed female elf he called Gheyna, his _heart’s desire._ The boy longed for her, but he was _merely an apprentice_ and Gheyna would not have him, he was _not good enough_ for her and under the impression he had to earn her love with high rank of skill. While the boy went on about Gheyna refusing to hear his heart’s lament, Tess studied Alistair. Cammen said Gheyna often dismissed him for being a failed hunter, how he was not measuring up; Tess’ eyes flew all over Alistair’s face, searched his eyes. Gheyna had spoken of station above Cammen, and yet would offer false hope when she required his assistance. Tess frowned and searched Alistair deeper; she was relating herself and her actions to the girl this heartbroken elven boy dreamed of. Gheyna had promised Cammen she would be his if he became a man who enjoyed the hunt; Tess frowned deeper with distant stare, and even Alistair couldn’t deny the similarity between himself and this downcast boy.

She offered to talk to this Gheyna. The boy refused, embarrassed at first; an outsider involved in his affairs would not look well. He changed his mind when he saw Alistair and Tess holding hands. Tess stood as if in a trance, and Alistair quickly followed her, suspecting...Maker knows what he could expect from Tess anymore. Tess did not cause the trouble he suspected she might, though. Upon verifying the cherry-headed elf as Gheyna, Tess indulged her with a little tale.

_Once upon a time, there was a young farmer who had been blessed with a bountiful crop. Her crops tended themselves, and in her desire for luxury she took advantage, never offering, only taking, lavishing in their magnificent fruits, for their purpose was to endow her, was it not? One day she was visited by a dark Plague, and it tricked her into thinking it a mighty aid to her crops. She saw its power and coveted, and yearning for its dominance drove her to yield to its strange demands whenever it called. When it promised her everlasting comfort in exchange for her land, she submitted. With her crops in its control, the Plague broke the farmer and threw her to the wolves, and for months she wandered in solitude, slowly losing her mind. When the Plague offered her crops to the most wealthy farmer in the country in exchange for a portion of land far bigger than the lost farm girl could dream, she vowed vengeance. She alone saw the Plague slowly spreading across the fields one fruit at a time, but she could not fight this suffocating fungus alone. She searched high and low for a Cure, and when she finally found it, the roots that had held her to her farm so long ago had shriveled and died. The Cure was there, though. It shone like the rays of Andraste’s flames in a blackened room, a living beacon of hope, purity, justice, renewal. She wanted to place it high above where no one could spoil it._

_She fought the Cure, though. It saw the poison inside of her yet still offered help, and she was so ashamed it’s purity outshone her that she tried to corrupt it. It was new and untrained, and she thought if she blackened it, slandered and stained it, she could make herself look more whole. And yet despite her cruelty, the Cure remained in her hand, providing a resolution for lack of comfort and an obscure mind. Part of her was so used to wandering in lies that the thought of slowing down to find truth and rest frightened her dreadfully, and yet she clutched its vial so tight it became a very part of her hand. She eventually learned to trust in its presence and its promise to save what was left of her from spiraling endlessly into the Void. It said it loved her. As long as she held on to it, it would take care of her, protect her._

_One day she lost her grip, and the Cure fell. Its vial cracked, and for weeks she watched the leaking vessel empty more and more. The farmer panicked. She scurried around like a chicken cut so clean it had no idea it was even headless. She searched even longer for the Recipe to make a new Cure, but found nothing. She watched the Cure dim, watched until the last sparkling ray of hope in a single, stubborn drop snaked its way through the worsening cracks._

_She wailed in sorrow, and to her surprise the Cure wept with her. It said it felt ugly and worthless because it was unused. It didn’t want her touching him when he knew he was unwanted. The Cure believed itself weak, unable to revive her or her crops like he had promise. All of her past efforts to tarnish the Cure had finally paid off, though now she no longer desired his undoing. The farmer then understood her options: stay and nurture it, find a way to feed the Cure so it would grow and blossom back into the strength and beauty she once knew, or leave and never look back. The Cure cried a sob so broken and desperate. She could not kill it even if she wanted it free of pain, and she could not leave it, for doing so would leave a hole where her hand used to be. Her choice was clear._

_She helped the Cure to rise and walk, overstuffed it with more love than she was even capable of, even borrowing love from others. With merely this love, the Cure replenished ten fold, and the lost farmer realized there was no Recipe for Comfort or Worth, nor was it a power or gift to be taken from another. In order to find it, all she had to do was believe it already was and had been all along._

Alistair felt something cool slide down his cheek. When he reached to flick it away, he was surprised to find himself crying. _It’s us._ Tess’ story was her and Alistair, she was the lost farmer and he was the Cure. He raised his hand and caught a tear as soon as it fell to her cheek, and she turned her head, met his gaze with drowning emeralds. Her eyes fell to his mouth, and when she returned his gaze again, he leaned in for a kiss. _Believe._ A tender kiss, lingering in her love. _All along._

“What happened next?” a young voice inquired. Alistair and Tess broke apart to find they had a small audience of their own.

“What?” Tess stammered in a whisper as she wiped her palms across her cheeks.

“The Farmer and the Cure, what happened to them? I’ve never heard this story before,” a young girl asked.

Tess shook her head faintly. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard the rest of the story yet,” she provided a small smile.

“Couldn’t you make one up? All stories have to end, don’t they?” Alistair honestly wasn’t if this other young elf was a girl or boy.

“Er...” she tried to think.

“How about,” Alistair offered, “...the Farmer and the Cure had many adventures together, and after they grew tired of slaying dragons and banishing demons, they decided it was time to rest. They made one last journey across a vast country to a tall chair, a very old chair, sturdy enough to last many more Ages, and wide enough for them both. The Farmer helped the Cure climb up first; it was a long way to the seat of this very tall chair. Before she could turn away, he took her hand and pulled her up, and together they sat high above, watching over new crops. And they lived happily ever after,” he finished, wiping another stray tear from beneath his wife's eye. “That’s a good ending, right?”

“Oh, yes, very good! Happy endings are best endings. Do you know anymore stories?” it must be a girl.

“I heard someone say you’re Grey Wardens. Do you know any gryphon stories?” a boy asked.  

“I just so happen to know a few,” Alistair said proudly. “But I think my Grey Warden and I have a werewolf problem to deal with right now. However, if we are allowed, I might be able to slip in a story or two around a fire tonight.”

“What happens if you get bitten and become a werewolf?” the first girl asked.

“Then...I certainly hope Denerim has huge cat infestation. Werewolves chase cats, right? Just like dogs?” he asked the children. While the young elves giggled over the suggested imagery, Alistair overheard Tess and Gheyna.

 _“Was that you? The farmer?” Gheyna asked._ Alistair didn’t look at them, instead he entertained the children with more silly ideas, though kept an ear open for his wife and the elven maiden.

_“Do you need him?” Tess asked._

“What do you think? Would I be able to jump on roofs like cats do? Chase them around the high rafters?” Alistair provided noise to dull his wife’s conversation from prying ears.

“But what if you slip and fall? They’re very tall, aren’t they?” a boy asked.

_“I...need? Certainly no one needs another. Do they?” Gheyna asked. “It was you, wasn’t it?”_

“You think I’d be a clumsy werewolf?” Alistair chuckled.

“Yes!” a girl giggled. “Because you’re so tall!” Alistair couldn’t help a laugh, or deny that.

_“I cannot settle with a mere apprentice. Who will hunt to provide us dinner? Furs for leather?” Gheyna said._

“You might get stuck in the clothes lines.” a boy then laughed, “and the city guard would catch you upside-down tangled in someone else’s underclothes!” Alistair burst into laughter that nearly drowned out the women behind him.

_“Must it depend on him alone? You have two hands, where is your own bow? You can’t stand and accuse him of failure when you refuse to help. He only believes he can’t because you won’t see it,” Tess paused only a moment. “He may not be there one day when you open your eyes. You would be lucky to find him still right outside the door.”_

He could not hear Gheyna’s reply, but Tess took Alistair by the arm and tore him from the young audience. “Tess?” he tried to stop her but she kept walking.

“I need to be away from these elves. They are too much like me.” She sighed and stopped her feet, and practically fell into him. “The elves back home were not like this. They were...generous and kind. These ones have...these ones are no different than noble families, believing they are due luxury for something that never even happened to them. Who holds grudges on things that happened to people you never knew?” she asked.

He cradled her tight in his arms while she soaked in his support. “Just ignore it, love.” he kissed her head. “Besides, you told a story far better than that elf did.” he closed his eyes and just held her for a moment. “I more than love you, Tess,” he murmured. Her arms contracted around him.

“I more than love you, husband,” she whispered with certainty.

“Heading out to face werewolves without your trusty sidekick?” Zevran’s voice said. Alistair lifted his head to Zevran, Sten, Morrigan, Shale and Po catch up to them.

“If _trust_ is the word you choose, then your statement refers to _me_ ,” Sten said. Zevran looked up, but before he could sass, the golem groaned.

“As the superior being and the only one unable to be tempted by-” Shale gave a shuddering groan, “fleshy bodily functions, I believe _I_ am the only one trustworthy.”

“You are a rock,” Sten argued.

“And a good thing, too! _I_ certainly won’t be trying to sneak off in need of _sleep_ or revolting urinating, or worse!” Shale insisted.

Po barked his own argument, and Alistair had the notion Po might have been saying _I’ve been around the longest, I’m clearly the favorite. And I can attack and piss at the same time, what can you do?_

Sten grunted with a look at Po. “Very well. You win this round, dog. That was much better than last time.”

“Sten, and you saying you argue with my dog?” Tess peeked out from Alistair’s chest.

“It’s not so odd, I’ve done it,” Alistair grinned. “I’m pretty sure he learned to debate from you, in fact. And at the risk of sleeping with my clothes on tonight,” he giggled only to her, “I think he’s actually better at it than you are.”

She groaned in his chest with another squeeze. “You’re making up for this by letting me keep a werewolf pup, right?”

Alistair laughed loudly. “Regular pup, love. Regular wolf. I might even settle for a bear cub. I saw one once, it was really cute.”

“I can be happy with that. I’d really love bear for supper. Since _someone_ doesn’t want me eating halla,” she said loudly, pulling from Alistair.

“I have decided to ignore any sentence with those two words together,” Zevran said, “so I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, good, then halla it is! Wait...” she looked up at Alistair with a hopeful stare as they started walking. He grinned with a little laugh and secured her hand.

“Yes, if there is a baby, Tess, you can have a baby halla,” he agreed before the words could leave her mouth.  He was cut short by the view as soon as they stepped around a thick cluster of trees. “Would you look at that...”

Instantly he was back in a story, back in a fantasy forest that belonged to elves. Elven vine-lanterns hung around smaller trunks, guiding them to towering trees and vines, herbal wildflowers, waterfalls and small lakes. The fluttering had returned to his belly and chest, and Alistair half expected to see wisps or other tiny shimmering creatures glitter and dance in the falling sunbeams.

Shale sighed behind him. “I would politely request it not perish. If I deactivate here, I shall be overgrown within a month. Does it see all the vines? And -” the golem made another disgusted noise, “all the birds. Does it hear them? They will need to be silenced. I volunteer for this task.”

“Werewolves first, Shale, then birds. Keep your priorities straight,” Alistair teased.

It was as if Alistair had blown a war horn. A single wolf darted around on what looked like a worn path, and as Po growled, a lumbering beast at least as large as Sten bound around after, two of them in fact. Dark fur crested violently sculpted bodies, snouts angrier than rabid wolves, talons so large Alistair could count them from where he stood, teeth just as horrifying as the size of the claws. The wolf wasn’t after them, it was on the run from werewolves.

Shale was already throwing a boulder by the time Tess pulled an arrow back. Ranged attacks seemed to be key, but their small handful of fighters were melee warriors. Sten and Po raced on after the first werewolf crushed under the Shale’s enormous blow. Though the second took an arrow to the eye and bolts of ice through limbs, Sten killed, or over killed it; knocked it off its feet with a hard, wide swing and stabbed like it might get back up if it’s chest wasn’t crushed to jelly. It seemed it would take an entire team effort to kill these creatures.

“Thank you for staying behind, Alistair. I don’t feel pitifully alone anymore,” Zevran said when the beasts lay forming their own puddles.

“It wasn’t on purpose, believe me. I was caught off guard. Maker, I’ve never even seen one of these. I just thought they were scary stories made up for naughty children. Sten, have you fought these before?” Alistair kept his sword and shield out as he stepped over stray roots and vines to reach the oozing monsters.

“I have, once. A small group attacked my soldiers as we neared Fereldan borders. The women should not be here, they are too dangerous,” Sten said. “The elf should leave as well.”

“I’m not leaving,” Tess stated firmly.

“They strike wide and strong. Your daggers are no match for them and their hide is too thick for arrows.”

“Nothing is a match for my daggers. I climbed an ogre with daggers.” Tess frowned at Sten as she tromped into reach.

“Both of you, no arguing, please. We don’t know our options for running to safety here,” Alistair said. He watched her bend over to grab an arrow. “Tess?”

“I’m fine. You’re here to help, Sten, not order my blade. No one tells me what to do except Alistair,” Tess said as she yanked her arrows from the dead animals. She dropped the bloodied arrows back in her quiver while she commenced alone, yet she made it not a body’s length from Sten before she froze in mid-step. “Alistair?” worry.

“I’m here, love.” As soon as he reached her side, however, his blood started swarming. His Taint began to heat his veins like dimmed coals. _“Shit.”_ he sighed. Tess met his eyes warily.

“What is it?” Sten asked.

“Darkspawn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shemlen/shem = humans  
>  _(courtesy of[Dragon Age Wiki Elven Language](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elven_language) )_


	37. Forest of Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Tess and their party endure the Brecilian forest. Sten rhymes with the Grand Oak, Alistair becomes conscious of just how far he'll go to keep Tess safe, and Tess starts to realize her own worth when she is appreciated for her efforts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qunlat translations in end notes.
> 
>  NSFW art at end of chapter.
> 
>  _Mood Music:_  
>  **Forest/battle music:** [One Way Trip to Hell, by Epic Score/Edward Bradshaw](https://youtu.be/TvAwemDgvbk)  
>  **Rhyming Oak music:** [Terra Mirus, by Jo Blankenburg](https://youtu.be/uJTa-Ezo1IE)  
>  **Werewolf Danyla and Alistair's resolve music:** [Don't Hurt the Ones You Love, by Toše Proeski](https://youtu.be/DNMFDnP34XY)  
>  **Lady of the Forest/Zathrian and Dalish camp music:** [Voyage Dans La Lune, by Jo Blankenburg](https://youtu.be/w9Gbw7w4G7g)

_Darkspawn and werewolves. Just great._

“Remind me to thank that Keeper for warning us.” Alistair scoured the area with his eyes for any possible movement. Though the Darkspawn couldn’t sneak up on them, any other creature could. “They’re not immediately near, but close enough. No wonder he stopped sending in elves. Just... _shit._ Zevran, go back and fetch Wynne and Leliana. And grab as many arrows as you can.”

They didn’t wait for Zevran to return before they followed the path the werewolves took. Shale mentioned it was odd for there to be a corporeal path in the middle of a forest the elves hadn’t occupied for very long, and Alistair had to agree. Lanterns and even loose-plank bridges over a shallow, split river that seemed to come from all different directions. If Alistair wasn’t concerned about possible waylay, he might have marveled at how quick it seemed the elves could bend nature to suit their needs.

As soon as they stepped on to a small island of land between flowing fingers of water, they were ambushed anyway. Tess physically stopped Sten from raising his sword when three werewolves halted about the length of her shadow, but Alistair was in mind with Sten; no apparent try at conflict from these beasts didn’t mean peace. Sten spoke harshly in Qunlat, but a honey-colored werewolf adorning tattoos interrupted the curse.

“The elves resort to sending humans? This does not surprise me. You’re here to repay us, yes? Put us in our place?” the beast growled. Sten was not the only one to freeze unawares. The Keeper had said nothing about these things talking.

Shale groaned. “The dysmorphic wolves speak as well? Somebody deactivate me now.”

“How in oblivion are you speaking?” Morrigan wondered aloud.

“We have always spoken. The watch-wolves were right. The Keeper has sent humans to finish his wrongdoings. Did he tell you why we speak? Or are you here for reward just like the others? The all-knowing Keeper promised riches and power to end our existence?”

Tess pushed Sten’s arms down once more. “Stop that! They’re not attacking.” She turned to the beasts with awe, or disguised hope on her face. “He did send us, but if you can speak, I would rather reason than fight.”

“There is no reasoning with you, not when you follow the one who cursed us! You have stayed your weapons for now, so we will repay in kind. But know,” it snarled, “if you tread deep to seek our only light, we will mark you _enemy_.” With a loud snort, the tattooed werewolf whirled, crouched and vaulted away, and its two companions followed swiftly.

 _“Vashedan!”_  Sten spat. “Why did you stop me? They are _saar,_ they exist to ravage only!”  

“Calm down, Sten. They retreated because we didn’t attack, which means it worked. Not everything calls for war.” Alistair stepped ahead to move the group onward, but instantly regretted it. Wolves on the hill to the right, and more werewolves, some of each foaming at the mouth.

Sten hissed another strident word in Qunlat. “They are rabid!”

Werewolves and wolves weren’t the only worries. Across another narrow creek was the small horde of Darkspawn, readied in wait complete with an ogre. Tess completely disregarded the bounding werewolves to fire upon the darkspawn, and even though her arrow instantly downed a genlock, Alistair’s mind flashed; _Ostagar_ , _the tower of Ishal. “No,_ Tess!” Alistair screamed, barely blocking a vicious swipe from a beast taller than Sten.

“I have this!” she yelled back, sending two more arrows.

 _“No!_ Don’t you dare, Tess!” there was no time to run after her. He needed to keep his shield up. Tess called for her dog. Ramming his shield into one werewolf left Alistair open at the flank, and when he hissed at a searing set of claws across his sword arm from the back, Tess threatened to gut Morrigan if the witch didn’t keep Alistair safe.

A cruel shard of thick ice painted in blood reached over Alistair’s right shoulder with a weight like to two full-clad Templars. He jumped away, and grateful he had, for no sooner than the impaled beast fell, a raging wave of lighting clawed and tangled around the werewolf he’d bashed. Cackling flashes sent a shiver down Alistair’s spine; _Isolde in the storm_. As the lightning made the eyeballs and rabid foam glow purple and bright white, Alistair was able to glance over. Tess threw aside her bow and unsheathed her daggers. She dashed around the wide reach of the ogre to be rid of the hurlock; Alistair drove his foot into face of a wolf lunging for him. He shoved his sword down, straight through the skull, and spied Tess who kept the last hurlock between her and the ogre, before Alistair was tackled to the ground. His head only just hit damp ground when a crackle of broken rocks smashed together into the face of the werewolf, throwing it off Alistair completely.

 _Zevran had brought Wynne and Leliana._ Alistair felt his insides untangle with relief. Alistair yelled out orders: Shale, Leliana and Zevran with him to the ogre; Po, Wynne, Morrigan and Sten on the remaining werewolves. The bard’s arrows flew overhead as Alistair, Zevran and Shale wove around Po. Tess was left as an unfortunate distraction while the three charged from behind. She made brief eye contact with Alistair before the ogre became his only focus. He and Shale threw their entire weight into to the ogre, and together they pulled enough force to send the monstrosity on its front. A body hurdled, and Zevran jumped in with eager daggers to give Tess time to recover while Alistair ordered Leliana to help the mages. Even with Zevran digging at the ogre’s back and Shale and Alistair bruising and sticking its thick legs, it managed to stand.

Zevran nearly fell onto Alistair’s sword as the ogre reared backwards. Alistair shoved his sword straight through the back of the ogre’s knee, provoking a screech. The elf used Alistair’s fist on the hilt to regain balance to yank his daggers out of the thick-hide back. Tess leaped out of reach again as Shale was thrown hard enough to crater the ground. Zevran rolled under for a frontal attack while Tess walked backwards towards the plank bridge cursing, _either the Darkspawn got stronger or the ogre at Ostagar was simply fodder._ Alistair glanced back but didn’t have time to ask what she was doing, though he hardly waited for his answer. Zevran darted back around to Alistair and the ogre turned, blood spurting out of the back of its legs where Alistair had stabbed above Po’s bite marks. Shale groaned in protest as Tess suddenly jumped off the golem’s head. _Dammit!_ She’d been timing an attack straight for where Alistair didn’t want her. His curse became a cry as she landed on the ogre’s face. Sunlight glittered all around like coals frantically popping out of a fire, and once again Alistair was glad he’d given her a diamond-washed weapon. The plain blade hitched her on; the rose dagger dug deep, cutting so clean it kept up with the celerity of her attempt to rip the massive darkspawn to shreds. She struck so swift it couldn’t reach up fast enough to free itself before its arms spasmed under struck nerves. Alistair and Zevran finished the assault from behind, slashing the legs as fast, as deep as they could, and when Shale returned to the fight with a mighty blow, the ogre toppled.

Tess didn’t have time to jump, though. With a yelp of surprise as she held on to her daggers, she had no choice but to join the staggering ogre over the cliff into the waterfall. Alistair dropped his sword and shield and jumped after his wife without a thought to how the fall might end.

The Maker must adore them, or be in terrible need of amusement. The drop to where the ogre had stopped was hardly longer than Alistair was tall, and when Alistair looked up, Tess was dripping and spitting water from a pool between where the rocks had risen into each other. He was breathless yet laughing as he wedged Tess’ lightning-runed dagger from the shredded darkspawn face, and so giddy he practically fell off when he’d meant to slide like he was true and composed, like he hadn’t panicked over his wife tripping into a puddle. She ducked under then surfaced shortly after he did, a clean-as-new rose dagger in her hand and breathing just as hard as he was. They broke into a fit of winded titters when their eyes met, no words needed to say they both expected to be flattened or broken somewhere much further down. He gathered her up tight and did nothing but kiss her until their giggles waned and she melted in his arms over his shoulder. He laughed again when she asked him not to let go because she couldn’t reach the bottom.

They all needed a break. Aside from Alistair and Tess dripping wet, Alistair, Sten, Po and Leliana sported minor wounds that needed to be cleaned. The mages needed time to naturally replenish their mana, and Zevran needed to replace a dagger. After a change of underclothes and armor, a quick cleaning of weapons and a thorough check by the Keeper to make sure every scratch received was truly just a scratch, not a werewolf bite, Alistair and his battle party set out again. They could only hope the worst was behind them.

They had two options at a forked path from the humble bridge that had sundered werewolves from darkspawn: downhill into significant shadows, or an empty, peaceful-looking sunny path with a friendly creek and swampy reedmace. _A perfect place for a toad, wouldn’t you agree, Alistair?_ Morrigan smirked. The friendly, sunny path was deviating, though. Wynne recognized a fallen tree as ironbark, said the elven smith would be willing to provide them with a new weapon if they brought some back to camp, but when Tess climbed upon the fallen tree and unsheathed her rose dagger, the standing tree nearby sprung to life with a groan and growl. It was like a massive skeleton with all the strengths of thriving timber; bending far before breaking, its arms were branches that led to leafless claws, it even controlled roots to shoot up out of the ground. Its roots caged Alistair, Morrigan and Zevran in tangles around each other, shrinking as if ready to pull them into the ground, but the retreat was cut short. With two hard swings, Sten felled the Maker-knows-what kind of tree, and the roots released their grip, slowly opening like the hands of a man just dead. When Alistair gave a nod to Sten, the Qunari muttered something about _firewood._

With moving trees now a possible danger, how would they get anywhere in this _forest?_ Alistair figured the shaded path couldn’t be any less warring...could it? The others followed when he walked into the shadows, even though Alistair’s gut told him they were heading into another ambush. It hardly surprised him when they rounded a bend right into three werewolves; Tess voiced exactly what he was thinking, _I think I’d rather take on Darkspawn!_ At least Darkspawn couldn’t sneak up on them. Irritated with the near-constant fighting, Tess hissed back when the werewolves growled. Even the girl who loved to kill wanted all this combat to end.

It did not end, though, let alone pause. As soon as the werewolves lay torn, smashed and bleeding, the party beelined downhill toward the creek to wash up. _More trees._ Five sodding lumbering trees that looked like the most ridiculous skeletons Alistair had ever seen even in mocking stick-art in Chantry garden dirt. He and Tess were squeezed together in contracting root traps twice, and the second time she scoffed between their attempts to push against the hard vines, _Do you want to just take off our clothes and get it over with now?_ Pain, though, irritation. She was clearly joking, but Alistair saw the day’s events were wearing her down. The wry humor was her attempt to hide the verge of breakdown when she knew she had to keep collected. As soon as the last tree fell, Alistair ordered everyone to take a break right there.

He took Tess to the edge of the creek and sat with their backs to everyone. With his body between her and the others, Alistair cradled her tight, gently rocking her as he traced on her hand and cheek. She didn’t like this place, she said, the elves reminded her of home and of herself, she couldn’t think in this forest. _I see myself._ When he asked her what she meant, she said the selfishness of the elves, their impatience, the clan’s blind belief in a leader who won’t heal them yet won’t move them to safety or let them fight. _The werewolves are me,_  she told him, _I feel like that when I’m angry. Nightmarish, ravaging, quick. Slaughtering, demolishing. Scarring. It’s like this whole forest is someone I’m trying not to be._ She was done, he saw that too clear. He told her she was nothing like that, he never saw her as a monster, but when she wasn’t reassured he didn’t press the subject. She needed him to distract her mind away from the forest right now. He softly sang, and when he ran out of uplifting Canticles, he sang the lines he had memorized from the gryphon stories he knew. This at least drew a smile from her.

 _I more than love you, Tess,_ he kissed her and squeezed her tighter. Her fingers clenched at his collar and she nestled in deeper. _I more than love you,_ she said, _and thank you._ Her home in his arms. His home wherever she fit in his arms.

_I am always here, Tess, always._

Morrigan loudly complained about Po assuming he had the right to urinate anywhere he pleased, and the sound of creaking branches groaned behind Alistair and Tess. Before Alistair could stand to arm himself, a voice halted them all.

“Why hast thou left home, little...hm, un-elf, but to lift thine leg upon myself?” the tree spoke.

 _The tree spoke._ Lovely. Alistair was losing his mind, too.

Tess tightened her hold on Alistair enough to keep him seated with her. “Did that tree just...”

“Oh, good. We’re _all_ going crazy,” Zevran said.

“Oh, my. A sylvan,” Wynne admired.

“Sylvan? No,” the tree spoke, “I am not the same as they, who fell just there beneath thy blades.”

“You certainly look Sylvan from here,” Morrigan stated. “I’ve a very old mother whom I’m certain would agree.”

“Thine mother aged I care not for lest this fair maiden she may be--” the tree began with an obvious gesture to the old woman.

“I think the tree is flirting with Wynne,” Tess beat Alistair to it.

“--Canst thou not see Grand Oak am I, peradventure the Elder Tree?”  

Tess groaned into Alistair the same time Morrigan groaned. “It’s rhyming, it’s sodding rhyming!” she muttered.

“Must we put up with useless riddles? Are there not enough challenges in this wicked forest?” Morrigan complained.

“Morrigan, where is your sense of wonder? This is like _music_ in the forest. Oh, I think it will be fun!” Leliana grinned and bounced.

“Is this quest optional? I think I need a strong drink. Or maybe I already have, and now I need a nap,” Zevran pondered in confusion.

“Tis truly wasting our time. Tesslyn? Alistair? Will you just sit there and say nothing?” Morrigan said.

“I speak for others, Grand Oak tree, for I see Might where they see leaves. A thousand pardons I beg of thee, if thou mayst divulge some history?” Sten spoke as if poetry was his second language.

They all stared at him. Tess sat straighter in Alistair’s arms to study the scene, her eyes darting from the rhyming Qunari to the rhyming Oak. Even Po whined in question with a tip of his head.

“My, Sten, that is quite impressive,” Wynne said as the Grand Oak laughed.

“What rare delight indeed discovered, a guest of mine another poet lover!” the bronze oak chuckled heartily.

“Ooh!” Leliana bounced a little, while the elf displayed an obvious fake smile. “A Poet Tree! Zevran, really, do you not understand?”

“Poetry. No. I mean, yes, I get it, my dear bard. I’m just wonder how I made it out here so far,” Zevran kept a surprisingly straight face. Tess muffled a snicker into Alistair’s shoulder while Morrigan groaned. “I think I’m drunk, yet straight I see, but we are talking to a tree.”

“Must _everyone_ speak in riddles now?” the witch griped.

“Fear not, dear witch, for why not but for you? Inside you’re jealous, believe this, I do,” Zevran said with a zesty smirk. It was Alistair’s turn to hide a giggle, though neither Wynne, Leliana nor the Oak hid their amusement.

Sten scowled, though. “Forgive this mundane lot Grand Oak, they disrespect then bleat and gloat. Our quest of honor brings us here or _should_ if they could stay their heads; To give up I must refuse, though their lack of skill may be my end.”

“Maker! Sten’s a natural!” Alistair whispered to Tess. She peeked out from Alistair’s arms like a child watching a market show, and a smile spread just for her. He lightly raked his fingers through her hair, and when she glanced at him, her eyes aglow with excitement that shook her with every giggle, he couldn’t help but try to capture some of her joy with a kiss. He knew there were still murderous trees and raging beasts further in the forest, but this? This silliness that made her forget the bad parts of life existed? This was worth it. This was exactly what she needed.

“Have mercy, guest of mine, thou appears a grump, quite tart--” the Oak began. Alistair and Zevran both stifled hard laughter into the women next to them. “--Advice: Oft let laughter pull the strings that shape your heart. Now, you wish to query me? Tell me please, what do you seek?”

If Sten was offended by the tree’s advice, he didn’t show it. “To bind the elves to end a Blight we seek a wolf as fair as snow. The elves guide naught, I pray Grand Oak, might _you_ apprise which path to go?”

“Ah, ye seek fair Witherfang, dost ye? The Watcher of the Weres, you see. You will not find it this far west, rarely it strays like the rest. Tread opposite the setting sun, though weres there will be more than one. Take heed, small poets, do keep mind: Unlike trees, they have no bark to ease the bite!” the Grand Oak chuckled. “Alas I have but one request, to place upon my roaming guests. I am rooted now alone but used to grow my own, a seed. I shall die if left without my smallest friend, the rest of me.”

“Seed? You mean an acorn?” Wynne guessed.

“Yes, my seed, my mighty acorn, a thief did steal it early morn. A token in return for kindness, would you save me from the mindless? A madman I fear him be, he cackled when he ran from me.” the Grand Oak almost seemed sad.

“We will honor your help, Elder Tree, and return your acorn swiftly,” Wynne offered, and Morrigan groaned _must you all riddle?_

The Grand Oak stilled, and in a matter of blinks it was just another ordinary tree again. Zevran was still teasing Morrigan by speaking in nonsensical rhymes when Alistair helped Tess to her feet. Po marked another tree before they left the riverbank, however not before a thorough investigation to make sure it wouldn’t spring to life on him again.

“Sten, how are you so adept at speaking in rhymes without needing time to think first?” Tess asked as their lot walked back up through the shadows to avoid having to hop around the leaking mounds of Weres.

“Constant poetry is an adolescent act of rebellion within the Qun,” Sten informed them. “The Qunari way of life does not allow opportunity for physical acts of rebellion for troubled youth to engage in. We have strict daily lives; under the Tamassran roof was no less dutiful than school itself.”

“So...” Alistair tried not to smile, “there was nothing for you do, nothing to drink, no wagons to steal, no cattle to tip over, no pretty girls to run away with, so you...spoke poetry?”

“Correct.”

Alistair barely caught the laugh in time. “You - _you -_ spoke only in rhymes to your parents?” he couldn’t quell the laugh anymore. “That’s how you rebelled? _You_ were a rebel?”

“Priests, not parents. But yes.”

“I find that hard to believe, Sten,” Wynne threw in her thoughts.

Alistair moved Tess to his right side, for once, to put distance between her and the first hostile tree they had encountered, in case it wasn’t really dead. “Okay, so you _used_ to rebel. I’m assuming you were, what, ten? Twelve? That doesn’t explain why you can still do it now. Don’t most hobbies tend to be forgotten without daily practice?” he looked at Sten when he gained no reply.

Sten frowned upon eye contact. “I happen to enjoy it.”

Alistair grinned, a quiet laugh joggling him as he traded places with Tess once more. “I want you to know, Sten, I’m not laughing to be mean.” Sten looked away with a deeper frown and swore in mumbled Qunlat, only causing Alistair to laugh again.

“Why is no one surprised _I_ can speak in rhymes at will?” Zevran wondered.

“You’re... _you_ , Zevran,” Tess said. Alistair smiled at his wife, leaning in for a kiss when she met his eyes.

“I think she means to say you already have a...colorful personality,” Leliana offered.

“As in?” Zevran asked curiously.

“As in, we don’t wonder why _you_ can ramble poetry off hand because you just about undress everybody you meet with your eyes.” Alistair flashed the elf a grin.

“Hm.” Zevran mused with a smile of his own. “Would you like know how I imagine you look naked?”

“He already _has_ a pretty blonde rogue, _thank_ you,” Tess said jealously. Alistair’s chest swelled, and he pressed in for another kiss as he wrapped his arm around her.

“There is only ever going to be you, Tess,” he promised her.

The euphoria induced by the rhyming Oak lasted longer than expected in such a forest. Past a faded landmark sign in delish that Wynne read and Morrigan translated, they were heading east, and stumbled right into an oblivious herd of halla. Zevran hadn’t needed to ask Tess to not kill one; the herd was either used to people or simply did not care, and Tess went right up to pet one as if in a daze.

This is what Alistair loved so deeply in her, _love._ The secret love she hid away from all the world that only ever seeped out on accident. She could never kill a halla, much less eat one. Their white hides reflected off her face and gave the impression that Tess herself glowed with holy light. Alistair was learning to paint these moments in his mind; he would rather only glimpse this side of her on rare occasions than see it regularly out of affliction.

But that is where the euphiria ended. Tess’ attention diverted when Po advanced just past the halla and growled. When Tess and Alistair reached the mabari, the sight rather shocked them. A Were, far from the likeness they’d seen, though. The body matched the others they’d witnessed, but there was something wrong with this one, it limped, entire torso heaving as it wheezed. It braced the ground, repeatedly tried to to stand, however Alistair saw no trail or pool of blood. A _whimper_ sent Tess in its direction, but Alistair grabbed his wife’s arm before it might be too late.

“But-” Tess wasn’t able to finish.

“H-humans.” the werewolf gasped. _“P_ - _please_... _help!”_

“Alistair,” Tess protested.

“No.” he shook his head. “The Keeper said they set up ambushes, Tess. They’ve already had us three times. I’m not about to let you when _death_ might be waiting from that next corner.”

 _“Please! I am...not...”_ the beast tried to silence a scream; _tried,_ even Alistair saw it. It collapsed in a hoarse sob with another whimper that reeked of torment. It began to push back up on wobbling limbs, pausing to rake talons down a neck bragging of muscle and strong veins. The screech it emitted rang through Alistair’s ears as suffering and madness. Even though scratching wrenched coarse screams, it continued to torture itself, scratching now with all front claws. _“Please!”_ it choked out, _"it burns!”_ the next scratch drew blood, and Alistair felt the skin on his arms and neck prickle. _Just like Tess withdrawing._ He had no idea anything else was capable of enduring what Tess had. He looked to find her neck raised like gooseflesh, as well, and a tear on her cheek.

Tess slid from his hold and stepped toward the hurting werewolf. Po growled again, and before husband or wife could look to the dog, four more Weres bound around the corner. Po charged and Alistair yelled for Tess as they drew their weapons; she took only to her daggers. Ice flew overhead and blonde braids flew alongside; Alistair had forgotten anyone else was there.

The others almost weren’t needed. Tess warred enough for all of them, slashing quick and unmerciful, whiplash blades, dodging, _anger,_ a spinning vortex that kicked and sliced so fierce and fast Po and Zevran had to retreat. She was embracing the hate, _the nightmare, the ravaging, slaughtering, demolishing, scarring,_ what she hated about the Weres and herself, to try to save the one that epitomized all her _pain._ Wynne snaked in a fist of rock and Morrigan flung ice from her staff, lighting from her fingers. Alistair yelled for Tess to get down and she obeyed before he even caught his breath. Shield raised, he ran fast, barraged so hard he threw air and blood from the beast he pinned. He rammed the rim of his shield straight down into the neck again and again until it lay a mess of mash and bleeding flesh pulled up with every lift. Zevran and Sten had taken the largest one, lifeforce flying out in circles around the elf as daggers mangled and soared. Po fought with Tess at another large Were, _rage_ and _fury_ weaving around each tooth and blade as if the two had practiced this dance. As ice took down Shale’s werewolf, two other Weres arrived. Leliana managed an arrow before Alistair shoved one into the dirt wall. He completely forgot about his blade, bashing the face with his shield until he orchestrated whimpers, cracking and howls, a crescendo that ended before Alistair agreed it could. He spun to finish the other only to find Tess on the Were’s back, the elf and dog in front. Red reflected off moving diamond like glittering rubies falling from the sky as the dagger unstuck from under the arm; the artery Zevran favored. Zevran slashed as if carving his name in runes and Tess struck again, this time dragging the blade. From collar dip to jaw, Alistair recognized the killer he’d met at Ostagar, and she did not pull her blade until her dagger cut clear through the ear she’d held on to. Zevran caught her when they let the monster slide into bloody mud.

“Dammit,” Zevran looked down when Tess staggered away. “I got _blood_ on my boots. I _hate_ that!” he complained.

“Don’t even,” Tess shook her head, winded. “I’m _positive_ I broke a nail.”

Zevran winced. “Ooh. You have my sympathies, friend. I think I still have a bandage left?” he offered.

“Please?” Tess held out her left thumb. Alistair huffed with a grin as he pulled Tess’ leather-bound thumb to his mouth. She practically oozed affection when he planted a second kiss.

“The King of Ferelden and his mighty assassins, fearlessly dancing with werewolves and dragons, just as long as we’ve got proper nail care at the end of the day.” Alistair truthfully didn’t want it any other way.

“I’m an elf, Alistair, I _frolic._ At least get _my_ story right.” Zevran smirked.

_“P-please!”_

Tess’ eyes flew open and she tore from Alistair before he even remembered there was still one more werewolf left. Tess knelt in front of it much closer than Alistair was comfortable with. _Please help!_ It was Zevran who stopped Alistair from rushing when the Were grabbed Tess by the shoulder.

 _“Please!”_ Anguish and despair fell with each broken plea from the Were who bled by its own hands. “ _I am...not like them-m! Not mindless! My hus-my husband-”_ Tess flinched as the beast clenched everywhere, including at her shoulder. The Were choked on a howl that rose the hairs on Alistair’s skin once more. _“It’s...burning and...ice...help!”_ wailed not a beast, but a _person_ in pain. _“C-crushing and pull-pulling...at the same t-”_ another scream, and this time it clamped its own muzzle shut to quiet the hurt.

“You have a husband?” this was not the same woman who opened up the side of a werewolf’s head a moment ago.

 _“Please!”_ it grabbed Tess again. _“I am...was...Danyla...my husband-”_ it - she? - cinched in pain again, and its sob sent tears rolling down Tess’ face. The Were... Danyla...hesitated when she saw Tess’ tears. _“Please...Athras...I love him...don’t want him to s-suffer! Tell...him I sleep...am with the gods...”_ Tess wiped a hand across her face when Danyla scratched and screeched yet again. A rough and brittle voice, _“Please make it s-stop!”_

“We’re going to find Witherfang,” Tess whispered.

 _“Too late...for me...please...you...”_ the shade of this Danyla shivered and jerked and talons clanked as it unsheathed the rose dagger and pushed it flat to Tess’ chest. _“Please...you know...madness inside. Please do th-this!”_

Tess didn’t blink. She took the dagger, vacant other than the tears rolling down her face. “I can’t do it quick enough. Your neck is too big in back...”

 _“Please!”_ Danyla closed a huge furry hand over Tess’ and brought the dagger to the front of her own furry neck. _“Please! It hurts!”_

Alistair couldn’t catch his wife’s gaze. With a scant _Maker forgive me_ , the diamond blade slid so quick it made no sound. The werewolf - _Danyla_ \- gagged on spilling blood with bulging eyes. Her entire head then lolled around, the eyes looping in wide, unnatural waves. Tess dropped her dagger and caught the dying werewolf before she fell.

_Thank...you..._

A sniffle from Wynne was the only sound aside from wet gurgles. Tears dripped down onto the face of the Dalish Were, and Tess was repaid with a red puddle she had created. Tess sat frozen for moments after the wolfish head tipped to the side and stared into oblivion.

Forget the wonder and innocence that bounced off emeralds like children at play when Tess touched a halla. _This_ was her humanity. This was Tess’ show of love.

Alistair untied a scarf from the wrist of the dead werewolf in his wife’s arms; _Alistair felt_ he _would want a token of his wife, something to touch, to smell;_ when he moved Danyla away, Tess finally looked up. Soaked in werewolf blood waist-down, she silently asked her husband _why._

Tess had to be cleaned off. They couldn’t go wandering with her smelling like a dead Were, however they found no water nearby. They returned to the fading sign that pointed toward the dead Dalish werewolf and crossed back to the western half of the forest. Tess didn’t want to go back to the elven camp to change, and Alistair did not blame her; Teagan’s voice echoed in his head, _How do you plan to tell your brother about his wife?_ He sat her in a pond near the first set of werewolves they’d discovered, and for a moment, he just held her, soaking with her; another dead wife on her conscience, even when she was trying so hard to change. He loosened and tugged on her leather armor, scooping water in, gently splashing until all water ran clear when he stood her up. Morrigan and Wynne siphoned what water they could from Tess’ and Alistair’s armor, then Alistair tightened her ties and buckles. Tess whispered _husband, my husband,_ tying Danyla’s scarf around her left wrist, the very wrist Danyla had worn it on.

The entire forest seemed intent on wearing them to the core. Treading past the Were corpses, including Danyla, prompted Wynne to comment how brutal Alistair’s kills had been, asking if he _could not have just stopped when the werewolves initially died;_ Alistair’s only answer was _Nothing was too extreme when it came to protecting Tess._ In between scattered halla herds, they had bears to fend off and more ogres, both species turning out to be the few hostiles of the forest affected by arrows. Alistair became aware of Wynne’s remark on his over-killing starting with the ogres; he and Tess had been fighting separate ogres, but when her’s caused her to bleed, it felt like his insides had been flipped like a steak in a hot pan. Even his skin sizzled as he completely abandoned his ogre to end the one that hurt his wife. He bashed and kicked, shoved his sword till the hilt almost submerged. He felt like he watched from the back of his skull, only one intention as he cleaved, tore, hacked till limbs dangled and fell: _never let it touch her again._ He thrust his sword through the hideous face until he felt the tip grind through dirt, turned it, threw his weight with his shield to hammer the entire blade down. The cracking and crunching beneath his shield as Tainted gray flesh turned to slop weren’t enough. _He_ wasn’t finished until the skull snapped and crumbled from the top of the spine. When he finally stepped back to make sure it was indeed dead, Alistair heard the voice of the Guardian Spirit from the old temple at Haven; _a thirst for blood he didn’t know he possessed._

 _No. Not a thirst for blood. A thirst for her safety. Any bloodshed was strictly insurance._ He caught his breath as he examined her arm.

 _It’s only a scratch, Alistair, for goodness’ sake. I don’t remember other Grey Wardens being so dramatic,_ Wynne told him as she tipped brandy over Tess’ arm before she wrapped it.

 _No. It is never ‘only a scratch.’_ It didn’t matter that Wynne was right. What mattered was making sure Tess would always be there for him to wake up to every morning.

Alistair was grateful everyone fought though, even Morrigan. The constant exertion showed on the assassins, more openly on Tess which in turn made Alistair fight even harder, only quickening the cycle of strain. Possessed sylvan trees were littered aplenty, each unpredictably bursting alive, unnerving Tess to the point of tears with every constricting root restraint by the time the hosts fell; the last of these leaving her to mistake stray brush or tall grass for tethering roots long after she’d been freed, and Alistair heard words like _Loghain_ and _don't tie me_ while he hummed and held her close to trace upon her.

As if the combative trees weren’t hard enough on Tess, they discovered an old mage so loony and paranoid he spoke only in erratic questions. He made sense to no one but Tess, and Alistair assumed she understood this eccentric dialect for the same reason she related to the Dalish werewolf; living with lyrium unleashing chaos inside her allowed her a unique cognition of chaos outside. While his wife identifying with the mage troubled Alistair, it proved useful, for Tess was able to coax out the Grand Oak’s acorn plus information of _strange magic_ and _spies_ \- the wild sylvans perhaps? Woodland agents who reported to someone _outside_ and made sure the old man stayed mad enough to fear leaving, possibly to keep him from spreading secrets, or to keep him from being taken seriously if he did leave. Wynne flipped the table, though, criticizing Tess for understanding such madness because she was exactly the same. Sten stated this was no different than any other language, yet while he likely meant it as a compliment, it strongly suggested a person _must_ grow insane in order to learn this wild tongue. Though the old man was truly demented and needed to be killed because he attacked, the fact that Tess understood this language when she had similar moments of ludicrosity put her in a state of wondering. She asked Alistair if Wynne was right, questioned each of them, _Am I really like that?_ pressing for answers she didn’t believe. Alistair found himself arguing with Wynne, shouting at her to quit impelling Tess’ into reversion. It took threatening to have Shale escort the senior enchanter’s lifeless body back Kinloch Hold before Wynne agreed to stop, in her words, _pointing out Tesslyn’s liability to our success, that’s simply all;_ that statement alone nearly caused Alistair to strike the old woman. If they didn’t desperately need a great healer, he was genuinely tempted to bury the problem, or just leave it there to rot.

Alistair yet again separated Tess from the rest of the party, tenderly massaging the back of her hand, _It’s okay, I’m here, I have you_. He reassured her, _ensured_ her she was really the mighty, brave Grey Warden, the _Hero_ , that compassion and understanding did not make her any less sound than the rest of them. When he traced her rune on her face, she asked, _How can I be a Hero when I think like a madman?_ Alistair paused only to pull the right words together before he spoke, feeling rather like a king about to bolster a skeptic soldier. _Only Heroes can think the thoughts that save the world,_ he told her, _They’re the ones who see the need to help when others are afraid, they’re the ones who rush ahead to face danger head-on to keep others safe. Heroes do whatever they can to take away someone’s pain even if it means putting their own lives at risk. Heroes forget discrimination so people don’t have to die alone and unloved._ He insisted she was more human than the rest of them _because_ she allowed her compassion to take control. She was more than qualified to be a Hero. She had been the Dalish Were’s hero. _You are_ my _hero,_ Alistair would never let her forget that, _and I more than love you. So much more than love_ that he was willing to risk the personality rift of the healer just for _her._

It was almost sundown by the time the party had explored as much of the forest as they could. A magical barrier neither Alistair nor the mages could take down turned them around. They hiked back through the forest to the Grand Oak to ask if it knew the way past, and upon learning they’d acquired its lost acorn, it took a branch from itself and said it would allow them to pass. The branch unrestricted their path as promised, but more Weres awaited them. The same werewolf which first spoke to them attacked with a small pack, despite Tess insisting she’d rather talk. As soon as Alistair’s party readied arms to defend themselves, a snowy wolf leapt in the fight, landing right on Tess to interrupt her bow, knocking her off her feet. Alistair nearly cleaved the small beast in two, but when the creature backed away, he lowered his weapon to tend to his wife. They took rest for water, potions, a mass-stamina regeneration spell from Wynne.

Po caught a scent trail and led the party to forest-claimed ruins. Alistair recognized it as a design of the old Imperium, the inside equally archaic and descending deep into the terrain. Zevran had learned briefly about these places in his youth escapade to an Antivan Dalish camp, the ancient Vints had either lived here with the Dalish or had built it for them. Alistair personally found it interesting the elven ancestors used to live underground - something else for Tess’ letters to her brother.

The ruins, though beautiful and vibrant with sunlight peeking through tubers and chutes of leaves, lay home to strange magic that claimed the bones of either the ancient elves or unlucky travelers. Undead were their greatest concern, hard-hitting, and up close looking like their teeth had been shaped into fangs before death. Aside from a small Were pack, when it wasn’t undead, it was spiders; giant, bulbous, spitting poison that ate some of the metal from Alistair and Sten’s armor. Webs trapping them nearly every few steps meant the spiders had them at a huge disadvantage, that is, until Morrigan cried out from immobilization...and turned into a spider herself. Shale groaned, Sten cursed, Wynne marveled, Zevran said something about Antivan superstition, and Tess said she felt cheated that she didn’t know about this sooner. Spider-Morrigan made clicking noises with her pincers, and when she turned back into a human she explained she’d _convinced_ the spiders to leave them alone. Alistair let the witch know he was going to have a talk with her when they were done with all this _elfy-werewolf_ business. _Another story for the letters;_ Alistair was sure Fergus Cousland would be ecstatic to learn the future King let his sister wander Ferelden with a shapeshifter, in addition to fighting dragons and werewolves.

The painted amber Were found them again. _The Lady of the Forest_ wished to speak with them, no more death. Tess was not the only one relieved for the chance to talk with werewolves; Alistair welcomed the opportunity to not have to worry if Tess would lose blood. _The Lady of the Forest_ was unexpected, however. More spirit than physical, strange wolfish eyes, and though she had a general feminine shape, she hosted no nipples, no navel, no body hair, and all her limbs ended in woody vines. Alistair remembered where he’d seen those same vines.

“You’re the white wolf. You’re Witherfang,” he said. His wonder and awe resurfaced as he listened to _The Lady’s_ tale; gentle squeezes back and forth as Tess clutched his hand proved they were both equally enraptured.

The Dalish Keeper had lied, Zathrian himself had created the curse which caused the existence of the werewolves. Shale was the one to voice the upset of the Keeper lying to them, using them, but as _The Lady_ continued her story Alistair remained in favor of a peaceful resolution. She was right, the need for revenge would only drive them to more conflict. Aside from desiring _not_ to be at war with the Dalish during his entire reign as King, Alistair needed the elven numbers to help fight the Darkspawn.

When _The Lady_ dismissed them to collect the Keeper, Tess admitted to Alistair she was unsure of her ability to stay level-headed. Tess related too closely to the pain each Were went through, to the pain _Danyla_ had faced. She said she felt betrayed by a race she had grown up considering extended family; the Highever castle servants were all elves, a few even Dalish outcasts, and they had been kind to her despite how the nobles treated her, always welcoming her home, bidding her safe travels. When she pleaded Alistair for guidance, he told her to do what felt right, for she had been right about the werewolves all along. The course of action to take was hers to decide, he had faith his wife would do the right thing no matter the result.

They didn’t need to leave the ruins to find the Keeper. Zathrian was in the entry hall waiting for them. Alistair let Tess take over, and she surprised him. He was proud of her composure. She remained calm, deflecting each of Zathrian’s questions on Witherfang’s heart by rephrasing _we need to talk_ a handful of times, she stayed her blades. In the end, Zathrian agreed to follow them to _The Lady._ This was where her patience ended, though. They learned the Keeper had used blood magic to bind the spirit that had evolved into _The Lady;_ after all Tess, _and Alistair,_ had endured because of blood magic, they found no excuse from Zathrian acceptable. On accord of that single vendetta long ago, the Keeper would rather encourage his people to continue living his lie for centuries more to come; he really seemed to believe this would spare future Dalish. Though _T_ _he Lady_ calmed and convinced her speaking Weres to offer compassion and forgiving, Zathrian flat out asked Tess to kill Witherfang - _The Lady_ \- and hand him the heart.

 _The Lady_ gently protested when Tess announced herself judge, but Tess wouldn’t hear it. Tess was outside the feud of werewolves and elves, she was going to force the solution _she_ wanted. She alone knew the physical pain every Were suffered, and she understood why they raged and killed. She understood why Zathrian had originally cursed the humans who killed his son and raped his daughter centuries ago. She called it _shit_ and _childish,_ there were grander things at stake, terrible things that would end them all if neither side buried its petty quarrels. She even went as far as saying the present werewolves could not blame Zathrian because in truth their parents chose to reproduce instead of seeking a cure or eradication; and Zathrian was _a selfish little noble girl,_ told him his desire for constant pain on people who didn’t deserve it was no different than a smith mad at an usable hammer he broke himself, or an _assassin_ mad at someone for being dead when _she_ wielded the knife. There could be no coexistence between werewolves and elves; she recounted Danyla, rejected personally by Zathrian when she was bitten and abandoned by the Weres when she howled in pain while her transformation completed. She gave her own ultimatum: Zathrian remove the curse, and the surviving Weres return to civilization to aid the Blight; the alternative was death for all, no second chances.

At first the Keeper fought, retaliated by enchanting sylvans Alistair hadn’t even known were there, but Tess wanted Zathrian to herself; _she was done being cheated._ Alistair respected his wife’s wish, however he stepped in and caught the Keeper’s staff as Zathrian swung to knock her off her feet.

 _“No one_ hurts my wife.” Alistair broke the staff over his knee and tossed the splinters away, and Zathrian dropped to his knees in surrender.

Surrendered and submitted. The Keeper admitted he could not change, he had let revenge guide his days since his children had died. With as sigh that told Alistair the man feared death, Zathrian agreed to unbind Witherfang, which meant _The Lady_ would die along with the Zathrian, but with the Keeper’s life force retired, so would the curse.

Tess delayed the ending. Zathrian stared at her with saddened eyes as she thanked him for being brave enough to do this so she could use his warriors, and she would do her best to make sure they returned to the clan. Alistair wasn’t sure where this part of her came from, but he admired it. It was a tactic he would remember to use when he wore Ferelden's crown.

Showers of light grew too bright for them to see, but animalistic noises echoed the broken stone chambers until just before the glow dimmed. When their eyes adjusted, in place of werewolves that towered over Shale stood humans, who seemed too relieved to care they were prancing in their birthday suits. Alistair tried to force his own awkwardness away by asking what the naked people were going to do now that they were human again. _Not a damn clue;_ Tess advised they take the road west to Redcliffe to find Bann Teagan, to say they were there on orders from the King, and to train hard or else there would be no new life to start. The naked people were eager to kill Darkspawn, or they didn’t know and didn’t care what they had to do as long as they had their humanity again. They, too, departed from Tess in good company.

 _Thank you, Grey Warden._ This phrase was repeated all over the Dalish camp when they returned; the party rested while Alistair and Tess made rounds of the camp. The new Keeper Lanaya, first said it: _Thank you, Grey Warden,_ for Tess ending the curse. When Lanaya directed them to Athras, though Alistair had to recount the story of Danyla because Tess cried returning the scarf: _Thank you, Grey Warden._ Sarel, the story teller: _Thank you, Grey Warden._ The elven healer, because the wounded could finally heal: _Thank You, Grey Warden._ The halla mistress: _Thank you, Grey Warden._ Even the snarky scout who’d first greeted them: _Thank you, Grey Warden._ Not _Wardens,_ just one, only _Warden._ This was not Alistair’s glory. This was Tess, every _Thank you_ belonged to her.

The elves let them camp with them that night. Quick baths in the cooling lakes ended with hot food and mead around a fire and stories between new friends. Though Alistair and Tess retired to their tent early, a relaxing night for two complete with tender, grateful lovemaking was not even the highlight of this culmination. It was Tess and the look on her face as every offering of gratitude praised _her_ for _helping._ It was the aura about her as Alistair watched her comprehend that she was _not_ a monster, the change of expression in her eyes when she considered her own ability to do _good,_ to _help_ and _heal, bring hope_ , that _she -_ even as the erratic woman who fluently understood madmen dialect - _she_ was capable of being a Hero. _She was worth praise._

Alistair lay in the dark of their tent, one arm around her as her head warmed the crook between his shoulder and chest. She was not asleep yet, either. He listened to the sound of her breath as she stroked his beard, enjoyed the continual tingle from her fingers, lightly caressing up and down her back and arm to the rhythm of heat seeping from her lips. The two of them simply laid together, soaking in each others love with every heartbeat. When he held her tighter under the blankets, moved his head to give her one last kiss before his eyelids drifted shut, he felt her sigh deep, _full._ He knew exactly what she was experiencing: _proof_ that she was worth it, proof _she_ deserved something good. _Tess was worthy._

 

 

 

*** _NSFW***_

_Alistair and Tesslyn; scars, emotional and physical changes in the Brecilian Forest **:**_

_** ** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vashedan - crap.    
> Saar - dangerous  
>  _(translations courtesy of:[ Dragon Age: Qunlat](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Qunlat\)) _
> 
> Art by me.


	38. Everyone Wants Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair learns a lesson in politics in Redcliffe, then the party journeys to Orzammar. But what they think is a vacation turns out to be another city caught up in corruption from lost leaders. Alistair considers how low he'll stoop to save his love, and he and Tess deal with separation of their Taint when she enters the Proving tournament.

Returning to Redcliffe these days meant Alistair had _schooling._ He’d always had a desire to learn, but politics was frustrating. Arl Eamon’s lessons taught Alistair he should _want_ to be inclined to let a few hundred suffer, alienages for examples, for the sake of noble titles so others could relieve the King of _petty_ problems, like alienage problems, people like Banns, Arls and Teyrns. It made no sense to Alistair to even allow alienages if their very existence caused the need to strip entire districts of needed coin just to fund the building of castles so the paupers who had been robbed by the court _could more easily travel_ to complain of poverty, while simultaneously increasing the _need_ to address such grievance. It seemed best to let people keep their wages and only _have_ to travel once a year or less for concerns, as _those_ kinds of trips could double as vacations instead of headaches. And didn’t Ferelden already have enough castles? He understood a better example of what he was reading simply by watching Tess interact with Arl Eamon and Teagan.  

Teagan instantly adjusted accordingly to Tess’ new growth of love for herself, no matter the size of the change. The Bann used the obvious new spark of confidence to cleverly twist conversations when Arl Eamon was present. Alistair recognized tactic in this; Teagan was promoting new assets. It enlightened Alistair domestically and politically. Those who truly cared about Tess continued to see her potential despite her pitfalls, _just like Alistair did_ ; otherwise Teagan could not have adjusted so _quickly_ with just the right words to use. Her family was also sneakier than Tess considered; the fact that Teagan already had _just_ the right words to use suggested he’d been prepared to, he’d just been waiting for a chance. Alistair suspected Teagan of secretly giving him a lesson, _preparation amid expectation and optimism_. Surely there were others like Teagan, who saved face for whatever political power it gave them but could be called upon at the Landsmeet to speak up and support Tess as Queen at Alistair’s side.

As much as Alistair enjoyed Teagan’s presence and access to hot baths and a real bed, he was eager to leave again. _Orzammar_ , the city of dwarves. The entire party was excited to see it, even Sten and Morrigan, though they suppressed their excitement better than most. Po was even eager, and Alistair didn’t blame the dog one bit; how often would a mabari get to mark his territory underground and be able to return to the surface to boast about it? Alistair would get this dog underground to piss.

Winter was closing in on them, but the trek toward the gates of Orzammar made it seem like the mountain didn’t care when people thought winter should be; the entire range was always coated in snow. Though they didn’t hike the entire ascent of the Frostback mountains, Gherlen’s Pass conformed a great deal to the natural curves of the valley between the tall jagged cliffs, sometimes dipping only to climb again. Alistair talked with Tess while she wrote her letters to her brother at night; if they were still on track with the calendar, the first sighting of stone dwarven Paragons coincided with the first day of Satinalia. Though Alistair and Tess marveled over each statue, the arrival at the gigantic gates of Orzammar meant they would avoid a great deal of incoming snowstorms. Alistair was grateful for this, Ferelden snow far from friendly.

The party stopped at a clearing busy with surface dwarves and other merchants, a small bazaar before the huge dwarven gates. Bodahn and Sandal and all but Shale flocked to see what goods they could trade or buy, while Alistair and Tess stared in awe. As if the gates themselves weren’t grand enough, there stood more statues and rock carved all around: into a platform for an exquisite sundial, into fancy guard rails for each set of stairs, into fantastical designs that seemed to extend for miles up around the massive metal gates themselves. The gates and carvings alone were more inspiring than even the entire Dalish camp.

“Happy Satinalia, Tess.” Alistair squeezed his wife’s hand, meeting her gaze when she returned his affections. Her eyes were sparkling already, the metal doors redirecting sunlight straight upon them was like looking into clear-cut emeralds held against flame. A smile that matched the amazement glittering in her eyes spread across her face. Standing outside of a gate wasn’t much of a first-day present, even though these were gates to a dwarven city - certainly not something she could hold or keep at all times. But it was a discovery they were making  _together_ , a legend they’d only ever read about in books. Alistair knew they would never forget this.

“The Shaperate?” quiet yet eager, full of hope.

He grinned for her. A new library filled with history on golems, paragons, dwarven resistance to magic, titans, information only dwarves had the honor of seeing? “Definitely the Shaperate. We’ll use Zevran as a distraction, and when they’re not looking, stuff as many books as we can in our bags.” She wound herself right into his chest and arms in a tuft of giggles that told him she was thinking the same thing.

Innocent awe did not last long though; _when did it ever on this entire mission?_ Running curious hands over intricate carvings on polished stone that protected steps, _as if the steps themselves would fall into abyss without their guardians,_ was interrupted by a sound that froze Grey Warden feet.

_King Loghain._

Tess whipped her daggers out so swift Alistair honestly wasn’t sure how long they’d been ready. _“Oh,_ no! No, no, _no!”_ She advanced toward the humans arguing with dwarven guards directly in front of the doors. “If you use those two words together again, _young man_ , I will send you back to that traitorous raping bastard with your tongue up your ass and my message carved into your back!”

Alistair was actually curious to see her try this. It was brutal, but considering what Loghain had risked so far, it seemed all too appropriate.

“And just who do you think you are to smear our good King’s name?” the mercenary spokesman demanded. A mage behind him readied a staff that had seen better days.

Alistair handed the Treaty for Orzammar to the dwarven guard who’d been trying to turn the humans away. “I happen to be _King_ Alistair Theirin,” Alistair stepped between the mercenary and Tess, “Son of _King_ Maric _,_ brother of _King_ Cailan _._ You are lucky enough to be in the presence of my _wife, Queen_ Tesslyn. You’ll want to hold your tongue before she cuts it out. My wife is not known for her patience.”

“There is no heir to the throne-”

“Then what is Loghain doing calling himself _king,_ I wonder?”

“You’re Grey Wardens?” the dwarven guard asked. “I can’t say we weren’t expecting you.” he rolled up the parchment and held it back out to Alistair. “Orzammar’s in a bit of an uproar, but you’re entitled to roam as you please. The Assembly is what you need. Diamond Quarter.”

“What? You can’t let them in and not us! We come under orders of the King!” the human mercenary protested.

“And the _King_ advises you to leave before my wife carves her name into your backside.” Alistair gripped the handle of his sword.

“You’re traitors! You can’t tell us what to do! We’ll bring back their heads!” but before any of the mercenaries could move, the mage dropped to the ground with rolling eyes and blood spurting from underarms. Zevran shook off his daggers with blond brows raised in genuine indifference.

“I probably should have mentioned I’m no longer fond of mages since that tall tower shaped like an Andrastian private part,” the elf said. Alistair couldn’t help a grin before he pulled his sword and shield.

Either Loghain’s standards for hired arms were shameful or the man was incredibly gullible when it came to skill, but it took no time for the mercenaries to fall. These ones had been even easier to strike down than Zevran. The traitor’s lackeys sprawled about feet, Alistair watched as the elf winced and stretched an arm above his head, _ooh, I think I pulled a muscle._

“My Dear, I think we need to start paying Zevran.” Alistair looked at Tess as he wiped his sword clean on the dead mage’s robes.

“Everyone else will demand payment too, you know,” she joked.

“I think all but Sten,” he agreed, standing up. “But,” he gestured to the dead mage and the mercenary Zevran had stabbed in the neck, “he’s finally acting like hired help.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, _Your Highness,_ ” Zevran exaggerated a bow and Alistair grinned. “Coin is not necessary, really. Buy me a prostitute in Denerim and I’ll consider us even, I insist.”

Alistair couldn’t help another laugh. As much as he’d hated this elf in the beginning, he wasn’t so bad to have around sometimes. “My first official Royal Transaction. Offer accepted. Your King is glad to no longer hide that my elf might secretly be a slave.”

“A slave?” Zevran echoed. _“Now_ he admits it. _How_ many times have I asked you for a collar? _Slaves_ get _collars,_ slaves _always_ get collars. With the little ring for tying a chain so you can _drag_ me around on parade - unless you’re _ashamed_ of me, _are_ you ashamed of me? You know what? Never mind all that, just get me a collar.” Zevran put his own hand around his neck, stretching but keeping eye contact as if demonstrating. “It goes tight, right here, do you see? About half a finger too tight - ah, _my_ finger, that is, _your_ finger might completely crush my windpipes. But just like this, right above this bulge just tight enough to dig in, that way I am always reminded I am wearing it whenever I swallow.”

Alistair had to brace the wall to stay balanced. “Just... _go_ , Zevran,” his sides nearly hurt from laughing so hard inside. “Go tell someone to wait out here with the dwarves. I don’t even care who at this point.” Zevran tromped off with sass and a sneer, mumbling something about _now I’ll never get one_ , and Alistair shifted his weight to lean on Tess when she stood next to him.

“You really shouldn’t encourage that. He likes looking at your bum more than I’m comfortable with,” she muttered. Alistair grinned at his wife, still giggling. She glared flatly when his eyes landed on her neck. “Absolutely not,” she stated adamantly; this was outside of her boundaries

“All right, fine, _you_ can try it on _me_ then,” he made himself giggle even harder, biting his lip to quell himself as he hid in her hair.

“I am _not_ choking you. I think I have done _enough_ damage to your body,” she reminded him. His laugh came out in a croaky coo as he scooped her up and hoisted her off the ground for a tight hug.

“Oh sweetheart,” he murmured, squeezing her in a little twirl. He loved how she _only_ hugged him, no clinging, just a hug; _trust._ He was perfectly fine with _enough._ “Have I told you I more than love you, today?” her arms tightened when he pushed his face into her cheek to lay a kiss.

“Only a couple times.”

“I _more_ than love you, my wife.” He moved his head to kiss the corner of her mouth, and she turned in him for another, echoing _more than love_ within their embrace. “Should we get inside? Go hunt down that mysteriously amazing library?” he lifted his head. “Zevran! We require your assistance inside! For-” Alistair caught himself, shot a glance toward the dwarven guard who permitted them to enter the city. “Things. We need you for things.”

“Things? Things are good. How many things? Do I need a backpack? Or should I bring a barrel?” Zevran called back over. “Or are these things more like the things that sometimes leave _little marks_ on one’s wrists and ankles? Or _little lines_ on one’s plump back end?”

Alistair and Tess giggled into each other. “He’s _your_ elf,” he reminded her as her toes touched the ground.

“Not after that clever _slave_ comment. I’ll be fighting him off you in the middle of the sodding night from now on.”

He pressed one more kiss to her forehead. “Time to train Po to nip elf bums, then.”

The dwarven guard who had granted them access into Orzammar stared curiously up at husband and wife as they led Shale, Po, Zevran and Morrigan to the entrance. Two other dwarven guards pulled on metal handles, just as ornate as the rest of the enormous doorway. Eventually and gradually, the doors opened, sweeping across the stone floor with an airy scuffle.

“You’re really Grey Wardens, huh?”

Alistair wasn’t sure how well he hid his smirk. “That is the _official_ title, yes.”

The dwarf nodded slowly, frowning, doubtful. “Standards must have dropped.” he gave a nod of his head to wave them on back. Alistair wasn’t the only one who laughed at the dwarf’s cheek.

The moment they stepped inside, fascination returned. Even Morrigan was enthused, though she scoffed and tried to hide it by dragging her feet behind and away from them, peeking at the statues when the others weren’t looking; Alistair smirked when he spied her. They stopped to admire every idol. Great dwarven Paragons; Alistair had read enough about this culture to know the Paragons were like gods to the dwarves. Brilliant Ancestors remembered for great inventions that helped the entire race. They were revered even when they lived, and the effigies around Alistair now were an immortal honoring of those achievements. Shale was possibly more interested than Alistair or Tess were. Even Zevran, who didn’t seem to care much, stood by to learn the name of each statue.

The elf soon looked up in distraction around the height of the room. “Do you think the dwarves are compensating for something?” he asked.

Alistair did a double-take and looked up as well, though he had no idea what Zevran meant. “Compensating?”

“Yes. A race of very short people of which we only witness _men_ on the surface, and we step into their home to find they have gargantuan ceilings. You don’t think they’re compensating for anything?”

“Compensating for what?” Alistair repeated.

“Really, Zevran?” Tess asked, color rising to her cheeks.

“Hmph. The painted elf has a point. I myself used to be gargantuan,” Shale added. “Dwarves do seem incapable of building anything to scale. Impractical, really.”

“Are we truly standing here amongst dwarven Paragons discussing their insecurities?” Morrigan censured.

“I am completely at a loss. Will someone please fill me in?” Alistair looked around at his small party.

Tess sighed. “Zevran is saying he thinks the dwarves,” she lowered her voice, “built extremely tall ceilings to make up for lacking _length_ and _strength_ in their trousers. If their homes are gigantic, outwardly this _visually_ proves they _must_ be manly, right?” she met his eyes hopelessly and gave a tiny shrug. “I think this conversation could have been saved for a tavern.”

Alistair gave a chuckle as he looked up, around, glanced from dwarf to dwarf, even at Shale. He suddenly couldn’t stop laughing, partially out of embarrassment for thoughts running through his head. “Maker, I... _can’t not_ see this all, now...all these tiny dwarves...” he could only imagine how red his cheeks were.

“With push-pin sized prickers,” Zevran giggled right along with Alistair. Po barked, as if happily informing them _even smaller than a puppy’s!_ “I quite agree, my friend. There seems to be no other explanation.”

The size of of the Hall of Heroes was nothing to the actual city, however. If they had been enraptured at all in that entry, it now felt trivial and pointless. Even though Alistair knew he stood in _merely_ the Commons _, this_ was magnificence. _Everything_ was larger than Alistair could even imagine things being. The ceiling stretched so high Alistair wondered if he’d stepped through some magical portal; the mountains certainly didn’t look this big from the outside. At the very least, the entire mountain range had been carved to nothing more than a shell. A second tier above them with rails of polished stone glittered, stretching miles above him in a path that seemed to curve. Memory of geography lessons told him that was the Diamond district, building precisely cut with Paragons so tall he could see them from where he now stood.

Alistair could see a rocky top, but it looked more like an illusion, as if they were being tricked to think they were underground. Nothing about this place looked _under_ or even _ground_. This was a new realm entirely. He couldn’t believe it possible for him to be standing here. He expected to see dragons mingling amongst the _commoners,_ talking and strutting down the corridors between lava falls and the immaculate guard rails that overlooked a massive drop to a lake of lava. He wasn’t even sure the sight of gryphons _,_ wandering about would strike him as out of place. The lava reflecting off of every piece of sparkling polished rock gave everything a golden hue. This was... _too_ magnanimous. The dwarves didn’t need magic, their _entire home_ was magical. Alistair felt tiny and insignificant standing there.

“How do...” Tess released Alistair’s hand to hold hers flat, waist high. As speechless as he was, her head followed a female dwarf that crossed in front of Alistair then her, and as the she-dwarf wandered away from them, Tess’ hand raised level to her bosoms. She didn’t need to finish for Alistair to know what she was saying, _how do people so short build things so tall?_

“I...” Alistair could only shake his head.

“That is a lot of lava. I expect they sit around waiting for it to boil up and liquefy them all.” Shale commented with a groan. “And to think I was just getting used to be the tallest.”

“Er, these dwarves are not tall, Shale,” Zevran corrected.

“I was referring to the statuary.”

“Ah. Well how do you think _I_ feel?”

Po interrupted the elf with a bark, _what are you complaining about?_

“Ah. Too true, my four-legged friend. You are the smallest of us. All right, this round is yours. I will try to find you a special doggy treat to make up for your lack of height, yes?” Zevran offered. Po barked with a wag of his stumpy tail.

Alistair forced his eyes to Tess. She was staring at the dwarves, the ones who passed by in front of them, the guards, merchants down the steps, as many as she could. “Are you breathing?” he teased his wife.

“There are...a _lot_ of beards here...” her brows raised high as a dwarf with a particularly long, puffy beard walked by.

Alistair laughed breathlessly, still in awe at the scenery all around him. “Do I need to be jealous?” he joked quietly.

“P...possibly...” she almost seemed more amazed by the beards than she did the grandeur of the city. He let out another winded chuckle. He couldn’t blame her fascination though. Finally observing the dwarves, it appeared the only ones without beards were women. No, not all... _nearly_ every man had a beard, and not just a bounce of hair at his jaw like Alistair had, but proud brush, some flowing, many long enough for braids. Thick, hearty manes, whereas Alistair had a puffy mound of whiskers that curled over his jawline.

A hand reached up with a gentle smack upon his face, and a second, loopy and uncoordinated, and a third time. Alistair couldn’t even look over to see why, Tess repeatedly ran her right hand down his face in absent-minded strokes. Only when her fingers slowed, as she realized she’d already found his beard, was he able to peek. Her right arm, the one he normally guided because he always kept her to his left, was twisted in a funny position, shoulder protruding so she could reach his beard with her entire hand. A laugh rumbled deep inside Alistair when he put the picture together; the sight of so many beards was arousing her, but since she couldn’t touch all _those_ beards, she was converging on Alistair’s. Slow, deliberate fondling, rubbing hair between her fingers to feel the texture, digging her nails down to reach his skin, gently scraping his chin and jaw and neck as she allowed herself to indulge in the scratch she so craved when they made love, all while staring agape.

He turned and pulled her in; her hand never left his face even when she looked at him. Her eyes flew all over his chest, where he held her other hand, to his beard and eventually his own eyes. Her pupils were wide, dilated with lust that explained her heaving chest and shortage of breath better than the heat from the lava all around.

Amusement rolled up from his throat in a husky giggle. “Do I need to ask if the tavern has rooms? Or go set up our tent?” he played softly.

Her eyes searched him so quickly he was amazed she didn’t dizzy herself. She nodded, breathing deep, “yes,” she whispered.

But they didn’t even get a chance to take a step. A group of dwarves stampeded up the stairs now behind Tess, arguing so loud it broke both Alistair and Tess from their kiss in curiosity and worry that the scuffle was _their_ fault. A small collection of armed dwarves surrounded two surprisingly clean dwarves in attire that shined like silk. The shining dwarves were loud, simultaneously yelling as if the other was down the way instead of at his side. Husband and wife shared glances as the graying dwarf, donning a much more impressive beard than the other, said the _king_ had made him promise not to put the other on the throne, while the other declared himself _of royal birth,_ a _Prince._

Alistair groaned inside. _Great,_ another domestic battle of politics.

“Is _every_ town we visit going to be like this?” Morrigan complained as the noisy dwarves continued their quarrel down the stairs beyond Alistair.

He groaned again and rested his chin on Tess’ head. “I hope not.” he sighed, “I am _so_ sorry, love. I _promise_ I will make this up to you as soon as we have time.” he rubbed his beard near her ear, and she squirmed into him. “I _promise,_ ” he insisted singsong, leaving a kiss before he pulled away.

“I think this is one of those times the Maker is _bored_ with existing life,” Tess breathed. Alistair let out a soft laugh in irony and pressed one more kiss, wishing he couldn’t agree. If all their poor luck was the Maker disgruntled and restless in the whatever-heavens, it was growing humorless.

They followed the yelling down the open corridor, between the merchants to the right of where they’d stood in awe, through a set of doors that led to an annoying odd-angled staircase, like spirals with no sense of fluidity. Alistair was starting to think dwarves couldn’t sculpt circles. _More arguing._ These blasted dwarves bickered about everything, now it was women, a _she._ Alistair had to admit - silently, only to himself - that he and Morrigan weren’t even this bad. A guard not caught in dispute pointed them toward the Chamber of Assembly, which was _past the palace_ , as if any of them knew where the palace was. However, neither building was hard to find, both the largest buildings carved deep into the stone walls; the palace hosted polished stone in what Alistair assumed was the idealistic linear angle with a gigantic Paragon on the rooftop, and the Assembly, _even larger than the palace,_ housed statues of Paragons at their massive doors, enormous rooftop columns with some sort of gem seeded in that reflected the lava with a reddish glow. Alistair had seen both of these structures from his stance of awe down in the Commons.

The palace was _officially closed_ due to no king on the throne. Another guard told them to take their concerns to the Assembly, which was even more closed off than the palace. A single dwarf greeted them, said Prince Bhelen and Lord Harrowmont were meeting with the Assembly at present, but if the Grey Wardens would help Prince Bhelen take the throne, they would be guaranteed support for the Blight. _Finally a step in the right direction._ But this dwarf who worked for the _Prince_ told them _all they needed to do_ was slander the name of this Harrowmont fellow. Alistair saw two problems with this: publicly shaming a man would look bad for the Grey Wardens and lose the order any respect down the line, including future needed aid from Orzammar even during the next Blight. Alistair also didn’t want to step into his own role as King after publicly vilifying a man who may have ended up Orzammar’s best bet; he didn’t see that as effective, he only saw future animosity. Orzammar would never trust him to send an Ambassador for any reason if Alistair carried this out, even if he came seeking refuge from the surface for the citizens of Ferelden. Zevran, who stated the Crows often slandered names free of charge, agreed with Alistair: if they performed this task, there was no guarantee this Prince wouldn’t use it against them later and deny the Grey Wardens aid for the Blight. This was not a risk Alistair could take. The dwarf fronted cheer and bid them a good afternoon as they returned to the Diamond quarter corridor.

Alistair needed a break. Politics was quickly becoming a dire foe.

...and yet as he stood there at the solid stone railing with an arm around his wife while she nestled into the crook of his neck, he realized he would stoop to whatever depths it took to gain the army he needed to protect Tess. If this Harrowmont character was in truth a better man than the Prince but lacked the ability to command an army or enforce the Grey Warden treaties to dwarves who never stepped foot on the surface in their lives, yet this Prince could, then Alistair would absolutely spread lies. He disliked the idea, but he would do _whatever_ would grant him the best chance and waking up next to his wife after the Archdemon lay dead. He wondered how many other times in his royal career he would have to make choices like this.

Silky lips pressed to his neck just below the tail end of his beard. His eyes closed with a second kiss, savoring the sensation of her closeness in this strange world. She was _more than comfort, more than love_ during this strange time for him, his realization that he _would_ be forced to take extremes one day, extremes that gained him what he wanted - _needed -_ right now but may in fact cause even more extremes to sort out down the line. _Could Alistair openly abuse a man’s reputation, and thus the man’s family, for the guarantee of soldiers if he knew it could hurt the entire country of Ferelden years from now? Was he willing to accept present security at the risk of future war?_ He sighed, held his wife tighter, returned her sweet kisses. _For her, yes. Anything for her._

Still, Alistair was grateful when Tess suggested they talk to the Harrowmont representative first before deciding anything. A noble pointed them toward Harrowmont’s estate, and though not nearly as grand as the palace, it still loomed proud and sturdy over them. The Crier outside the door was no use talking to, but they were greeted with surprising hospitality upon stepping foot inside the manor. No one even mentioned _Grey Warden,_ there was simply kindness and offering, drinks and a place to sit. Alistair already had a better feeling about this Lord Harrowmont. Unfortunately, Harrowmont was expected in the Assembly for another few hours at least, _depending on how much they all feel like arguing today,_ Harrowmont’s steward Dulin explained. However, House Harrowmont could not just accept the Wardens word of alliance with so many Bhelen spies everywhere. Dulin said if they could prove their loyalty, then Lord Harrowmont would be willing to meet with them privately and conduct a plan to ensure the Grey Wardens could return to the surface with their Treaty fulfilled. The task: enter the Proving Grounds and investigate why Harrowmont’s kin had backed out of the Proving tournaments, and an even stronger declaration of partnership if the Grey Wardens fought in Harrowmont’s name.

Alistair’s insides practically melted in relief. This seemed more honorable than shaming, even if they had to fight in a tournament endorsing the name of another.

_But there is always a catch with politics._

Baizyl, cousin to Lord Harrowmont, refused to fight because Prince Bhelen had blackmailed him with evidence of a love affair. He said he would reconsider if the Wardens secured the letters for him, claiming it was not his personal reputation he was worried about but his lover’s. Alistair was no longer fond of this candidate, though. He remembered all too well how it felt when he thought Tess and Zevran were having an affair. In this case, Alistair saw no difference between  _slandering Harrowmont’s name_ and  _covering up a forbidden intrigue_ that could hurt the husband of Baizyl’s lover. Tess was just as conflicted about the situation, but offered to sneak out the letters if it was what Alistair chose. Neither option seemed honorable. Alistair knew _he_ would be _livid_ if Zevran was having an affair with Tess and someone else aided in keeping it a secret.

If Ferelden politics turned out to be this petty and disgraceful, Alistair would make serious changes as soon as he was crowned.

Alistair didn’t want to run around all day, or night, or whatever it was anymore. He wanted to retire for the evening, _the tent on the snowy surface was sounding better by the moment,_ he had promised Tess a wonderful night of love, plus the smell of roasting nugs that hung like a low cloud over the city did nothing for his growing appetite. Alistair forced Baizyl into one agreement, no options: they would get the letters for him but he would burn them, Baizyl had immediately cease the love affair and return to the Proving tournaments under Harrowmont’s name; otherwise no deal. Though he seemed genuinely crushed by the thought of never seeing his lover again, _which Alistair also sympathized with,_ Baizyl agreed. Alistair, Morrigan and Shale went around speaking to the competitors, asking questions about the Provings such as _history, what does it mean to win a Proving, why were they fighting,_ dramatizing curiosity. By the time they reached the siblings who hoarded proof of correspondence in their quarters, a Grey Warden with a mage and a golem approaching with questions played out as a reliable distraction for Tess and Zevran to break in undetected.

Alistair burned the letters in front of Baizyl in a cooking fire in the Provings lobby, and under this pressure Lord Harrowmont’s cousin agreed to keep his end of the bargain.

Tess was the one who convinced the other dwarf, Gwiddon, a reigning champion for Harrowmont already, to fight again. This interaction was thankfully over in a blink. Figuring their job was complete with the two dwarves in compliance again, Alistair wanted to leave; entering the tournament wasn’t _required._ Tess wanted to talk to the Provings Master though, _of course she did,_ so Alistair told Zevran to scope out the roasted nug meat for sale, while he patiently waited for his wife’s curiosity to be sated.

It wasn’t. _Of course it wasn’t_ . At the first offer to have a Grey Warden compete in the tournament, Tess turned to Alistair with an eagerness he hadn’t seen from her since they gained Shale’s broken control rod, minus the jumping and squealing. With a sigh of defeat, Alistair agreed; _anything for her._ One day, giving in to her excitement for oddities would bite him in the ass.

Alistair wasn’t allowed in the fighting ring with Tess. The rules stated one body at a time, for now. The notion set both of them into a bit of a panic, _they had never been apart since her Taint settled_ , but Alistair bit back what trembles tries to surface, for her sake. He would be King, she would be Ferelden’s Hero; he had to continue to convince her she was capable of anything, even - _especially_ \- without him at her side physically supporting her. The Provings Master said Alistair could join her for later matches, so Alistair assured his wife he’d be watching, _where_ he’d be watching, ready to jump in if she needed him to. The look on her face said she was torn between fright and excitement. Alistair hoped he wasn’t showing his own anxiety when her Taint diluted from his body as she descended out of sight.

“Tis your _Taint_ that causes the scare of separation?” Morrigan theorized.

“Shut up, I mean it.” Alistair leaned over to scratch behind Po’s ears before nudging the mabari to walk with him to the spectators seating. Shale’s heavy footsteps thundered around them as if announcing Alistair was on the move.

Alistair stood at the edge, ignoring dwarves behind him protesting he and Shale were blocking the view. When the irritating complaints continued, Po growled deep, menacingly, baring teeth and gums, and when this drew more grousing, Po barked and feigned an attack lunge. Further objection suddenly quit; Alistair dropped a hand to give Po another affectionate scratch, proud and grateful, _That’s my boy._ Po stood on his hind legs, resting his paws on the rough stone guard rail, and watched the empty arena next to Alistair.

Alistair couldn’t feel Tess as she walked out from a door opposite him. _Too far away._ He couldn’t just call her back. She drew her bow as she stepped out, but even from such distance Alistair could tell she was trying to hide her hands fidgeting; Alistair’s own hands were tucked under his arms to prevent _wringing_ and _digging_ , but his toes thrashed inside his boots while his knees and ankles knocked and bounced him. Her head froze toward Alistair, and though he couldn’t see her eyes from here, he knew she saw him. He wasn’t sure how to signal her, acknowledge he saw her too.

A single dwarf entered the ring from somewhere across from Tess and the Provings Master boomed all around in announcement of _The Grey Warden_ competing against some dwarf of the Warrior caste.

Po cocked his head with a whine as the battle began, _Why is she down there alone?_

Alistair stayed his hand, afraid he might be too rough with even a simple pat right now. “I don’t like it either, trust me.”

“Oh! I almost missed it! You’re lucky you’re an easy man to find. Benefits of being a giant, yes?” Alistair gave a double-take as Zevran settled in on the other side of him; he'd almost forgotten about him. The elf cradled a basket of roasted seasoned meat and silently tried to decipher Alistair’s expression as he chewed. “Do you want some? It’s not as bad as I expected. I do not remember eating nug in Antiva.”

“I - _no_ . I can’t eat right now.” Alistair turned his gaze back to watch his wife, down there, _alone_ , without him. He tried to watch every step Tess made; _arrow after arrow missed the dwarf’s feet, Alistair fathomed Tess trying to force the warrior off balance._

“Thrill and suspense, I understand. How about our mabari friend? Po, have you tried nug yet?” Zevran asked with a full mouth. Po barked eagerly and leaned backwards; Alistair shot another double-take, a glare as Zevran’s reach grazed the overhang of armor over Alistair’s bottom.

“Cut that a little close, didn’t you?” _Tess used her bow to slap again, kicked._

Zevran chuckled. “Speaking of your buttocks -”

Alistair groaned. _“No_ , Zevran we were _not_ speaking of my buttocks.” From the corner of his eye, he saw the elf grin.

“But we are now! So why waste the opportunity? You see, I have noticed increasing amounts of _teasing_ this subject lately, and I wonder -”

 _“No,_ Zevran,” Alistair repeated. _The warrior dwarf slammed a leg down to sturdy himself for a wide swing; Tess raised a knee to her chest before shoving it into the dwarf’s belly._

“But I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet,” Zevran insisted.

The Provings Master called out; the match went to Tess; intermission before the next duel. _The warrior dwarf crawled around on hands and knees gasping for breath._ Tess immediately called for the next match, _Why wait?_

“What?! No!” Alistair yelled, leaning over the railing. Tess looked up at him. _“No!_ That’s _it!_ I said _one!” Blast!_ He wasn’t even sure she could hear him.

“I do not think she can hear you from there,” Morrigan affirmed.

 _“Thank_ you, Lady Obvious,!” Alistair snarled.

“You were previously aware she was so headstrong when you _allowed_ her to enter, were you not?”

“I’m serious, Morrigan! If you don’t shut up, I’ll have Shale throw you down there to help!” Alistair paced as far as he could while stuck between Po, Zevran and Shale. _“Dammit!_ I said _one! One round!”_

“Do you want to know what else is round?” Zevran offered.

“Shale, you need throwing practice, yes?” Alistair growled.

“If it allows me the throwing of annoying birds and squishy mages, then _yes,_ ” Shale agreed.

The Provings Master announced the second match, twins; the siblings they distracted earlier to get Baizyl’s affair documents. She had to fight against two?

“I _need_ to be _down_ there! _How_ can that be fair!” he yelled to the Provings Master; Po was also whining, _I need to help!_ The Provings Master side-glanced him, Alistair was close enough to catch that.

“Alistair, come, come, have a bite. Do you need an ale?” Zevran said.

“If everyone doesn’t shut up, I’ll throw you all down first to have something to break my fall when I jump!” _Why_ did she _do_ this? He gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white. _Tess shot an arrow through the thigh of the female, a warrior._ It was bad enough he couldn’t feel her presence; Alistair hadn’t been prepared for this, _no_ one had _ever_ said anything about _panic, peril, insecurity_ that settled in when ripped from people who shared the same Taint. And now this... _Tess kicked again, but the rogue male was limber enough to avoid; a thin spray of blood left her face as a dagger whipped._ Po angrily barked his disapproval; Alistair’s roar was interrupted by small hands spinning him. He was surprised to see Zevran was the one with such a forceful grip.

“She is _not_ dead, Alistair.” Zevran paused to watch his basket of roasted nug fall from the guard wall down to the arena floor; he cursed in Antivan, and Alistair took the moment to peek at Tess. _She flung her sparkling dagger under a swing of her bow._ Zevran pulled Alistair’s attention back, “This is a _tournament_. Did you listen to the rules? There is no killing until the final match. This is only the second match.”

“That does _not_ help me right now, elf!” Alistair said through his teeth. “She is _bleeding!”_

“And she is a _keen rogue_ ,” Zevran tried to assure him; it wasn’t working.

“She is outnumbered. Darkspawn are one thing, _people_ are another!” Alistair peeked over; _Tess rolled out of reach of the female’s swing, while the male knelt holding his groin._ Zevran immediately turned Alistair’s head back.

“You must calm down, Alistair. Otherwise all we will hear when go back up to those sparkling rich dwarves is the Crier saying, _Grey Warden has breakdown at sacred Proving! Assembly declares Grey Wardens unstable and deny them aid for the Blight!”_

“I genuinely do not give a sodding fuck, Zevran! If anymore of these dwarves lay another finger on my wife, I will collapse this entire mountain!”

“I understand. But you need to give us all time to get out first, yes? This includes dear Tesslyn.” Zevran released Alistair’s face as the Provings Master announced the match went to the Grey Warden. Alistair nearly threw himself over the edge to try to determine Tess’ injuries.

“We need to attend to Tesslyn.” Morrigan was already departing.

“Call it off!” Alistair bellowed. When Tess looked up at him, he gave a sharp point toward the door she’d come out of. He was not giving her a choice anymore.

Alistair walked so hard his boots clanked against the stone floor like angry chimes. Her Taint returning to busy his blood instantly relaxed a good deal of tension from his body, however he still worried over her wound. As soon as she came into view, he was magically _right there_ squeezing her tight.

“Do _not_ do that again, Tess!” he ordered her.

“It’s not bad.”

He pulled back to judge for himself. “It’s deep enough,” he frowned. “Morrigan!” Alistair gestured with his head, stepping back so the witch could apply a healing spell.

“There are still three more rounds left, Alistair,” Tess murmured.

 _“No.”_ he shook his head, “you are done. Those cousins of his can continue fighting. I didn’t come all this way to lose you in a stupid match of whose balls are bigger.”

“The Provings happen to show which of us have the Ancestors favor, Grey Warden.”

Alistair turned to see the Provings Master. “Your Ancestors were people with brilliant minds and clever inventions. I can’t see anyone like that approving outnumbered duels. You don’t get to deny me keeping my wife safe but allow dwarves to double up. That is no way to test favor. One dwarven warrior is enough to overpower a human warrior _as it is._ Two against one was unacceptable. She’s not fighting anymore. End of story.”

The old dwarf just stared at Alistair. “You realize she _won_ this round, right?”

 _“That_ would be your Ancestors looking out for you. Had she crawled up here with any worse injuries, the entire arena would be a bloodbath right now.”

“Alistair -” Tess began with a sigh.

“That is _more_ than just a scratch, Tess, _no_ . You are done. Those men of Harrowmont’s are finishing for you.” Alistair could see Shale, Morrigan, Zevran and even the Provings Master stare when Tess didn’t argue with his tone, _instead she stuck out her right hand for him;_ Alistair gladly drew circles. None of them could feel what he felt, though. She was relieved, grateful to be back with him, and not because he _wanted_ to believe that but because of the way she held herself: the droop in her shoulders, taking _full_ breaths, her eyes closing as Morrigan pushed pearly wisps into the open flesh across her right cheek. Tess never closed her eyes unless Alistair was right there with her, she always stood stiff and ready for attack. Her Taint hummed through him like the sound of young leaves caught in a breeze; when she was upset in any way, she raged inside of him like stirred wasps. He understood she was trying to get all the matches out of the way at once, to be done with them; it was easier to fight than focus on not feeling each other, just as their lack of Taint agitated nerves like a new scab scratched too soon, _irritation, a need to fix a leak._ She would not last much longer in the arena, even if Alistair could join her. Too much pressure had built up already.

“Tis too deep to heal immediately and all our potions are in the wagons,” Morrigan stated, wiping Tess’ cheek clean before stepping back. “Tis also not a lethal wound, however it will keep bleeding until it naturally clots, which may take time if she is forced to strain her face in the whims of battle.” Alistair couldn’t tell if Morrigan was sweetening Alistair’s worry on purpose or if she was really concerned, but it didn’t matter. The Provings Master accepted Baizyl and Gwiddon, but he also needed a Grey Warden representative, regardless of Harrowmont’s endorsers; a Grey Warden entered the ring, a Grey Warden must fight until they lose a match this session.

Alistair looked between his party. “Morrigan, stay.”

“What!” she scoffed. “I am not even -”

 _“Not going to argue_ . Stay here and do what you do best. Heal the dwarves if they need it, freeze everyone else. We’ll be upstairs trying to reach Harrowmont again.” the Provings Master didn’t need to know Morrigan was _not_ a Grey Warden.

Alistair didn’t stay to watch Morrigan’s matches. He held Tess’ right hand tight in his as they walked, gave gentle squeezes of appreciation for her return to him. He had calmed just as much as she; the comparison of himself in this moment right now was high enough in contrast, he might have sworn the person on the spectator’s balcony was a different man entirely. _Comfort, security._ When she was there, he could concentrate on controlling the world around her, instead of flailing his arms trying to control _her_ just to bring her into safety again.

Lord Harrowmont was waiting for them when they returned. At first, Alistair wanted to be kind, considering the hospitality of the servants, but he couldn’t hold his tongue when Harrowmont asked how the Proving went. Alistair made it clear they helped him because they’d believed House Harrowmont had more honorable intentions than the Prince. Alistair was insulted every dwarf with power in Orzammar was trying to take advantage of the Grey Wardens’ reputation to cover their own deceit and shame. _No lies, no secrets, everything upfront,_ that was Alistair’s deal. It was not the Grey Wardens job to mediate between nobles, they did not have the time to run around trying to determine whose falsities were less treacherous.

Harrowmont thanked Alistair for his forthrightness and agreed to get right to the point. He had no issues approving the Grey Warden Treaty, but he needed the authority from being King to do so; the Assembly was strict, there were no loopholes in dwarven laws. He had a lead on a living Paragon, Branka; _they had seen her statue in the Hall of Heroes;_  and having a Paragon’s endorsement would increase his chances for the throne, aside from Branka being a valuable asset to life in Orzammar. He needed time to gather resources to search for Branka, so meanwhile he was requesting help to clear out a group called the Carta from their hideout in Dustown, the slums of Orzammar. If Alistair and his party could eliminate the Carta for him, he could promote a safer city for the citizens while the Grey Wardens ventured into the Deep Roads to rescue the Paragon. Harrowmont needed men to perform these tasks, though he didn’t have the numbers required without owning royal authority. This is how Alistair's party would be useful to him.

If there was another option, Alistair would have taken it. But he refused to run back and forth like a stray dog willing to do tricks for treats. Zevran quickly explained what he knew about the Carta, _berserking warrior-assassins, the Crows rarely came close to matching their strength._ It didn’t sound appealing, yet Alistair agreed to help. _However,_ he added, _after this task, they were taking the rest of the day off._

Morrigan caught up with them before they left Harrowmont manor and reported as irritably as ever toward Alistair that she finished the Proving under Harrowmont’s name and _all the little people happily applauded_ when she told them to _take heed the Ancestors chosen._ She declared she was off to find an inn and a hot bath; Alistair swore she muttered a curse at him when he said the plans had changed, she was coming with them.

Dustown was a pit of disaster. Alistair remembered an alienage he had visited as a child, but Dustown was beyond measure; abandoned and run down and nobody cared though they all knew. _Worse_ than an alienage. _Unclean,_ the best description Alistair could give it, was an understatement. A likely mix of rotted and moldy bodily fluids from the wretches who lived here, maybe even rotting dead bodies that had nowhere else to go. The buildings looked like Shale had gone on a rampage, everything in pieces and crumbling. The shoddy town wasn’t the end of their problems though. It wasn’t just a hop, skip and a jump over a few pebbles around a couple broken doors. Trying to track down this Carta took them through tunnels Alistair was amazed fit in the mountain without it caving in. They kept descending, or so it felt by the popping of ears as they followed more tunnels that opened into even _more_ tunnels that led them to other abandoned parts of the city. Zevran suggested the tunnels might be secret establishment units built by the Carta.

The part that bothered Alistair was the descent itself and lack of fresh air, or maybe the narrow walls and low ceilings that forced them to walk too close to each other. He grew disoriented and turned around more times than he could count, his head throbbed so hard every little noise put him on edge. It became increasingly harder to breathe, which caused Tess concern when he stopped numerous times to close his eyes against a wall, _even the rock was too warm_ , attempting to better fill his lungs. He vaguely remembered Morrigan doing some kind of magic to him, but neither attempt had a lasting effect. By the time Tess said they had to turn around to get Alistair out, they were lost. None of them knew which way they’d come or which way to go. They attempted too many paths for Po to figure out which forks they hadn’t tried. Too many doors, too many tunnels, too many turns, too much constant action, no waft of fresh air to guide them. Alistair just needed to sit and breathe, but he couldn’t do that here at all.

He was clueless how they made it out, but by the time they did, none of them had eaten in over half a day and they were completely out of water, most of it having been used on Alistair in the tunnels. Alistair’s nose was bleeding and his head pounded so hard he felt nauseous and could barely see straight. Tess had to guide him outside.

It was night already. Alistair’s skin was so hot the winter chill and the snow breeze felt just about as amazing as the first night he gave himself to Tess. It was like being showered in _breath_. He didn't know it was possible to take advantage of air before now. Both Wynne and Sten classified his symptoms; claustrophobia, likely combined with whatever putrefaction was in the stagnant air of Dustown and the hidden tunnels. Wynne had potions for nausea and headaches, and when those set in, Alistair just leaned back against Tess and stared at the stars. His skin took longer to cool down, and he welcomed the powdery snow that drizzled down as puffy clouds passed by overhead. He glanced at the others who’d been in the tunnels with him, all fine but Po; poor mabari had also grown ill, requiring attention of his own before settling next to his mistress to recover.

After they’d cooled, _chilled,_ eaten their fill, Alistair felt they should stop into Harrowmont Manor before they turned in for the night. This time, only Alistair and Tess went. Orzammar was not quite so grand to him anymore. Lovely, yes, still impressive, but as they climbed the squared staircase they both agreed this probably wasn’t the best place to vacation. Anywhere with _actual air_ sounded better.

Lord Harrowmont seemed relieved to see them. It wasn’t a reaction Alistair was expecting at all. The dwarf sounded genuinely concerned there was only two of them now, and he apologized profusely if anyone had been injured or worse. When Tess explained the complexity of the Carta hideout, Harrowmont apologized again, was unaware it had been so extensive. No one had ever seen more than a handful of Carta thugs at a time. According to him and his maps of Orzammar, those tunnels did not exist; Alistair guessed ancient slave-escape tunnels recently elaborated. Harrowmont mentioned his survey team found traces of proof that a capable people had traveled toward an old thaig, but Alistair interrupted; they needed a break, they needed sleep, rest, food, _fresh air._ Harrowmont then offered a guest room in his manor, in exchange for their help with the Carta; if they were comfortable with the bed, they were more than welcome, and the functioning parts of Orzammar indeed had fresh supplies of air, sucked in from vents in the mountain and pumped into the city’s ducts, recycled through machines to keep a constant flow of breathable air. He even called in a servant to show off the guest quarters.

The bed was surprisingly large for being in a dwarven house. Alistair would have to bend his legs, but not much. He usually woke up wrapped all around Tess anyway. There was a bath too, with running water, also candles, books, and more throw pillows than Alistair had ever heard of. He missed the cool outside air...but who was he to turn down the hospitality of a future royal ally? He and Tess trekked out of the manor and down the squared steps once more, through the smell of roasting nug and the Hall of Heroes again, only to breathe in what they could of the night air so they could grab their bags; _Po opted to stay outside;_ then repeated the hike once more in reverse.

Next time would have to be a time for romance; Tess fell asleep nearly as soon as they laid down. The bed was also remarkably comfortable for the mattress being so thin atop a stone frame. However cozy, though, Alistair’s thoughts were on the Deep Roads. He worried he might go into more claustrophobic fits. There was no way he could back out of this, he and Tess were the only ones in probably all of Orzammar who could feel the Darkspawn; venturing into the Deep Roads was just what Grey Wardens did. He hoped Wynne had enough potions he could take and that it wouldn’t be as tight and confined, he hoped it was a short and successful journey. Alistair hoped no one got hurt, prayed for _safety_ and for _love to remain_. He couldn’t imagine prevailing if he lost Tess to the Deep Roads. He couldn’t imagine trying to fall asleep without her.

  
  



	39. Teardrops and Deep Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Tess discover a sex shop in Orzammar before meeting Oghren and preparing for the Deep Roads. Oghren teases the party with his beard when he finds out Tesslyn and Zevran have an interest Shale doesn't share. A sudden turn of events changes the priority of the expedition and Alistair puts his foot down once more to protect Tess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Accompanying NSFW art](http://41.media.tumblr.com/a216dff4c11bcc3eaf8e2767579fcc0c/tumblr_o3cwv0qck51uuq91jo1_1280.png) by me.

Waking up in a dwarven manor was like waking up on holiday, or what Alistair thought vacation should be like. Peaceful, romantic, _perfect._

Tess woke him, actually. She was busy, fingers kneading slow and tender, gently tangling, _stroking_ while she rubbed her face and neck against his beard. It didn’t take him long to wake, but she indulged herself enough for him to harden like the stone around them. _No one interrupted._ It was the first time they never had to worry about surprise visits. _Perfect._

 _Almost_ perfect. When Alistair stepped out into the hall, a servant rushed him back in the room, snapping fingers and rapidly ordering for someone to _hurry._ Luckily Tess had dressed. Servants busied themselves behind Alistair with trays nearly overflowing of dwarven food and drink, sat husband and wife down on a stubby stone couch with even more throw pillows, ordered them to _eat,_ and announced the Lord or Lady would visit shortly.

Alistair and Tess were so confused by what had happened in the blink of an eye that they sat for moment unable to form words. As if the servants hadn’t been strange, Lady Tercy, Harrowmont’s wife, had little modesty when it came to speech. Alistair was under the impression she was verbally flamboyant because, as she kept referring, Alistair was a King and Tess was noble-born; comfortable among equals, he guessed. While the dwarven food was good, _rich and flavorful and grown right here in Orzammar’s own volcanic soil,_ they had a hard time eating. Lady Tercy asked about their intimate relations, how often humans engaged in sexual activity, what sort of sexual taboos humans had or what the human royal court had, what was considered a _normal_ sexual encounter and how many people were usually in bed at once? Alistair choked on a grape and then wine as he failed to ignore the words coming from this stranger’s mouth. Before Lady Tercy let them be, she told them to stop by the _intimacies_ shop before they left the city, it wasn’t far from the manor, in a little corner beyond the Shaperate, _such a popular place with the nobles_. She said they would thank themselves for it.

For moments after Tercy left, at first they sat quiet, then eye contact began tides of giggles, wincing when Tess hissed how she thought Tercy had listened to them outside the door, then laughing when they couldn’t stop the giggles. They had only begun eating again when Alistair admitted he wanted to find that shop.

Lord Harrowmont greeted them warmly when all the giggling and eating was complete. Alistair was truthfully still distracted by the thought of an _intimacies shop_ that he was hardly aware their host explained the Deep Roads mission. When Harrowmont observed Alistair’s distant glare and rosy cheeks, Alistair flush hotter. Tess explained Lady Tercy visited them during breakfast, and Harrowmont beamed proudly.

“Lovely, isn’t she? She’s the light of my life. By the shade of your face, I assume she told you about Hot Lava? If I recall, the last person in Orzammar to blush over the idea was also human. Strange it's such a closed custom for your people.”

“Lava?” Alistair stammered, now flustered _and_ confused.

“Yes, the couple's shop located past the Shaperate.”

 _Lava. Hot lava. Maker preserve him! They took the innocence out of melted rock._ Alistair was going to have a hard time admiring the scenery from now on.

“Er, I...didn’t...realize it had a...name.” Alistair bit his lips, not sure if he was trying to hide a desire to vanish or utter eagerness.

“It’s a lovely little shop. Mostly used by the nobles, but from time to time we do see better-off commoners wander up here. I assure you, lovely clientele. You shouldn’t pass it by. If I may, buy the Golem’s Fist, hours of fun. And Titan’s Jewels are edible. Those you may want to stock up on, I’m unsure if the surface makes anything similar.” calm and casual, _as if the dwarf about to become king was suggesting a book or a new recipe._

As much as Alistair and Tess wanted to visit the Shaperate, they decided that was for a different day. By the time they left Harrowmont Manor, the only thing on their minds was _Hot Lava._ Alistair’s hands shook as he placed a palm on the inconspicuous door, glancing around to see if anyone was looking, _no one was; Maker, was this really so common down here?_

If entering Orzammar had been like stepping through a portal, this was like _falling_ through one. Instantly they were hit in the face with strings of beads, _hundreds_ of beads that reflected off of lights Alistair couldn’t find. He had to stand still to get his bearings, wait for the beads to stop moving and glittering so he find source of light and also his feet, and...

_Andraste’s tits. Are those...?_

Alistair stared harder at the beads upon the the strings directly ahead of him.

_Maker..._

Penises. The beads were tiny penises, complete with testicles. He stood frozen but his eyes trailed around him. _Lots and lots of male genitals._ Some longer or shorter than others, some wide or thin, in more colors than Alistair knew was safe for a penis to be.

Tess squeezed his hand excitedly. “Can I get one?” she hissed.

It took him a moment to remember his neck could move, and then he just stared at his wife as if she had combined every language known to man. “You want _these?_ For our _tent?”_

“Ah! Grey Wardens! Welcome to Orzammar’s hottest lava! What can I get for you today?” a cheerful female voice announced.

Husband and wife craned their necks and stepped toward the sound. Alistair pushed a lot of little penises out of his face. He did manage to see where the lights came from, gemstones of various color surrounding transparent oil lamps, and each of these reflected on to the _hanging penis beads_ for a chain-link reaction of flying rainbow splashes all around. Something was burning in the air, sweet and musky, a familiar scent, yet he couldn’t place where he knew it from; definitely not food. He spotted a dwarf behind a glass dispaly box, happily sitting in a dress that didn’t shine like the other noble dresses. She repeated another enthusiastic greeting.

“How do you know we’re Grey Wardens? Do...Grey Wardens come here often?” Alistair asked. _Duncan._ That was the only Grey Warden Alistair knew of who had been in Ferelden long enough to visit Orzammar before the dwarven king died and the gates locked. _Oh Maker_ , though, _no!_ Duncan had been like a _father!_

Tess looked up with curious brows as if reading his mind. “Are you sure you want to remember him like this?” It was too late though. Alistair already had a clear picture in his mind of Duncan holding a tiny blue glittering penis in his hands.

The dwarven woman laughed. “Don’t worry! During times like these, Grey Wardens would be the only outside race allowed in the city. Name’s Ruby. That’s not my real name, of course, but in this business, you don’t tell people your real name. So what are you looking for? Can I interest you in anything you have tried yet?”

Alistair hesitated, still looking around. _So many penis beads._ “I...this...is my first time, actually...”

“Ah! Well, then allow me to ramble just a few of the many items we carry, all for hours of intimate playtime with your lady! Stop me whenever something sounds good!” _Ruby_ indeed rambled. Alistair absorbed everything at once, tried to listen while he stared; on shelves and stands were displays of intimate oils, lifelike dummies in...extremely revealing clothing made of lace and large holes sewn together. Ruby mentioned things like _nug vibrators, massage oils, lick-able oils,_ _lingerie, collars, nugties, handcuffs, floggers, plugs-_

“Plugs. What do they plug up?” Alistair interrupted, picturing something for the bathtubs in Redcliffe. An odd thing for an _intimacies shop_ to carry.

“I’ll give you a few guesses, but I doubt it will take long for you figure it out considering we make sex toys.” Ruby grinned, reminding Alistair oddly of Zevran.

“I...no, no guesses. I think I left my brain back at Harrowmont’s,” he admitted. Tess stifled a snort as she hid her face in his arm.

“I’ll let you see for yourself.” Ruby pulled out two trays, one full of... _penises._ _Of course penises,_ life-sized, complete with veins, wrinkles, some attached to testicles, the little slit at the tip, swollen crowns, and that line he liked Tess to lick on himself. The other tray cradled a multitude of various tear-drop shaped polished rocks, some sticks with beads; some of them gems, some polished stone, larger than the penis beads with gaps between each ball. Alistair found himself strangely attracted to the phalluses, though. He couldn’t stop staring. He couldn’t believe how _detailed_ they all were. Some wider, taller, shorter, muscular. _People really made a living staring at mens genitals?_

Alistair backed away when he caught himself steaming up the glass case. “Why do people need these ones when men exist?”

Ruby grinned again. “Some people only like women.”

“Then aren’t these pointless? Women clearly don’t have... _these.”_

“What are you looking at?” Tess came back to his side holding a bottle; Alistair glanced at her, did a double-take at the bottle _\- body oil_ , to her again.

“Some clients are women who like other women, but still like a little _drilling_ in the _mining hole_.” that grin was almost evil.

Alistair stared at the dwarf, frozen again. He did not need Tess to interpret that one for him. _Woman with woman_ drilling _each other with fake male parts; everything was frozen in him,_  all but _one_ thing.Tess asked how much the oil was; Ruby answered _three sovereigns._ Alistair forcing his voice, “Okay..and these ones?” he pointed to the teardrop things and the funny spaced beads. 

“Titan’s Tears-” Ruby pointed to the teardrop, “The Queen’s Pearls-” she pointed to the spaced beads, “Not the _real_ queen of course, that’s just what _we_ call them. And then Golem’s Fist-” she pointed to two standing phalluses, one a little larger than the other, made to look like cracking rock complete with a little closed fist where the crown of a penis should be. “Lady and Lord edition. Lady is a bit more popular, she’s more pliable, conforming. But there are some who really just love a hard pounding, and Lord can do that for you!”

Orlesian curses ran through Alistair’s head. _It looked like the end of Shale’s arm! How was he going to look at Shale again?_ Golem’s Fist...that was what Harrowmont suggested. Those were _huge!_ How could he look at _Harrowmont_ again?"Er...They look different from those? Why?” Alistair’s eyes flicked to the penises and back again. “Where do the... _Tears_ and the _Fist_ go?”

“Up the ol’ brown sunken muffin!” Ruby declared triumphantly.

“Brown?” Alistair echoed.

“The what?” Tess asked, confusion thicker in her voice than Alistair’s.

“Yep! You know, the rolling nugs! The Falling Cushions! No? How ‘bout _where you slap the husband when he walks around the house naked?_ The Deepest Road you’ll ever take?” Ruby sighed when Alistair and Tess shared a glance of uncertainty. “Where a man might stick his own finger if his lover is out of town?”

_Stick his finger..._

_“Oh!”_ Alistair exclaimed. “Bums! Yes, I get it now. _Maker! Those_ go in _bums?_ Are fingers not big enough for dwarf bottoms?” Tess crashed into his shoulder again in a laugh so hard it shook _him._

Ruby chuckled. “You gotta use the oils, ease it in.” she shrugged. “Some people like anal stimulation better than regular sex. I’m full-out Lord Golem’s Fist, but in my folded-mushroom bits.” she shrugged casually. “I know how to make ‘em, and if it makes people happy in bed, who am I to complain?”

“Do... _all_ the nobles come here? Even the one we’re working with? Harrowmont?"

“I tend to keep my patrons privacy, but yes, the Harrowmonts are great clients.”  _Privacy. Right._

“Er...and they return them? These things are all borrowed?” 

“Nope! Once you buy it, it’s yours! We make ‘em all right here! Shape ‘em, smooth ‘em, make sure there are no nicks or sharp edges, then they’re polished and put on display.” Ruby explained everything, sales process, what each type of oil was best for, how to care for things like stone toys verses glass or gem toys. She even gave them little booklets on how to use the different insertable toys.

By the time they were done, they had spent nineteen sovereigns. Alistair _ordered_ Tess not to tell anyone, especially Morrigan and Zevran, not how much they spent or what they’d bought; two different kinds of oils, he let her buy a small set of _penis beads -_ turns out they were for doorways - he also forbid her to show them to anyone, a _proper_ blindfold, and _his_ and _hers_ Titan’s Tears - his compromise for allowing her strings of tiny penises to play with. He couldn’t even imagine what Tess wanted so many little penises for.

The purchasing bag and the shop’s facade were very plain; anyone who hadn’t been there probably wouldn’t have a clue what they’d just bought. Alistair was still a little paranoid though. They stood between _Hot Lava_ and the Shaperate to share from the waterskin, and though they’d had a huge breakfast at Harrowmont manor, they were both hungry.

As embarrassed as Alistair was about other people catching them at the intimacies shop, he loved the moment they were in. There they were, husband and wife, discussing food between sips of water and things like _I hope the oils don’t clash with supper or tea,_ back to questions about roast nug or hunting for rabbits topside. There was nobody else he could _ever_ imagine talking to like this. He always enjoyed her company and presence, but right now he was reminded she was his best friend, not only wife or lover. _Something fun,_ and even though their purchases were for private use, it was something just for the two of them; for Alistair and his Best Friend. He was glad for this time with her.

Alistair felt eyes on them though. His back was to the corridor, but he could feel the glare as he held Tess while she talked about food again. The sensation was like holes boring into his back. Tess’ words trailed off. When he looked down, she asked, “do you feel that?” They released each other to open toward the rest of the long balcony.

Someone _was_ staring them. Leaning against the overly-exquisite railing was a male dwarf dressed more like a mercenary than a noble, out of place for somewhere like the Diamond quarter. Hair redder and brighter than Alistair’s with a matching beard a mustache, both carefully tended, the sides of his beard braided like so many other dwarves. Grumpy, or maybe drunk and squinting. He let out a loud belch as he stepped closer.

“So, you’re the Grey Warden, eh?” the dwarf asked.

Tess froze, looked down, then shoved the bag behind her back. “Er...yes?”

“Hmph. Not really what I expected.”

Alistair glanced uneasily at the sex toy shop. “And...what exactly did you expect?” he dared to look the dwarf in the eye after the short man’s green eyes also flicked toward _Hot Lava._

“I heard _somethin’_...mind you, this was quite a few drinks ago...somethin’ about strong and brutish, maybe delicate around a few edges, creamy face kissed by a thousand crystal rainbows, but with a muscular jaw and bulbous nose the envy of all. S’pposed to have an impressive halo of rapture and eyes like purest diamonds. Last but not least, enormous and unfortunately virginal bosoms that heave like the groaning forges of Caridin himself. Not really seein’ any o’ that, to be honest.”

Tess slowly cupped her breasts, forgetting the bag from _Hot Lava_ still hung from her wrist, and looked down, then up at Alistair in confusion and seeking validation, _are they really that small?_

Alistair hesitantly assured his wife, caught between a battle of mortification and love, “You bosoms are _fine,_ my dear. _Fine,_ they’re fine. _Perfect,_ ” he corrected himself, “ _trust_ me _._ ” he sighed and looked at dwarf, trying not to show embarrassment. “Do you need something? Why are you...did you follow us... _here?”_ both Alistair and the dwarf glanced toward the _intimacies_ shop again.

“Name’s Oghren. Heard you’re going into the Deep Roads-”

Alistair immediately flushed and hid his face in Tess’ hair. “The _actual_ Deep roads, husband,” Tess muttered, “where the _darkspawn_ are, not...what that lady said.”

“You know, I’m kind of havin’ a hard time believing the two o’ _you_ came out o’ _there,_ ” Oghren said.

“Er...” Tess trailed off. “You said something about the Deep - _er_ , the expedition?”

The scarlet dwarf reeked of alcohol, hard and weak. Alistair wondered how the fumes about him didn’t combust from the heat of the lava. Through a series of foul-smelling belches, Oghren managed to inform them the Paragon they were headed to look for was his wife. Branka took the whole house except him, but when he tried to gather a team to go find her, he was turned down in every corner. He said he knew how Branka thought, understood her method of reasoning and problem-solving. He knew what every landmark clue Branka carved meant. He told them their maps and leads would be nothing if they recognized but couldn’t decipher Branka’s etchings of danger; the only thing worse than finding a never-ending horde of darkspawn was trapping themselves on a cliff. The woman left clues for every possible option she had including navigation to and from, and without him the Wardens would end up wandering the same stretch of thaig for weeks, maybe even months.

“Wait, _months?”_ Alistair echoed.

“Good ol’ Harrowmont never told you the Deep Roads take months to navigate, eh? Yup! At best you’re lookin’ at four, maybe five months where we’re headed, if there are no problems. Even though the darkspawn have surfaced, there’s still vermin an’ _spiders_ and blockages. You can’t go down there without a caravan, kid. By the time your supplies run out, you’ll never make it back to the surface before you starve to death. But from what that _elf_ o’ yours said, sounds like you’ve already got enough supplies to last that long...” Oghren looked between the two of them. “So what d’you say? You’ve got supplies and a small but fierce army, an’ I can keep us from getting lost. Do we have a deal?”

Alistair stood frowning. He didn’t like the idea of _months_ underground, especially close to half a year. They didn’t _have_ half a year to hide out underground while the darkspawn moved their army up top. And if Alistair got claustrophobic again, there was no way they’d even make it a week. He looked at Tess to find her face expressed the same concern he felt inside.

“Listen, boy, I just want to find my sodding wife, alright?” Oghren said impatiently.

Alistair held up a finger. “Don’t start, little man. We need to... _think_ on this. We don’t exactly have a half a year to waste. Is there _no shortcut?_ No other entrance to start at that will get us there faster?”

“Unless you have a herd of angry brontos to ride, I don’t see how you’re going to get there any faster.”

Alistair sighed. “We need to go..talk with the others, then. And Harrowmont again,” he told his wife.

“So is that a yes?” Oghren asked as Alistair led Tess away.

“We need to meet with our own assembly first,” Alistair glanced back. “If we can find a good enough reason to waste that much time while the surface burns, then we will be back inside to let you know.”

Alistair and Tess spent the day with their entire party. He heard each of their concerns, listened to Bodahn recall what he had seen in his previous trips to the Deep Roads, what supplies Bodahn had brought the last time. They discussed steps and narrow paths, and whether the livestock would survive for months at a time - whether _they,_ the _party_ could survive down there for months at a time. Would the livestock provide enough food if they ended up the whole five or more months? How long would it take to gather more supplies for potions, possibly better armor or weapons? Zevran wanted to try; the Crows would not look for him underground, at least not until he was well gone from Orzammar. Wynne thought it was a fair trade to ask for hundreds to march to war. Leliana wanted to see the old thaigs. Sten didn’t want to go. Po reminded he still hadn’t marked his territory yet. Shale was curious. Morrigan preferred not to go. Bodahn could trade or sell whatever they could salvage down there.

Even though Alistair gave everyone a chance to speak up, he discussed it all with Tess privately. They took a corner booth in the tavern in the Commons and spied the drunken dwarves between considering their options and trying to swallow the harsh dwarven ale. It had taken months, according to Duncan, for the Darkspawn to thread out enough in the Korcari Wilds for an army; considering this, it might take the darkspawn even longer to gather enough to do any damage elsewhere without also diminishing their own force. With the foul creatures evacuating the Deep Roads, Alistair and the party might actually get through in _only_ the four or five months Oghren predicted. Meanwhile the surface would start filling up. _Did they really need the dwarven army?_

Alistair assumed the dwarven military would be around three or so hundred; he was already down on forces because of the Kinloch and werewolf disasters, but if they refused to find this Branka, the Darkspawn would invade the surface anyway.

They would lose out on another three hundred soldiers in the end. There would likely be darkspawn still in the Deep Roads, but even that drunk Oghren fellow said they would be scarce. It seemed they didn’t have a choice, _again_. In order to have a surface left to protect later, Alistair and Tess were going to have to withstand the Deep Roads and find that Paragon.

Husband and wife found themselves back at Harrowmont Manor once more. Harrowmont opened the same guest quarters for the remainder of their stay when they accepted the mission to search for the Paragon. Both parties agreed time to prepare was necessary and Harrowmont offered to fund whatever supplies they required. They were even allowed to sleep in as long as they wanted; Alistair wasn’t sure sleeping in was dwarven custom, but he appreciated it. Soon they might not have time to close their eyes.

Oghren waited outside the manor every morning for Alistair and Tess to emerge. They learned he was of the Warrior caste, known as _the rich drunk_ since his wife left, and _since_ his wife the Paragon left he might as well be an outcast. Alistair didn’t approve of how much the dwarf drank throughout the day, but if Oghren pulled his own weight and remained sober enough to fight, they would welcome his help. He even offered up an antidote recipe to cure _projectile vomit that’ll burn right through your armor_ from vermin called _deepstalkers._

Harrowmont kept to his word, had his servants scurry back and forth to the Commons to pay for armor repair and reinforcement, weapon sharpening, and potion ingredients. This felt strange for Alistair, allowing a servant - one that belonged to someone else, at that - to follow him from merchant to merchant, but when Alistair overheard the total fee from the smith alone, _two-hundred-nine sovereigns,_ he was relieved they’d been sponsored. The most gold they’d ever carried at once had been sixty-two sovereigns. This was _not_ a sixty-two-sovereign mission, it was nice to have someone finally believe that. Harrowmont even had patrol of ridiculously strong dwarven warriors lift each wagon and bring them inside to flat ground.

As with Orzammar, the Deep Roads held another ancient grandeur. Now in ruins, the old underground highway still held it’s original stone carvings and road markers far unlike anything on the surface. Alistair was especially grateful to see plenty of room above and around him; _no more claustrophobic episodes_  he hoped _._ He would have room to clear his head between _effective_ battles this time, instead of lose sight and coordination.

Not far in, they found themselves in a fray with supporters of Prince Bhelen, a chance that allowed Oghren to show off a beastly swing. Other than the Prince’s men and a few long-dead _darkspawn_ there were no other bodies, but regardless the darkspawn were _definitely_ still underground. Alistair used the pause before the storm to address methods of defense against each type of darkspawn they might encounter. He warned about what happened to people who acquired the Taint through battle, where he’d learned to strike to sink each genlock, hurlock and darskpawn mage quickest.

Alistair realized this was his first time helping Tess to be a Grey Warden. He hadn’t been taught much himself, so in turn he really couldn’t teach beyond how to fight the darkspawn he’d encountered at Ostagar. He felt guilty just the same. Immediate Grey Warden duties hadn’t seemed like priority since Flemeth rescued them, but he still should have told her what he knew. There was more than what he’d seen, Duncan had shown him a few sketches, monsters like genlock rogues and _Shrieks_ could appear from out of nowhere and Alistair had no way to teach his wife how to avoid being ambushed by one. The deeper they ventured, the more he wished he’d pushed combat training between the two of them just in case, group training even. He also found himself wishing Duncan was there; Duncan would know what to do.

Right now in the twisted paths where the Darkspawn lived and Alistair was trespassing, being King sounded like a much less scary career.

The tunnels they roamed reminded Alistair of broken roots with splintered ends. In this maze they faced the vermin Oghren warned of, _deepstalkers,_ large lizard-like creatures with deadly worm heads. The blasted things popped up out of the ground like sand fleas, and though they came in flocks they were fragile and went down with kicks and punches. Thankfully Tess didn’t ask to keep any of those as pets.

Alistair and his party saw signs of the previous expedition: a broken wagon, increasing amounts of torches and _lit_ oil lanterns. Wreckage around statues even Shale looked up to, paragons also bearing _lit_ beacons. Crates scattered about with empty bottles and unrepairable items. They salvaged what they could while Oghren explained a series of marks on a squared pillar; this had been Branka's camp for sure. Alistair hoped he wasn't wrong to trust a drunk dwarf to guide them in the right direction.

Once they reached better lighting, Tess began staring at Oghren’s beard. Alistair watched his wife to see if she was aware of her own fixation. She certainly didn’t notice the smirk on Alistair’s face.  

Oghren gave a drunken laugh. “Heh, you can _touch_ it if you want,” the dwarf offered. Alistair wasn’t sure if he heard that right, and he peered around Tess to look at Oghren.  

“I...no, I’ve got one, thanks.” Tess flushed in the cheeks as she turned away from the dwarf.

“Heh heh, not all beards are the same, lady. Mine’s nice an’ silky, even. Long, too, probably ‘cause I haven’t let all that topside air turn it to straw.”

“Oghren, are you flirting with my wife?” Alistair gave a chuckle.

“Not at all, _Ser Giant_." he seemed drunker than usual. "My beard an’ your lady are just gettin’ acquainted, is all.” Oghren reached up and stroked his beard. For a few silent moments, the dwarf’s stubby little fingers raked through what must have been course, rough, mane-like hair, winding around and behind the braids and frizzled bristles. Tess’ head slowly turned back toward the shortened man, and Alistair found himself similarly intrigued. Oghren’s smirk hardened as they watched his tubby fingers touch down where the bulk of his flaming beard began, gradually pulling together what Alistair could tell were carefully tended whiskers, fingertips peeking in and out of the proud tuft of lush hair.

Without considering first, Alistair brought his free hand up to his own beard. He smoothed his fingers down over his mustache; _it felt silky enough, for facial hair._ He tickled his own fingers down the length past his chin; _his own beard was quite bushy. Would it flatten out if I grew it like Oghren’s? Or will it keep getting puffier? It doesn’t feel like straw, that dwarf has no idea what he’s talking about. I wonder if Tess would let me to braid it, though?_

Oghren chuckled drunkenly from the other side of Tess. “It got you too, eh? _Hehhh_. Didn’t know the males liked ‘em too. And here I thought dwarves were the only ones.”

“As did I,” Zevran agreed. “Tell me, do those truly work?”

“Eh? What d’you mean _work?”_ Oghren let out another belch.

 _“Yech.”_ Zevran winced. “I rather meant on women. Our dear Tesslyn -” _Alistair could never convince him to stop calling Tess that,_ “is clearly distracted by them. Do they really...ah, _toss the tides_ for the moonlight swim? Alistair, is _that_ why she is so _loud_ lately?”

Alistair hesitated, gaping and taken off guard. He did a quadruple-take at the elf. Zevran was typically intrusive, but between Harrowmont’s wife, Harrowmont himself, Ruby from the sex shop, the barmaids at Tipsters and half of the female dwarves in Dustown, Alistair wasn’t sure he could take anymore. He wondered how bright his cheeks burned down here. “I am _not_ talking about that, Zevran!” he stammered.

“Why not? It’s not as if I'm oblivious to the high-pitched whimpering and feminine wails that drift across the field like a scream in the ear when the rest of us are trying to sleep." he paused. " _Oh!_ Is that _not_ her? That's _you?”_ Zevran seemed genuinely surprised. _“_ You know, I _rather_ feel like this explains a lot.”

“What’s this?” Oghren looked from the elf to the Wardens with a growing grin.

Alistair groaned. “Tess, is it time for our _Calling_ yet?” he whined.

“It can’t be. We have those Teardrop thingies yet to use,” Tess answered. Alistair started to excite, but a sluggish laugh from Oghren threw him right back into mortification.

“You see, elf, it’s not _only_ about the beard. But it does do wonders, believe you me. Branka used to like me to _rub_ it on her. _Yep!_ Between the ol’ buckin' runners.” _Legs,_ Oghren was talking about rubbing his beard between Branka’s legs. Branka, the _Paragon_ they were after. Tess shared an uncertain glance with Alistair, both of them caught between exactly her own fascination with beards and the hope no one asked if that’s what Alistair’s beard was for.

Shale groaned somewhere behind Alistair. “Must the stubby dwarf constantly touch itself?”

“Eh? It sodding talks? No one told me this!” Oghren stared back at Shale. A noise like a panicked bird escaped the dwarf as he belched and drank at the same time. He belched again, wiping the ale off his beard.

“Why does it continue to stroke that _revolting_ thing? Is it really a _nest?_ I heard a noise.Is it _hiding_ something in there?” Shale asked suspiciously. _“What_ is it hiding? Is it hiding _birds_?” Alistair and Tess shared a glance of hushed giggles.

“What kind o’ crazy nonsense is that?” Oghren barked.

“Don’t avoid the the question.” Shale frowned deeper than Alistair knew it capable of.

“Where might I _buy_ one of those?” Zevran asked.

“A beard? You want to _buy_ a _beard?”_ Oghren echoed incredulously. “What in the blazing stone for?” The few of them in front of the herd were forced to walk closer together as the walls narrowed around another shadowy bend; Tess pressed right up against Alistair to avoid rubbing against the drunk.

“I agree, the question is _absurd_. It _obviously_ wants one for inappropriate scheming,” Shale assumed.

 _“I_ can think of a few reasons to have a spare handy,” Tess spoke up, though trailed off awkwardly when eyes fell to her. Alistair failed horribly at concealing his grin.

“Smuggling birds may _not_ be on its list,” Shale denied Tess before she even made a request. The whole conversation was so ridiculous Alistair could no longer be embarrassed, nor hide suppress giggling.

“Elves cannot grow beards, my drunk friend,” Zevran finally had a chance to speak up. “We are hairless, save for our radiant manes and beautiful brows.”

“Say what? _Hairless?_ As in _smooth and silky?”_ Oghren asked.

 _“Oh, Maker!”_ Alistair stifled a laugh right into Tess and she giggled back.

“Hm. I find this approach acceptable. Nothing to hide small annoying creatures in,” Shale approved.

“Er...yes?” Zevran answered Oghren.

“Not even the nether weeds?” the dwarf asked, the walks pushing them a little close once more.

"Dwarves grow weeds?" the elf was either genuinely interested or cleverly hiding disgust.

“You don’t know that one? Really? You know, the ol’ tickle brush. Oh c'mon! You mean to tell me elves have _no_ hair down there _at all?”_

“Er...correct?” Zevran guessed.

Oghren made a noise and a grimace. “That’s kind o’ gross actually.”

Alistair and Tess giggled so hard into each other they crashed into to cave wall. He wondered if the entire journey would be like this.

Morrigan finally spoke up when a long enough pause occurred. “If you are all quite finished, may I-”

“May _you_ finish? Well shoot, lady, you could’ve just asked. I’d have been _more_ than happy to _get_ you there _._ ” Oghren played lecherously. Morrigan scoffed in insult and disgust and roll of her eyes. She hurried, pushing between Tess and Oghren to put proper distance between them.

Morrigan _shrieked,_  shrill and beyond _startled,_ jumping clear away from Oghren right into Tess. Before anyone had time to ask, falling dirt and a muffled sound of crumbling-rock seemed to come from everywhere above them. Trying to dust himself off did Alistair no good. With a wave of concurring squeaks and the rustling flap of wings, a whole colony of bats whooshed overhead, swooping so close they brushed Alistair’s hair. Shale shouted _We’re under attack!,_ swinging large rocky arms to swat the flying rodents away. Not frightful as Alistair imagined them to be, the bats twittered and screeched as they sought to reorient themselves after their tiny sensitive ears had just been clobbered.

It took everyone a moment to calm down. Oghren laughed so hard he fell over while Morrigan spat off obscenities Alistair wasn’t aware she knew. She _tattled_ on Oghren for rubbing his beard against her, for _molesting_ her _poor skin with his disgusting hair fetish._ Shale grumbled both of them were _not_ funny. Alistair couldn’t avoid laughter at all. The sight of Morrigan flustered and embarrassed was just too good of a rare moment, and catching Shale in a moment of panic was even more unique. He explained to Morrigan with unstoppable giggles that Oghren’s beard was _not_ molesting her but she should keep an open mind, and he assured Shale that bats were nothing like pigeons and, _with an obnoxious grin,_ really it was Morrigan’s fault the bats _attacked_ in the first place. Morrigan spouted another slew of curses. When Alistair regained his place beside Tess, she stared up at him with a smirk and sparkling eyes that said she knew she shouldn’t be laughing.

They ended up having to make camp. Oghren was the only one who could tell time down there and when the party grew weary, the dwarf announced it was nearing midnight. Being so far underground was going to be a problem if it caused them to lose track of time. They couldn’t afford to try to make camp half asleep, they’d be lucky for no creatures about. They backtracked to the nearest road and built camp at a collapsed dead end. Though Sten voiced the concern, Alistair didn’t need to tell anyone to stay alert, don’t take off armor, keep weapons close. They set up tents but there was no privacy that night; every tent side-by-side, the wagons sideways in front of camp, and the livestock and a fire between the wagons and tents. No one was comfortable sleeping there, it all seemed _too quiet, too easy_ even with Shale ever watchful, Alistair and Tess with their Taint, and Po and the livestock who could all alert them if for some reason the Grey Wardens and their pet golem failed to catch intruders. Wynne made a round of sleeping potions, _potent but short-lived,_ they would sleep wonderfully and then be suddenly ready to go. Designed to put them in deep sleep for four hours, _much longer normal deep sleep,_ but they would not dream, providing time instead for their bodies to repair and recharge as if they _did_ sleep all night. Wynne said the potion would even work on the dwarves, though they didn’t dream anyway.

Neither Sten or Alistair liked the idea of the entire party unwakeable for four hours, but it was getting too late to decide how to stagger shifts. Alistair hoped his Taint woke him before he _needed_ to arm himself; like the Taint had woken Tess from her withdrawal. Wynne’s potion did the trick for sure. Alistair tried to stay awake to talk to Tess, ask her how she felt this far underground, even just to tell her she was beautiful and he _more than_ loved her. He woke before he even realized he’d fallen asleep, arms still locked around her. Everything looked exactly the same as it had when they’d laid down, it was like they had cheated time.

No one wasted anymore time though. They ate while they packed up and set back off before a clever little device in Oghren’s pouch rang the hour. _Too quiet_ , just like before they slept. Duncan had told Alistair the Deep Roads were safer than the surface during a Blight but this just felt suspicious. He thought he should be feeling Taint other than Tess, but it didn’t come, he _waited_ for it to come. He didn’t want to be caught off guard, he wanted it over with already.

Tess squeezed his hand. Alistair had to blink few times as he brought himself back into focus, only then aware his eyes flew at every single _moving_ thing including luminescent flora that changed shadows as he walked closer, then further. He could tell by her gaze she knew what bothered him. She hesitated to speak, her own eyes darting pensively. A faint heat swirled about them as soon as she opened her mouth.

 _Darkspawn._ He _knew_ it had been too easy. Tess froze, her lips still pursed in whatever she’d been about to say. When Oghren and Zevran collided with them, Sten hissed out for the wagons to turn around. Oghren already began complaining. Alistair sharply cut off the dwarf off with a brief explanation of how the Darkspawn could feel Grey Wardens in return so _shut up, be ready_ because they were coming.

They were far enough away for everyone to silently draw weapons, close enough for each step to intensify the buzz within Alistair. The _anger_ and _hate_ that swarmed within darkspawn blood, setting Tess apart from threats, concentrated along the winding tunnel. His heart pounded to the his surging Taint like a war drum. Tess began to shake as they closed in. The darkspawn taint wasn’t fading or growing so the creatures were stationary; ambush was the only logic. Sten marched just ahead of Tess, sword up, ready to charge.

 _Camps._ Bloody oblivion, these things had full camps! The horde at Ostagar did not come from here. Sten, Alistair and Oghren rushed on to meet the deformities. Tess claimed _traps!_ and Po and Zevran stalked her at the ready. Tess’ careful shaping of the wild witch was paying off; lightning crackled in fierce bolts that exploded around and above as it jumped from genlock to hurlock to more darkspawn, followed by ice that bounced reflections of flashing light all around the enormous cavern. Morrigan’s fancy light show disoriented the darkspawn long enough for the rogues and mabari to join in. Daggers danced between long blades and shields, teeth _tore_ so deep blackened blood sprayed anyone within arms reach.

“Ogre!” Leliana yelled as a flaming arrow sped over Alistair’s head. Sten and Oghren were already in step. An ear-splitting screech halted everyone except Tess. Hands still clutching daggers flew to her ears as her own piercing howl filled the stagnant air; Zevran barely caught the blades in time. Alistair yelled to his wife. _Something_ , something he couldn’t see, something somewhere making Tess writhe and curdle the boiling blood inside Alistair. The sound never stopped; Zevran couldn’t hold her. Alistair ordered the elf to go help at the ogre while Shale’s heavy feet thundered against the rock floor.

The sound suddenly stopped. _Silence_ , such a drastic change from the chaos and confusion echoing around them a blink ago. Then Alistair’s gut flopped and sank, _a noise to make your hair stand on end,_ Duncan had said, _and then nothing, silence. There are no better ambushes, no better assassins_. _Shrieks._

It was if they read his mind. Before Alistair could call out, the sound returned. So quick their appearance after screaming that Tess didn’t have time to move. Tall, gangling, fanged skulls, long blades attached to hand guards. Too far away, Alistair could only watch as two - _two -_ suddenly appeared on either side of her. Tess hunched when the front blade struck straight into her chest, the second blade from behind stretching and arching her. Alistair’s blood froze over, hair on end, every inch of his skin tingled. _His_ voice flooded the cave now. He watched his wife lifted to her toes, her daggers fell from her hands as her body jerked from joint to joint. He ran, but he couldn’t save her; if he struck them in any way, the blades would drag along and rip right through, at best dig deeper jagged holes. Shrieks popped up all over the open stone floor, faster than the mages and Leliana could stop them. Tess slid from retracting blades with a wheeze; Alistair didn’t wait for her to fall to destroy what tried to take her from him. He swung his shield hard, knocking the shriek behind her, stomping on its face before it could get back up.

“Shale! Get her out of here now!” Alistair bellowed. He rammed the other monster that stabbed his wife, narrowly dodging a third shriek that manifested. “ _Morrigan_ , _Wynne_ , heal her now!” he didn’t need to tell Zevran anything, the elf was already running to the golem. Shale secured Tess after throwing a shriek head-first into a wall.

Alistair couldn’t look, there was no time, _they just didn't stop._ The Qunari, dwarf and dog ran back to aid Alistair and Leliana. The sound these deformities made rattled Alistair to the bone. Between blocking each rapid attack, the boiling Taint and now Shrieks, Alistair was surprised his head hadn’t exploded.

He heard Zevran hollering at the mages, _"No no no!_  Are you mad _?_ How many times must I say  _no?_ It _never_ goes  _in! Go!_  Just leave! Go do something useful! _I_ will handle this!" Morrigan and Wynne retorted together in different rants.

Alistair swung hard right as far as his arm allowed, "Shut up and _heal her!"_  he yelled back. He sprung his arm back to slice clean through, giving him enough time to apologize to Po for spilling _Darkspawn_ guts all over him. "Shale, _nothing_ gets through you!" as the golem already smashed its heavy fist through a sickening face.

There was no pausing for breath when the last darkspawn fell. Alistair sprinted to Tess and Zevran, literally pushing Morrigan out of the way to hold his wife. He held her like the witch had, his arm behind the top of her shoulder, sitting her upright with a tip backwards. He dared to glance at the elf and the wound; dainty hands busily pinching closed the blade hole beneath her right collar bone. Her right breast was completely exposed to provide access to stitch without armor interfering. A tug on thick string led by a needle shining red. Zevran wasn't affected by all the red leaking all over his fingers. 

“She will live. One only cut through muscle, she will not be able to use her right arm for weeks, perhaps months.”

“Where is the other hole?” _So much blood._ Her breast almost didn’t seem bare so painted with her own blood. He didn’t like her so exposed, but she was in no position for Alistair to be possessive right now. 

Tess tried to say something, but it came out in gasps and brought up bubbles of blood at the wound. _No. No no no! No no, this is wrong. This is_ not _her blood!_

“Shhh,” Zevran hushed tenderly as if talking to a babe, dabbing the overspilling blood as if drying tears. “Almost done, my dear. You were very brave, you have earned a good sit.”

Tess searched Alistair’s eyes. She was scared and in pain. This was her exact face in the tower of Ishal after the ogre had stuck her, and also the waning glaze when he washed her in the river outside Lothering. Alistair fought a gloss in his eyes as he brushed her hair off her face. “No, no, love. No one’s leaving. Do you hear me?” he told her.

“She will not die,” Zevran said. “the second blade pierced her lung. I have already sewn the other side. I need to sew one more rip, that is it.” He briefly lifted his hand to reveal the exit wound atop her right breast. Closer to the center of her chest, about half as long as Alistair’s forefinger, a slanted vertical cut. A sigh fell inside Alistair; he knew enough about wounds and anatomy to know cuts contrasting muscle direction meant healing took longer, would be more painful, maybe not even heal properly if the muscle couldn't fully reconnect.

“And her bones?”

“We have wraps. Honestly, why does no one trust me with healing?” he tried to lighten the mood.

Alistair glared briefly. “Because you _kill_ people for a living.”

“It would do good to know how to heal the same wounds I inflict, yes?”

Alistair didn’t answer again. Tess breathed shallow and quick on his arm, eyes darting just as quick in search of an answer to something Alistair didn’t know yet. He brushed her face, smearing red and black away from her mouth and eyes. What could he tell her? She already knew she’d survive and that he'd be there with her through every moment of pain.

He smiled for her instead, and though it was the wrong hand he pressed small circles on her skin. “I got Darkspawn blood all over you, love. I’m so sorry,” he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. She trembled beneath his lips with the taste of copper, salt, sweet - _blood_ and sorrow. Pain frightened her, it always had. She told him that in the beginning. There was nothing Alistair could do, though. He was far from a healer. He was just _there;_ had he been _there_ sooner though, this never would have happened. Right now he was a husband who had let his wife fall.

He would make this up to her, he _had_ to, even though he had no idea how.

He forced another smile. “Even covered in darkspawn blood, you are still the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he _meant_ it. She frowned, and how her head bobbed with each rapid wheeze gave the impression of _trying not to be amused._ He laughed softly, recognizing the fear in his own voice as he pressed his lips to her face again. He promised to get her out of here, get her to the surface with the sunshine, get her to a steaming bath, even pay off whoever to find those fancy little oils she likes in her bath so she can relax with her favorite smells rising all around her. His fingers slid down her arms as she reached up to touch a sly tear at the corner of his eye. When that hole was sewn, Zevran drizzled the dreaded quick-heal potion. Tess cringed and screamed so feebly into Alistair it him water up all over again; _he should have saved her._  Zevran looked on in pity between stitching. 

Alistair ordered the others to go loot the darkspawn camp while he wrapped Tess’ ribs and set her arm in a sling. Collect anything salvageable, they were going back to the surface.

“What?!” Oghren cried out. “We’ve only been down here a day and a half!”

“My word’s final, we’re going to the surface. Tess cannot heal down here, she needs constant fresh air flow and clean water.” Alistair left Tess leaning against Zevran while he secured his sword and shield.

“We have to find Branka! We can’t leave for the sodding surface now! You’re supposed to be a Grey Warden! We’ve got plenty of other hands to fight for her!”

 _“No_ , Oghren. We will come back. My wife is always priority, and right now she needs to heal. I’m not risking her not healing down here.”

“I don’t give a sodding nug’s arse!! We’ve got a bleedin’ job to do, _you_ were _hired_ to rescue _my_ wife! You can’t leave now! What if we leave and Branka _dies_ ‘cause we weren’t here to help her? _Hey!_ I’m talkin’ to you, boy!”

Alistair rolled his eyes and continued walking. “No, go on, if you really like the sound of your voice so much. My mind’s made up, no one can change that.”

“Listen here!” Oghren growled. “I don’t give a damn if your _sodding wife_ is bleedin’ a river out her _arsehole!_ She _shouldn’t’ve_ gotten in the way! It’s her _own_ sodding fault, and _you-_ ”

Alistair didn’t even realize he’d whirled over so quickly. It was like he’d been stabbed and his body was reacting, _fight_ instead of flight one more time; or maybe a chance to save Tess from another stabbing. The dwarf’s feet dangled just above the ground as Alistair held him by the neck. _“I am in charge._ Am I clear? _Your_ wife is here because she _left_ you. _You_ failed as a husband, _not me!_ _If_ your wife is still alive, I’ll be surprised she doesn’t kill you for _abandoning_ her! You don’t get to blame your _drunken laziness_ on me or my wife. In fact, you don’t say another word about my wife _ever again! No_ one is more important than _my wife_ and you better learn that quickly! We are _going_ back to the surface so my wife will _heal_ so we can actually have a _chance to survive_ the entire trip down here later on! If you don’t like it, fine! Stay here by yourself! If you’re too much of a coward, then shut up and follow my direction!” he relaxed his hand and the dwarf fell to the hard ground, rubbing his neck as he choked out _sodding nug humper!_ “Whoever else has cheeky objections, now’s the time to get it out! Keep in mind any _anyone_ who argues with me over the safety and well-being of my wife will be left down here to fend off the darkspawn with their feet nailed to the ground.”

 


	40. Lessons in Politics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mabari contracts the Taint while the party makes for the surface. Alistair finds his authority as Grey Warden/future King and threatens all of Orzammar when Harrowmont suggests the dwarves might lock the Wardens out if they leave, even to get Tess proper healing. Bann Teagan offers the party lodging at his manor during a chance meeting en route to Redcliffe. While in Rainesfere, Alistair experiences a taste of what being King will mean, and Teagan indulges him in a lesson politics over drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood music:  
> [ Jo Blankenburg - Juggernaut ](https://youtu.be/Tgvce6hA0FU)  
> [ Ivan Torrent - Human Legacy ](https://youtu.be/9NzlDUeS1U4)  
> [ Jo Blankenburg - Illumielle ](https://youtu.be/BPfzWZsszcw)
> 
> NSFW art at end of chapter.

Alistair carried Tess back to Orzammar. Every little twist or jolt to her torso overrode the pain potion and immobilized her for minutes. She couldn’t ride in the bouncing wagons and she couldn’t walk by herself without carefully placing each slothful step, so Alistair carried her. It was the only way.

Oghren griped and complained about this too. _Grey Wardens carried themselves_ and _how were they going to find Branka if they were going the wrong way._ Alistair only took so much noise from the pitiful drunk before he stopped, put his lips to his wife’s forehead and gently set her down. Oghren instantly ceased his mouth each time Alistair advanced on him. The third time this repeated, Alistair drew his dagger and threatened to make the dwarf walk back to Orzammar with an open neck. If Oghren wanted to shadow after Alistair like a lost kid, he’d better _fucking_ listen to his new _father._

They had to stop for camp. Alistair wanted to push on all night under the influence of Morrigan’s stamina potions, but Tess wasn’t going to make it. Alistair suspected all her nerve damage from excessive lyrium caused her to use up anything else faster than it should, as if the pain potions had already run half their course by the time she actually felt the effects. He needed to put her to sleep and hoped that doubling potions worked. He had Wynne make concentrated pain potions as the others set up camp. The party discussed the creatures they’d fought while they ate together, secured between the wagons and boulders like last time. Alistair ignored them all, sitting with his back to the crowd to give his full attention to his wife.

Tess already wore bags under her eyes; her body was fighting hard. She ate very small bites at a time. He tried to keep her talking, but memory from almost losing his leg told him she was likely in pain simply _sitting_. When he tried to assure her she’d be back to normal before they knew it, she hid her face into him with a sob of _hurt._ The only thing Alistair could do was hold her.

Po gave a weak yelp from somewhere, jerking both Wardens back to their surroundings. Whimpering and gagging, noises Po rarely made even in combat. “Shale?” Alistair looked over though he couldn’t see past the wagons.

“The hound is ill,” Shale reported.

Alistair stopped Tess when she pulled back and tried to stand. _“I’ll go_. I’m sure he’s fine, it must be the air down here,” he tried to assure when she spoke in worry. He planted a kiss as he stood, and after weaving around the others, he reached Shale. The golem pointed to the tunnel they’d all come out of.

Po wasn’t only vomiting though. Hunched over, toppling from his own weight, jaw hung open, falling into the tunnel wall with a yelp each time he tried to regain balance. Alistair picked up his pace and the mighty warhound looked up with a pitiful whine, furry brows arched in confusion and pain, _W_ _hat’s happening to me?,_ before hurling its snout forward to vomit. Dark, sour-smelling liquid and gray foam spilled out before Tess’ dog, and Alistair's heart sank again. He had seen this before, at Ostagar from the mabari who’d ingested darkspawn blood during the battles. _Shit._

Po was Tainted. A yip resounded as Alistair gathered the massive pup in his arms. Most mabari didn’t survive the Taint. _As if Tess and Alistair didn’t have enough pain to deal with._

“Morrigan!” Alistair’s voice echoed. He walked as fast as he could with the heavy hound in his arms. Morrigan sighed in aggravation, but Alistair interrupted before she could begin. “Do you have any herbs from home?” he barked out.

“What? Why would I? I lived in a _swamp,_ tis not much of use in a swamp unless you wish to poison people, Alistair! Oh, but of course _you_ could not know. _What_ is _wrong_ with him?” a blatant change in her voice and a point to Po when Alistair came around the corner.

“Po!” Tess struggled to stand.

 _“No_ , Tess, I’m bringing him. Morrigan, _do_ you or do you _not_ have any herbs? He’s been Tainted. Without an herb from the Wilds he’ll -” Alistair broke off when he saw the look on Tess, deep green eyes searching him like she couldn’t believe he was saying this. Alistair laid the sick mabari near their tent and ordered Morrigan and Wynne to dig through the stocks for herbs to make a potion, anything to help Po. Tess knelt already sobbing, Po whimpering in front of her. Alistair had never seen a dog cry before. He wasn't sure Tess had seen her own dog cry before either.

It took longer to settle than Alistair desired. He had to coax Tess to let go of her dog; if Po died during the night, they didn’t want to be sleeping with him. She cried for her dog and out of pain, moving around just like a mabari until she could withstand the pressure any angle placed on her wounds. Once she was comfortable enough, the potion took her swift and silent, snuggled upright against him. Alistair sat back against a rock waiting for her tiny snores before he took his own potion. He hurt for her as he marked her hand and stroked her hair. First her withdrawals, then Alistair’s leg, now Tess and her dog at the same time; her _brother_ she always said. The last of her immediate family, and the last of her family that she even cared for. _Too many bad things happened to them._ They simply needed a break from the world.

Like the night before, Alistair didn’t remember falling asleep. When he awoke, Tess was still passed out, but Po was gone. Alistair accidentally woke Tess when he quietly called out. She nearly bolted from his arms when she noticed the dog wasn’t there. Alistair broke down in giggles when Po came bounding over with a happy bark and what was obviously a smile. It was like a pile of bricks had been lifted from Alistair’s shoulder, hopefully it would make Tess’ healing smoother. _Po had survived the Taint. And_ , as Alistair smelled when the Tainted dog greeted them with slobbery dog affection, _also got into the cheese._ Alistair started out that morning scolding Po, _Just because you survived your Joining doesn’t mean you don’t have to ask, don’t forget I’m Senior Grey Warden here and all that cheese is mine._ They couldn’t feel Po yet like they could feel each other, but it was still relief. The mabari had been there when Alistair had thought he’d lost everyone. It was the three of them against the Blight, now. One small Tainted family.

Alistair still carried Tess. It remained the most efficient way for him to get her as painlessly back to Orzammar as he could and keep the caravan moving. Oghren didn’t protest until the Commons were in sight again. The guards standing watch at the entrance to the mines, _which led to the Deep Roads,_ watched suspiciously as Alistair and the entire party wedged from the tunnel. A single dwarf was sent away in a run, and after the second wagon was wholly through Lord Harrowmont stood when Alistair turned around.

“You seem to be missing a Paragon and her house,” Harrowmont noted out loud.

Oghren growled. “You’re sodding right she’s still missing!”

Alistair glared while he drank from the waterskin. “Don’t start, Oghren. My offer from before still stands.” He turned to Harrowmont. "My wife is badly injured and can’t use an arm. I’m taking her to the surface to heal. There’s no way we’ll get through the rest of darkspawn forces down there without her able to fight.”

“I have my own private medics. You’re welcome to utilize whatever resources you need to get her back to health. My guest quarters are always open to you,” Harrowmont’s voice rang untrusting to Alistair’s ears. The first offer had seemed hospitable enough and the second, but offering stay when a serious injury occurred on another race didn’t make sense. An elf would need elven healing, Qunari their own healing, humans needed human healing.

“And _I_ have my own medics as _well_. She needs fresh flowing air, Harrowmont, not recycled lava fumes. We’re humans, not dwarves. She won’t get the kind of air she needs down here. If you’re so worried, close off the entrance to the Deep Roads.” Alistair secured his wife in a tender but firm embrace and picked her up once more. The concentration of the potions made her drowsy, she couldn’t walk right now even if she wanted to.

“I can’t close off the Deep Roads without consent from the Assembly. The Legion of the Dead is still down there, and they are our boldest defense.”

“Then have _them_ go look for your Paragon while my wife recovers and we’ll come back in time for a king to honor our Treaty.”

“Beg your pardon, Grey Warden, but we can’t employ the Legion for this task for a few reasons. One, because we can’t find them and two, the Legion operates outside of Orzammar politics making them unemployable. All its members are legally dead. I was also under the impression _your_ party would find Branka,” Harrowmont said.

 _“Look_ at my wife.” Alistair turned to expose the sling keeping Tess’ arm folded against her body, forcing himself to remain gentle for Tess though he wanted to set her aside to round on the _noble_ dwarf. “She is _injured._ I _refuse_ to put her at further risk while she is so vulnerable. Could _you_ do that to _your_ wife?” he began to walk away again, careful on the steps that were too short for his feet.

“You still have your end of the bargain to fulfill-”

Alistair stopped with a sigh. _He was so tired of these thick-headed dwarves!_ Tess murmured to him as he set her down, but the constant complaining had to stop; Zevran rushed in to keep her balanced. “Listen, _dwarf,_ ” Alistair whirled around to face the noble in shiny clothes, _“I_ don’t have to do _anything_ for you. _One,_ ” he mimicked, “you never told us exactly how bad it would be down there, how _long_ it would take, what you expected us to risk just to find _one_ woman who willingly left the city on her own. _Two,_ we are _Grey Wardens,_ we are under _no_ obligation to run around like slaves and couriers. We came _as_ Grey Wardens to invoke the Treaties, and King or not Orzammar _will_ obey, _you_ don’t have a _choice!_ Finding your Paragon is something our entire team decided as a whole was a _kindness_ extended to show our thanks for any support we gain for the Blight. It is a _courtesy_ we are _freely giving,_ there is _no_ bargain!” Alistair and Harrowmont searched each other's eyes, Alistair almost twice as tall. He couldn’t tell if Harrowmont was nervous. “You still have options while I take my wife to the surface, which _will_ happen.”

“I can’t just close the tunnels. Perhaps you didn’t hear me a moment ago-”

 _“No!_ Perhaps _you_ didn’t hear _me! We are leaving for the surface!_ If you want _us_ to find this Paragon, you _will_ close the entrance to the Deep Roads. Do it under Grey Warden authority, or your own, I don’t care! But you will _not_ order me _or_ any member of my party, we have enough problems of our own _without_ the Blight! No matter _who_ becomes king, Orzammar _will_ honor the Treaties! There is no loophole in Dwarven law, remember? If your law designates aiding the Grey Wardens during a Blight, then free or governed Orzammar _will comply!_ If you really think this Paragon can make a significant difference for the war, then you will _kindly_ wait until your best chance at finding her returns. Close off the entrance to the Deep Roads - as a Grey Warden I am _ordering_ this _now_ \- _close off the Deep Roads!_ Go do what dwarves do best, go move metal around. Lock the city Gates even, but _we_ are _leaving! I am taking my wife to the surface to heal! End of story!”_

“And what am I supposed to do when Bhelen counteracts with domestic war while you’re away?”

“You were the King’s Second, I’m _sure_ you’ll think of something!”

“If I lock the Gates to Orzammar, you’ll be unable to return. You realize this, don’t you? They lock from the inside, as do every sensible door. You’ll be unable to return and thus unable to gain the Assembly’s approval to send aid for the Blight.”

“What part of ‘if you don’t help end the Blight, there will be no Thedas anymore does _anyone_ not understand! You are _not allowed_ to refuse the Grey Wardens! If I have to, I will invoke the Right of Conscription on _everyone_ in Orzammar down to every child old enough to bear their own heirs! _Including you,_ Lord Harrowmont! Is _that_ what you want?” Alistair roared.

“Al-is-!” Tess gasped. He turned to see Zevran trying to support her wobbling legs without squeezing her ribs. Her knuckles were white as she kept failing to grip the elf’s shoulder.

“This is not good! She’s losing air!” Zevran said as Alistair rushed over and retrieved his wife. She gasped even as Alistair picked her up. “Tip her, tip her!” Zevran urged, “she’s losing air! The wound is up top, tip her upside down! She needs to drain!”

“She needs fresh air,” Wynne insisted, conjuring pearly swirls of sparkling cream into Tess without being asked as Alistair tightened his legs and grasp to tilt his wife backwards.

“If she doesn’t start breathing on her own again, I will have to cut her open to stitch her lung,” Zevran said.

Alistair stared at the elf. “Are you _serious?”_ he hissed.

“Believe me, if there are other options I would prefer to take them. It’s a messy business and requires rare potions. We need to get her to the surface. That castle, yes? There is too much moisture down here. If I try to do it here, she may trap fungus spores in the wound.”

Alistair shot his glare to Harrowmont. “We are _leaving_.” he stood, bringing Tess right up against him. He cradled her her head at the crook of his elbow and hooked her hips up over his shoulder. “If you don’t honor the Treaty when we return, I will _personally_ raze this city.”

“Grey Warden-” Harrowmont began warily.

“That’s only fair, _future king._ If _my_ home burns, so will yours.” without another glance, Alistair carried his gasping wife away from dwarven politics.

Only when he ascended to the center of the Commons did he realize how _quiet_ the city was. So still, so lifeless that every hiss of lava far below, every sizzle of nug skin over crackling fire could be heard. _Had he done that? Did he cause this silence?_

The guard they first encountered in the city met Alistair’s eyes at the doors to the Hall of Heroes. Before Alistair could even warn him not to start, the heavily armored dwarf held up his hands. “I’m not officially saying I’m taking orders from a topsider, let alone a human, but I’m not stupid enough to argue with a Grey Warden.”

Alistair continued walking without a word, not even a nod of acknowledgment. He did, however, murmur to Tess as soothingly as he could with each stair his feet dropped to, the sweetest words he could think of while he waited for Sten, Shale, Oghren and the handful of city guards who heaved the wagons over steps.

“Stop me if this a bad time,” Zevran began as stronger people hoisted the wagons over the second set of steps. Alistair tore his eyes from Tess, still softly cooing. “No? Excellent! In case you did not hear, you caused quite a bit of silence in the halls,” a brief pause, “is it inappropriate to say I find that attractive?”

Whether Zevran meant it as a joke or not, Alistair had a hard time suppressing a smile. “I’m _married_ , Zevran,” he played along quietly.

The elf laughed loudly. “Ah well. It was worth the effort.”

“What there a point to that? Or were you just reminding me my attractive angry voice scares people?”

“Point, yes there is a point. You are going to be king, yes?” he kept Alistair’s slow pace as they followed the wagons outside.

“Yes, Zevran, I am.”

“I think that is a very good voice for a King to have.” Zevran gave him another fleeting glace before sliding up ahead of the wagons. Alistair didn’t miss the subtle hint. He wasn’t sure what the elf was suggesting, but it was certainly a little push on the back.

Delicate snow drizzled as Alistair stepped outside. Below blinding bright clouds and the glittering little flakes, a chill of Ferelden winter awoke his skin at the collar and cuffs. There was an immediate difference in surface air, clean and natural, he smelled _trees_ , pine, elder, juniper. Hints of campfires and various roasts wafted up in tides between peaks of fresh mountain breeze. He wasn’t sure exactly how long they’d been down in the Deep Roads, but the unmistakable contrast made him realize he’d missed nature.

Alistair stopped to rest his knee against a stone wall. “Tess?” he gently tilted her head. Her eyes rolled slow at the sound of his voice and his did not rise from her pressure as much as he expected for the deep wheezes she exerted. Pain practically seeped from pore in her face, more obvious in the constant trickle of tears draining from each eye. “Oh, love...” Ever so gently he raised her until there was room to wrap her up. “It will be okay, I promise.” He cradled her, told her to breathe with him while he held her, lightly rubbed her back. He reached between their bodies and traced snug circles on her confined hand, more for comfort; he knew it couldn't physically help her breathe right now.

Voices behind him made him soften his tone as he hummed for Tess.

_Do you think he’s really going to sack it?_

_What, the Grey Warden? How could he? There’s thousands of us only a handful of them._

_But he can do that, can’t he? Order the city closed under the pretense of Darkspawn? I mean, I know Grey Wardens can order the Deep Roads closed, that’s certain._

_The Deep Roads I’d understand, but he’d be mad to burn the city. There’s just too many of us._

_We’d be screwed if he blocked the gates, though. It’s a shame that other Warden isn’t fit. She seemed like the type who could have reasoned with Harrowmont._

_Politics, my friend, nothing but politics. That human’s a king or something, remember? It’s always politics, who’s got the biggest crown and the longest scepter..._

The voices drifted into the Hall under the mountain, leaving Alistair to wonder. He cocked his head to see Tess, and she blinked away a snowflake as she met his gaze. “Did you hear that? The _dwarves_ think I’m _mean,_ ” he joked quietly, “I’m sure I’ll be able to use that to our advantage somehow.”

The fresh air and snow was a little colder than Alistair liked, but it was certainly better than underground. Wynne’s potions decreased Tess’ appetite and kept her drowsy during the day, but with healing sessions by both mages in mornings and evenings she was faring well for a lung wound. Sometimes Tess passed out while Alistair carried her, curled up in his arms wrapped in furs like an overgrown babe. Alistair adored this though, much of her time awake like this he spent teasing her about what he’d do to her when she felt better, and the way the furs wrapped around her head trapped his voice right there for only her. Wrapped so tight in his arms, she was never in any position but to take it with giddy smiles and blazing cheeks.

Po tromped through the snow at Alistair’s side, detouring only occasionally to mark his territory on tree trunks or exposed boulders. Every moment the mabari made his tracks next to Alistair, Po wore a goofy smile, his head high and proud. Every bark sounded of pure joy and Alistair swore Po said things like _I’m doing important Grey Warden stuff!_ and _This is how Grey Wardens do it!_ Alistair couldn’t reach down to pat the dog but he was glad for Po’s enthusiasm. Po seemed to embody the hope that being a Grey Warden meant. Eager and excited for adventure, not only because there was no choice. He was uplifting to have around. No longer just a comfortable pet, Po had become the final wheel of their little Warden wheelbarrow; Alistair even considered calling them the Tainted Trio, at least in his head.

By the third day back on the surface it was snowing regularly. Even without blizzards they awoke each morning to new inches of snow. Camp was made closer and cramped to trap in heat but Alistair found this didn’t bother him much as expected. Bodahn heated rum with spices and most of them drank until the winter chill became refreshing. Alistair passed out each night sitting upright so Tess could sleep, and for the most part this worked. He couldn't bring himself to tell her it was hard for him to sleep like that, but with enough breaks to rub his face in a pile of snow throughout the day he felt he hid this depravity from her. He continued to carry her and tease her, sing to her, described the beauty of the fresh fallen snow over the trees and winterbrush that had held his fascination since childhood. Leliana and Wynne even chirped in with a few tunes, and the dwarves and Po at night at the campfire. The trek itself was a bit of a holiday. By the fifth day, the whole party save Oghren had forgotten what it had felt like to be underground.

During a rest stop, Tess pointed out Rainesfere and Teagan’s manor, now fully exposed by bare trees. Had the Bann been home, Alistair would have gladly detoured there. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing Eamon nor flooding himself in political lessons. The view was lovely however, and Alistair promised Tess he’d take her there when the whole Blight mess was taken care of, sooner if he could help it. Beautiful view or not, it wasn't quite holiday unless they had a chance to take advantage of warm beds and hot food. 

Shortly after they packed up camp the sixth morning, Sten announced a group of horse riders approaching. Alistair set Tess on the wagon Wynne had been steering, to rush ahead with the others ready to fight. The horses slowed though, and the frontman pulled back his hood as his steed came to a stop.

“Alistair?” Bann Teagan slid from his horse with a crunch into the snow.

Alistair found himself laughing in relief. “Maker’s breath, Teagan, you’re lucky I didn’t stab your horse!” he sheathed his sword as he hiked over. He met the Bann in a hug.

“What in oblivion are you doing out here? Unless this is some kind of hobby? I thought you were headed to Orzammar?” Teagan pulled back and examined the party.

“We did, we had to leave.”

Po bounded over in barks and yips of excitement. He paused in front of Teagan to strut with his held high and when Teagan didn’t say anything, Po barked with a proud grin. _Notice anything different about me?_ Alistair swore he understood this dog fluently now.

“Er...what’s he doing?” Teagan asked Alistair. Po barked out an insult.

 _“Hey_ now, calm down. Normal people don’t recognize our greatness right away,” Alistair teased Po.

The mabari turned and posed again, _How about from the side? This is my good side. Can he see it now?_

Alistair looked at Teagan, “Po is _Grey Warden_ now, and he’s _very_ proud of it. He’s trying to show it off.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “just pretend you notice a difference.”

Po barked with a lazy glare at Alistair. _I heard that, you know._

Alistair retorted the glare. “You heard nothing!”

Teagan hesitated uncertainly. “Er... _oh,_ yes, I see it now. Your posture has improved. You look _stronger_ , even. Do you feel stronger?” Teagan played along for the dog.

Po barked happily, that silly proud grin back of his big blocky face. _Of course I do! You should try it sometime! After the retching it’s pretty fun! Just don’t eat your own vomit this time, believe me it’s horrible!_ The mabari gave another playful dance and then hopped away over the snow yipping about needing to find a tree.

“I swear your party grows stranger each time I see you,” Teagan said in wonder. “And you’ve traded your golem for a dwarf, I see. Personally I think I would have kept it.”

“What?” Alistair turned to count his men. _“Shit-”_

 _“And_ I see Tesslyn has taught you Orlesian,” Teagan commented.

Alistair ignored him, searching for his golem. “We’ve lost Shale. When did that happen?”

“No, I remain.” that was Shale’s voice alright.

“Er...okay, where?” Alistair wasn’t the only one looking around.

“I do not see you, Shale,” Leliana said, scarlet hair whipping about as she looked everywhere even physically impossible for Shale to be, like up.

“Sodding where indeed. Blasted thing fell into the sky, I’m tellin’ ya! It’s bad luck to be up top,” Oghren said. Morrigan groaned out an insult. Shale’s voice groaned as well. A heavy scraping sounded, and against a backdrop of almost entirely snow, flakes flew off in mid-air to reveal a round rocky head. There was Shale, coated from head to toe in snow.

“Ooh! We have a living snowman! Sten, fetch a carrot! Quick! And a scarf!” Zevran waved his arms at the Qunari, who stared back with a definite _No._

“Where is Tesslyn?” Teagan observed the party again.

“We were ambushed by Shrieks in the Deep Roads. She was stabbed in a lung. We’re on our way to Redcliffe,” Alistair explained.

“She was _stabbed?_ But that’s still a week at least in this weather. Come with us, I’ve room for you. And I have stables. _Please_ do your best not to burn mine down, I still keep livestock. I insist, come with me. If she’s...it would be better for her at my home. But where is she?”

“Are you _cold,_ Teagan? I don’t think I’ve heard you ramble this fast.”

“If that excuse masks my concern for my cousin, then yes.”

Alistair laughed again. “She’s in the second wagon.” he gesture. As Alistair turned, one of Teagan’s guards jumped from his horse.

“Your Highness, take my horse.” the man held out the reins to Alistair. Alistair did a double-take at the man; he was was not used to being addressed as royalty save for jesting by Teagan and Tess. “I _insist_ , Your Majesty, please.”

“Go on,” Teagan told Alistair, with a nod of acknowledgment toward his guard.

“I...appreciate it, but I’ve had to carry my wife. Every little movement pains her.” Alistair said.

“You _carried_ her? From Orzammar?”

“Er, from the Deep Roads actually. It’s fine, Teagan, I promise.”

“Maker’s breath, Alistair! Take the damn horse! You’ll be safe and warm a matter of hours.”

“Too much movement, Teagan. She’s in too much pain.”

“Your Majesty, please take it. The Queen’s health is at risk.” the knight insisted again.

Alistair sighed softly upon spying the cheeky arch of Teagan’s brows. “Thank you, Ser Knight,” Alistair said uncomfortably, grabbing the reins.

“No need, King Alistair.” the knight bent forward with a fist over chest.

Teagan walked his own horse by the reins as Alistair led the knight’s horse over to Tess. “You’re going to have to get used to that, Alistair.”

Alistair sighed. “I know. I just didn’t expect it. No one’s treated me much like royalty. I’ve barely been acknowledged as a Grey Warden.”

“Ferelden will follow, Alistair. We just need to get out into public. Granted you might have to shave so everyone will _see_ you’re related to Cailan and Maric.”

Alistair shook his head. “Not a chance. Tess will _kill_ me, with her bad arm even, I guarantee that.” Teagan laughed loudly, and Tess made a sound as Alistair and Teagan came into view around the other wagon. For once she didn’t look annoyed to see her family.

“What are _you_ doing out here?” she forced a hoarse voice, followed by a gasp and a cough.

Alistair gently hushed his wife. “Try not to speak, love,” he massaged her shaking knees. “There will be plenty of time to yell at him later. He’s invited us to his home. It’s closer, I think it’s a better idea than Redcliffe, especially in this weather.”

Tess breathed a sigh of relief and Teagan smiled. “Much better than my brother’s home. Mind you it’s no castle, but Tesslyn is welcome among my people.” he paused. “You’ll want to let me warn the staff first that you’ll _both_ be staying. Give me time to bring out the reserves so the rest of my house may actually sleep.”

Alistair couldn’t help a grin, Tess muttered with a frown. He took her in his arms once more and moved her from wagon to horse. Wrapped in furs, Tess led the front of the saddle while Alistair steadied her from behind. As Alistair worked the reins to get a feel for the horse, another knight jumped from his own.

“Master Qunari, would you like a horse?”

Alistair was surprised at the unordered generosity of Teagan’s knights. He couldn’t recall unprompted kindness from knights in Denerim or Redcliffe, even scarce among some Templars branches.

“What do you expect me to do with this?” Sten asked as the knight handed the him the reins of a blonde mare.

“It’s a horse,” Teagan explained. “You ride it.”

Sten frowned. “An inappropriate request.”

Zevran laughed first, so hard he nearly fell off the wagon right after he’d climbed up. As Teagan and others joined in laughter, Tess smiled against Alistair.

“That was an _innocent_ request Sten, _innocent_ ,” Alistair grinned.

“Unlikely.”

Tess didn’t fare as bad as Alistair thought. The snow slowed the horse enough for him to ease her into each bump and bounce, and after awhile the constant motion even put her to sleep. Teagan’s home was still over the rest of daylight away, but he said if they continued straight even the wagons would get there before the moons rose. They rode into sight of Rainesfere’s town lights sometime shortly after dark. Teagan ordered all but one guard to remain with the caravan while he and Alistair rode ahead.

Alistair had never been to Rainesfere before. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he certainly didn’t expect what he found. Even before they approached the town center, he saw enough hanging lamps to brighten the ground and air as if the sun hadn’t set. Snow had been shoveled to reveal stone paths that branched off from a main road set with patterns of brick. Children - _so many children_ \- of all different ages played amongst themselves, flying snow and painted sleds rushing and crashing about the snow banks, dogs of all sizes jumping around in their own fun. The brightest source of light and music waved through an open door, and the sound of laughter echoed about the open yard louder than any Chantry choir. Alistair could already smell various breads and meats cooking by the time his horse _clip-clopped_ upon a wooden bridge that normally closed the city in safety.

Teagan’s man rushed ahead while Teagan held up a hand for Alistair to halt. Before Alistair could ask why they stopped, the knight’s voice trumpeted through the town.

 _“Make way for the King! Make way for King Alistair! Clear the way! The King and Queen of Ferelden arrive, make way! Prepare for the King...”_ the knight’s announcement trailed off as he wandered out of sight.

In a midst of excitement and gasps of awe, children ushered dogs from the shoveled road, women with their arms full stood still to stare and men dropped bundles to bow as Alistair’s horse, guided by Teagan, began walking. Children and adults bowed or curtsied, older children prodding younger ones whose courtesies were dramatic. While the children were adorable to Alistair, _still surprised to know this many children could exist in one town,_ he had no idea how to respond. He’d only had a few lessons with Eamon, but there was never anything about entire villages completely ceasing chores, festivities and even meals to acknowledge _him_ \- Alistair the nobody little stable boy - as a person they were willing to submit their lives to.

Teagan stuffed the reins back in Alistair’s hand and closed up his fist tight. “Get used to it, Alistair. This will happen everywhere soon.”

“Children, Teagan...there are _children bowing_ to me...” should he be staring back? Alistair was bewildered and clueless. He could shout down rulers of other races, but a few tiny people tripping over themselves trying to impress him in curtsies they’d probably never practiced before, and Alistair was...blank. Even Tess was staring at the townsfolk.

Teagan smiled wider. “And mothers and fathers and servants. You are Ferelden’s _King_ , Alistair, whether or not the Landsmeet accepts this fact yet. You are the Father of our homeland. They trust you to keep our country, just as they trust the safety of their homes and bellies to their parents. The children are especially important; they are your future of commerce and military. Your future merchants, blacksmiths, soldiers, ship captains, Arls and Banns.”

Alistair pointed while he held the reins. “There,” he gave a nod with his head in the same direction his finger aimed. Orzammar had been busy but nothing like this, no joy. This was lights, music, laughter, _life._ Alistair had never seen a place so lively before. "I want to go there."

Teagan laughed. “The Tavern? If that isn’t proof you’re Maric’s son, I’m not sure what is!”

The lack of _castle_ that was Teagan’s home was far from plain or small. Teagan had exotic taste in decor, Alistair recognized Par Vollen influence in sconces and lamps, corner stands, bureaus and potted plants. This was far more an exciting place to be than Eamon’s castle.

 _“Why_ do you want Redcliffe? Have you seen how boring it is inside?” Alistair joked. Teagan chortled, but before he could speak a handful of seasoned maids rushed over and tried to collect Tess, gushing things like _Oh Mistress! What’s happened?_ And _Quick! Someone start the fires!_ And _Quilts! Where are the quilts? What happened to your arm? My Lady you’re like ice!_ Alistair had to actually pull the women off Tess. He was possibly more baffled about these overly concerned nannies than about the the entire town bowing to him. _“Excuse_ me, _I_ will take my wife! Thank you but that’s enough!” he said loudly, wedging himself in between warm, plump bodies.

“Wife? My _Lady!”_ one of them scolded. “You were supposed to _tell_ us when you married!”

Alistair shot Teagan a glare in utter disbelief as the Bann chuckled. “Teagan, there is something wrong with your house.”

Teagan laughed loudly. “Alistair, meet the family. Not blood, of course, but the way they act none is the wiser. Some of them served my family since I was a child in Ansburg. They followed me when I came to rule this side of the Bannorn. If I am forever their naughty little boy, Tesslyn is forever their favorite escape artist. I’ve been told my _apprentice_ surpassed me long ago,” Teagan said affectionately. “Had Eamon been well enough before, I would have insisted we return here. Not _everyone_ hates Tesslyn.” he looked at the fussing women in amusement as Alistair tried to pry hands off Tess’ short hair. “You should see this when Tesslyn is her usual self. It’s like a grumpy old woman’s club.”

“Teagan, please - she’s been _stabbed!”_ he reminded.

One of the maids shrieked and another nearly fainted.  _“Get the healer! Somebody quick!”_

 _“Teagan!”_ Alistair couldn’t pick Tess up to move her with all the women around.

“Ladies, ladies, please, that’s quite enough.” Teagan cleared his throat to brush off his amusement. “Ladies, meet King Alistair, he and his party will be staying with us until Tesslyn heals. Please see that their needs are attended to.”

There was a pause as the women exchanged looks. Alistair finally started to slip Tess away when the hall exploded in bombs of girlish squeals, _She’s the Queen! She was supposed to marry Teagan but she didn’t and she’s the Queen!_

It was too much noise for Alistair. He was shocked the portraits didn’t try to run away. He forced his way out of the thick flock of maids that loved his wife _too_ much and practically ran into the next hall, whatever it was, with Tess in his arms.

“This is why I don’t live here,” Tess croaked out, barely audible over the extreme glee that didn’t yet realize she was gone.

Teagan hollered over the ladies to make sure all the guest quarters were ready and a hot banquet prepared, and after the noise was scurrying off down the hall the Bann led Alistair around a corner. “Sometimes, Alistair, I go to Redcliffe for _holiday_ ,” he admitted.

“Is it always this mad around here?”

“They calm down after Tesslyn is around for a few days. These women have seen her often enough to remember the sweet little girl that used to tromp around as a child pretending I was king and she was my queen. Makeshift crown and gown. Eventually I stopped replacing the curtains in the drawing room.”

Alistair smiled with an image in his head of a tow-headed child clopping through the hall in heeled shoes far too big, an upside down colander on her head and an entire drape fastened over her shoulders like a cape, nose in the air as she bossed suits of armor around. “It too bad you didn’t have a painter available for that,” he said.

Teagan laughed an agreement, and Tess grumbled and went limp in Alistair’s arms until he set her down. “Both of you are hilarious,”she whispered hoarsely.

“Don’t forget, dear cousin, this whole idea to put Alistair on the throne and keep me nearby was _yours._ ” Teagan teased.

Alistair found himself struggling against all the elderly servants again, this time with baths and dressing and eating. They couldn't seem to comprehend that regarding Tess, this was _his_ job. Teagan had emergency stores of injury kits, which worked a wonder on Tess with just one application when combined with Wynne’s healing and regeneration magic. Alistair wasn’t exactly sure how the injury kit managed; he hadn’t been allowed in the room while it was applied, something about _blood_ and Teagan’s medic wanting to stay alive; but it only took a regular pain potion to ease Tess after that. It was such a dramatic change for her physically that she fell asleep on her own soon after, exhausted and finally able to breathe better. The medic told Alistair the rest of the bone and lung would take about two weeks to finish healing, but it was far less than waiting three months for the bone to set.

Alistair didn’t head to bed right away. The manor and the town still fascinated him, it was like another world all over again. Teagan’s town was one from the old Satinalia stories, the perfect town where perfect things were made and when some new good thing happened, which it always did, the entire population celebrated, friends and neighbors and guards, nobles and peasants alike. Alistair could see the town from the balcony of Teagan’s lounge on the second floor; just far enough to still feel the gentle caress of Tess’ Taint somewhere a floor above. He couldn’t hear the noise from the town center, but he could see the open tavern door, still illuminating warmly upon the darkened snow. Alistair helped himself to a glass of rum and watched tiny shadows freckle the highlighted snow every now and then. He watched the rest of his own party spill into the manor's courtyard, escorted by the knights Teagan had left behind. And when all the bodies disappeared and the tavern’s lights went out, Alistair stared up at the night sky to glimpse the stars between migrating snow clouds. It was peaceful out there, up there overlooking this little pocket of hope that seemed so out of place for a country like Ferelden, let alone a Blight.

“There you are. I almost sent out a search party, though honestly I expected they’d find you passed out at the tavern.” Alistair turned to see Teagan approaching, holding out a bottle about the length of Alistair’s hand. Alistair turned the bottle until he found a label; _Self-warming Cinnamon Cherry Almond massage oil._ Alistair raised an extremely curious eyebrow at his wife’s cousin. _“Don’t ask_ me, please. An Antivan caravan stopped by Redcliffe before I left...just _don’t ask._ ” Teagan immediately poured himself a tall glass of rum. “I really need to stop doing nice things for family,” he muttered.

Alistair grinned. “So...this isn’t for _you and me_ , this is for _me and Tess._ ”

“Maker’s breath, _no_ it’s not for _you and me!_ Alistair, really!” he had no idea Teagan could blush so heartily.

Alistair chuckled into his glass, pocketing the gesture of acceptance from his wife's cousin. “I greatly appreciate it. I’m sure Tess will too, once she’s feeling better.”

“I already regret this beyond the Void itself.” Teagan downed a large gulp.

A young boy running past the open door caught Alistair’s eye as he was about to refill his glass. In that fleeting moment, Alistair's fun chased after the child. “Teagan, are any of these children around here like... _me?”_ he asked.

“Are we still having a provocative conversation here?” the Bann guessed.

“No. Are any of these children _bastards?_ Are...do you make them sleep outside? Why are they running back and forth? Do you make them clean your stables and wash your bedpans? _Why_ are there so _many?”_ Alistair couldn’t help being blunt. He gestured as another child skipped by. “You have a _lot_ of children here.”

“I happen to have a soft spot for children without parents, Alistair,” Teagan informed him. “I had absolutely no control over Eamon or Isolde treating you as they did. I don’t think Eamon’s forgotten but I believe he feels he never needed _our_ parents. I, on the other hand, remember my mother growing ill and then waking up one day unable to see her. My aunt and uncle took Eamon and myself in, and though they were kind to us, they were not _my_ parents. Most of my servants came from all over the Bannorn, some from Denerim, some from Redcliffe, one from Highever even, where Tesslyn is from. Mothers without husbands to provide for the children they left behind. Children with no parents too young to provide for themselves yet.” he paused to drink. “There is political advantage in this as well, though, don’t forget this.”

 _“Don’t_ -" Alistair shook his head with a scoff of disbelief; he didn't want to hear this from someone he considered a _friend._  "Teagan, you’re having them do what _Isolde made me_ do!” he protested quietly. “How can you do this? _How_ can you take advantage of children who have nothing and nowhere to turn for help? Do you think they won’t notice as time goes on that they don’t have a choice, that if they don’t clean the bedpans they’ll get whipped?”

“I do not whip anybody, Alistair. Please do not compare me to Isolde. She never got it out of her head that you were really Eamon’s, not Maric’s. Isolde was _cruel._ I sincerely apologize for all she put you through, though I know those words probably do no good anymore.”

“That doesn’t excuse you using _children_ , Teagan. _I_ _remember!_ I remember the running back and forth, often with injuries a young child shouldn’t have, I remember being tired all the time, _hungry_ all the time! I _never_ had anything of my own! That life is _not fair_ to a child!” he hushed himself, torn between children straying down the hall and not wanting to argue with the closest thing to family he had.

“I assure you, Alistair, they all sleep inside, they all have warm beds, their own foot trunks, and no one is whipped. I _train_ them here, condition them. In fact, three of my knights who rode with me, including the one who offered you his horse, were once orphans in this very manor.”

Alistair didn’t quite believe it though. “All the children here, all the ones outside who _bowed..._ ” he shook his head. He _hated_ the feelings that surfaced with remembering growing up. It made him want to throw something, _burn_ something all over again. He quickly swallowed the entire glass of rum he’d just poured.

“You will have to get used to that, Alistair. You won’t have a choice. Wherever you go, you will be bowed to, when you depart flowers will be tossed at your feet, your every entrance and exit will be announced, you’ll often be unable to walk anywhere without a string of guards. You will only be referred to as Alistair amongst close nobles, perhaps myself, Fergus Cousland if he survives. You’ll be lucky to hear _King_ Alistair amongst most nobles. It will be _Your Majesty_ ,” Teagan explained to him. “The entire western Bannorn - _my_ land - recognizes you as King now. There is no going back. You _are_ a King. And with it come political responsibilities that you _must_ make a show of, even if you aren’t fond of them.”

“Like driving children into slavery?” his gut flipped while he poured another full glass for himself.

“I don't speak of slavery, Alistair. The time may come when you must send a child to a deliver a message amidst battle because you know for certain your enemy will _not_ strike down a child. It is an unkind decision to consider, but if sending a child to carry out orders is a safer route for your country, you will _have_ to do it.” he paused when he saw Alistair wasn’t convinced. “Children are a necessity in running a country. It’s the _manner_ of which you have them serve that differentiates it from slavery or willing chores. Create a _positive_ force, make them _proud_ of their capabilities, express how their efforts are a tremendous aspect of keeping balance. If everyone does a little bit to help, even just a single act, he is helping his brother. Children sent as runners at an early age learn to keep each others backs, in groups or pairs they teach each other to stay strong enough to run scraps of metal and ore back and forth when help is unavailable. Or it could be as simple as ordering a child to pick up that one scrap the runner is unable to carry which allows for the blacksmith to receive the entire required amount at once to efficiently make weapons and shield so the city will be safe.”

This didn’t sound any better to Alistair either. Small children running heavy metals back and forth? That was too close to his own childhood. That was definitely _not_ a child’s personal choice. Alistair put the glass to his mouth to find he’d drained it already. He felt Teagan's studious gaze as he refilled rum again.

The Bann continued, “If the city is safe we can send our the soldiers to help others who don’t have the same security we do, and this works in cycles. When we aid our sister cities to get rid of threats then we are all safe. An entire country of brothers all safe because help started out with the _tiniest_ gesture. What do you think would happen if a blacksmith only received, say two-thirds of the ore because the runner couldn’t lift it all and another child was never raised to value offering service? There would be soldiers going into battle with their bare fists, or an entire regiment with very weak swords, both of which are extremely ineffective. We do not _force_ the children, they are instructed and praised, so by the time they are able to think for themselves, possibly about running off to be a careless mercenary, they _choose_ to stay because they see the significance of simple aid.” Teagan tipped his glass and swallowed without making a face, unlike with any of Eamon's drinks. “The _horse_ helped, did it not?” a smile spread on Teagan’s face as Alistair absorbed the weight of the words.  

“Okay, so...you gave me a horse as a simple gesture of aid. What is it you’re hoping for in return?” Alistair tried to joke, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea of it being _honorable_ to force children into hard workers. He was personally convinced it was possible to train anyone to employ kindness and courtesy when it mattered without resorting to to heavy lifting or breathless dashing from door to door. His own work with Tess was proof of this. “We’re already giving you Redcliffe,” he added.

Teagan smiled though his glass. “I am not asking anything in return for the horse, Alistair. I believe you are good man full of logic and wisdom, and it has always been the plan for Tesslyn to secure you and I to take over from there. My Bannorn may be small but you have seen my influence. When you make yourself into one of the people, you can be the _face_ of the people, which is what _I_ have done and exactly what _you_ are about to do. _My_ job is to help you reach the crown.”

“One of the people...so the tavern then. What are we waiting for?” Alistair stood, finally feeling the effect of so much rum so quickly. Teagan gently pushed him back down with a soft laugh, only adding to dizzying swirl in Alistair's head.

“Not yet, we’re still studying.”

“Does it really matter what we’re drinking if we go over lessons anyway? At any rate either here or there, my first speech in Denerim will consist of drunk horses with snowballs and dogs in curtsy and the rich smells of roasting deer, stinking cheddar and blackberry pie swelling out of the - oh, _dammit,_ now I’ve just made myself _hungry_.” he stood again, Teagan unable to stop laughing. “I _desperately_ need an ale and pie, but not too much sugar, I actually sort of like it _bitter,_ it reminds me of Tess, I haven’t had her like that in awhile and I miss it -” Teagan slapped a hand over his face in a drunken giggle-groan. “Teagan, a _whole_ pie, _all_ to myself and also a wheel of cheddar. No - _yes_ , cheddar, and few wedges of that soft Orlesian spreadable stuff, she said she’d let me lick it off her-”

“Ah-ah, Alistair!” Teagan laughed out another moan. “I insist, you don’t need to tell me everything!”

“I am _not_ telling you everything,” Alistair grinned, indefinitely amused with making Teagan uncomfortable.

“Sit down and drink, we’ll go through the ale tomorrow."

“Not with Oghren here we won’t,” Alistair slunked back in the seat though. “You know, this is a _really comfy chair_ Teagan.” He clumsily refilled his glass and licked his fingers in noisy slurps before he sucked the drink back just as loudly.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but if you do that any louder, I’ll be accused of incest with the King.”

Alistair couldn’t help the laugh that spewed rum all over Teagan.

“That doesn’t help either, Alistair. Shall I start _moaning_ while you’re at it?”

“You are quite perverted when you’re drunk.” Alistair grinned up at him as he tried to refill his glass yet again. “Do you have children, Teagan?”

Teagan sipped his own rum with a small frown. “Is this normal for you, talking about sex and then children?” he teased.

“No more strange than a man talking about sex with his sort-of nephew.” he took another drink, and another, this time fully aware of the alcohol sloshing through his veins with each sip. “I’m serious, do you?” Alistair turned and leaned against the arm, hitching heavy legs over the other arm of the enormous chair.

“I...no, I have no idea, Alistair. Why do you ask? Such an odd question when you’ve gone through so much of my drink in one sitting.”

“I’m _Tainted,_ I can handle more to myself.” Alistair only took a sip this time though. “How can you not know if you have children?”

“Because I’m not the type who gives birth. Why? Is she pregnant?”

“What? No. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh heavens!" Teagan muttered. "Apparently the Chantry failed to teach you where babies come from, Alistair. _Shit,_ where do I begin?”

Alistair’s laugh slurred a little. “I _know_ how babies are made. Not that I haven’t  _tried_ , but...we just can’t.” he paused, not drunk enough to forget Tess never told Teagan about Loghain’s torture, nor that the court would require he produce an heir despite the Taint prevented his own ability.

“All right, I will play this for awhile. Why are you thinking about babies, Alistair?”

“I told you about the Fade, right?” he looked up at his sort-of uncle.

“Briefly, you were dunk then as well.”

“I _miss_ them.” Alistair admitted. He watched the clear liquid swirl as he shook his wrist. “My daughters. I keep thinking about them, more and more actually...” he raised his eyes to meet Teagan’s. “Tess was pregnant in the Fade, too. I had no idea how beautiful a woman carrying my child could ever look.”

Teagan sat straighter in his own seat across the narrow room. “Alistair,” his voice dropped with his expression like he was trying to find words to tell him a dog died. “The Fade is not real. You know this...don’t you?”

“It was _real_ for _me_ , Teagan. It doesn’t matter that it was - Maker, my _whole life_ everyone’s taken things from me, and now my dreams even. Can I just keep this _one thing?”_ he sounded more touched than he felt. “They were _real._ I _felt_ them, they were _warm_ , they...I _felt the baby_ _kick_ when I _kissed_ her...Maker, she was _so beautiful!”_ Alistair could recall the dream as if it was a memory from just earlier that day.

“I think we’ve had enough to drink for the night, nephew,” Teagan spoke softly, kindly.

“I’m fine, honestly.” Alistair wobbled a little as he got to his feet. “I may not be in the best shape to-" he touched his chest as a belch escaped him, " _run_ right now, but I’m still standing and not...what...that disgusting thing the dwarf does every few hours?” he didn't expect this new burp, and Teagan gave a soft laugh as Alistair apologized.

Teagan smiled as he corked the bottle at the tea table. “You are _close_ enough to vomiting, I think.”

“Yes! That’s exactly it! _No_ _! I'm_ not vomiting,  _Oghren_ is!  _Will_ you stand _still_ when I’m talking to you?”

Teagan laughed again. “I’m not moving. Lessons are concluded for the day, young king.” he patted Alistair on the back while he took his drink from him.

“You don’t ever want to know what that feels like?” Alistair asked him. He felt sad for Teagan not having his own Tess to curl up to each night and dream with.

“Don’t want to know what _what_ feels like, Alistair?” Teagan echoed.

“The woman you love growing your child?” Alistair said, aware his feet were too clumsy to move straight anymore. He allowed Teagan to guide him by the shoulders toward the door. “Holding your own children?”

“I...honestly don’t know what I’m missing out on, Alistair.” Teagan moved around in front to examine his eyes. “Listen to me, Alistair, I am _truly_ sorry you have to live with remembering that loss, but if you dwell on it you will lose your love for Tesslyn. She will slip away from you and end up a memory just as those children of yours. I _know_ you love her, I have never been more certain of anything in my life. But don’t waste what life you have left chasing something that will never be. Do you what you have to as a Grey Warden to end this Blight, and then you can focus on trying for _real_ children.”

“But I don’t _want_ real - _other_ children, I want _Eleonora and Carlyn_ back!”

“You are just as stubborn as Cailan was when he was drunk,” Teagan sighed.

“Cailan never had to worry about his _children_ disappearing.”

“Cailan never worried about children _period._ I’m sure there are a few elves running around out there with miniature Cailans,” he said, guiding Alistair by the shoulders again.

“That’s disgusting. A _few_ elves? What’s wrong with only one woman? How many women have _you_ had? _Teagan?”_ he said accusingly.

Teagan huffed in amusement. “Are you aware your questions are bouncing back all over the place now?”

 _“No_ they’re _not!_ I know _exactly_ where my thoughts are! My _beautiful daughters_ , and Cailan’s lack of modesty. _And yours!_ And I _also_ know _exactly_ what my wife is going to do when I crawl into bed like this, either she’ll be happy to know it _won’t take_ me long tonight and she’ll _rip_ my clothes off with her one good arm, or she’ll _frown_ at me in her _sleep_ when I can’t help it that I’m _poking_ her all night long.”

Teagan laughed but Alistair wasn’t quite drunk enough to miss the embarrassment. “All right, Your Highness. Go back to your wife. Try not to scream too loud, my servants aren’t used to such noise.”

“I don’t believe that. You proposition me too easy when you drink.”

 _“Go,_ Alistair!” Teagan laughed with a little push.

Alistair looked back with a grin that even he could feel was loopy. “Good _night,_ darling!” he sang though a giggle. Teagan called  _goodnight_ with a shooing wave and another laugh as he turned away.

Alistair accidentally closed the door too hard, and locked it too hard. Tess stirred and made a nose, and when Alistair turned around to try to tiptoe she was looking at him. “I’m sorry!” he hissed. He sat on the edge of the bed and tangled his fingers around the buckles of his boots.

“You unhook those,” she muttered, “they don’t tie.”

Alistair giggled, nearly falling back on her when he tugged his boot free. “I am not _that_ drunk. It’s good to see you again _too_ , love,” he played.

“What did you two drink to this time?”

“A very perverted lesson in politics.”

“The usual then,” she mumbled through a yawn.

He smiled. “Should I be concerned my wife spies on me when I drink with her cousin?” he teased her.

“Should I be concerned my husband calls my cousin affectionate names when they drink together?” she peeked at him with a smile at the corner of her lips.

He yanked off the other boot and tossed it. _“He started_ it, that _cute_ little _giggle_ of his.”

She burst into a laugh that nearly took the sleep from her voice. Alistair smiled as the whole room lit up around them, his perfect little wife his own personal ray of sunshine. He was quickly reminded of her injury though, as her laugh turned into a cough that contorted her face in pain. He sat closer, and as she took gasping breaths with tears in her eyes, he leaned down and places his lips over scars on her chest. Tender and deliberate, through each kiss he tried to help her breathe, trying to encourage her breath to match his own; it made sense enough right now. It seemed to work anyhow, her heartbeat thumping beneath his chin gradually evened to a pulse like his.

Alistair dropped a mess of lighter kisses around both front wounds. “You know,” he pushed his lips down again, “I think I have had-” _another small kiss_ ; her good hand found the back of his head, “enough to drink-" _yet another kiss,_ "that my lips may be-” _and another kiss,_ “medically sterilizing,” he joked. He kissed her scars once more, then sat up. Fright was back in her eyes; _fear of pain_ , he almost forgot. “Oh, love...” he brushed the back of his fingers across her face to catch tears, “it’s not going to last forever, I promise. I _can_ promise this." he tried to draw loops upon her good hand, but he knew wasn't doing a very good job so drunk. "Do you want me run down for another potion? Well, _walk_ actually, I don’t run very well when I’ve had this much to drink, the walls end up hitting me a lot.” she tried to hold in a laugh, but he couldn’t. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop. I’m not trying to be funny, really.” he wiped another stray tear from her left eye then swiped his fingers across to the right and trickled them lightly along her bottom lashes to steal her tears. A fingertip grazed too close at the corner of her eyes, and though she smiled her eye shut tight to keep him out. _Shit, dammit_ and _fuck_ tried to roll off his tongue at the same time, but when it came out as “Shamkit” they both laughed. He ended up soothing her through another coughing fit, apologizing repeatedly until she managed to snake her hand up over his mouth.

She finally fell back asleep under countless kisses and songs, which he gave up singing to hum because Chantry words abandoned him when he drank. He lay staring, propped up on a few firm pillows so Tess could sleep against him at an angle again. He fought the droop struggling to take him to sleep, but he didn’t want to lose the picture before him. The shadows from the fire played upon her hair and skin. _Both of them._ With her head at its place on his shoulder, she looked like both of their daughters. The orange glow tinted her hair like Eleonora’s, and her complexion faintly glittering in the firelight like freckles was all Carlyn. He traced her cheek, adding to the shadows that remade her face into their daughters.

Whatever end might find them after becoming king, Alistair just wanted their children to share it with.

Beads of tears formed on his lashes when he closed his eyes, leaving him in a single drip as the Fade claimed him in another dream he wished he could remember.

 

 

 

*** _NSFW ***_

_Alistair and Tesslyn; emotional and scarring changes as of arriving in Rainesfere:_

_ _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by me.


	41. Make Way for the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair puts his lessons in royal politics to use in Rainesfere when he makes his first judgment as King in Bann Teagan's court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music:  
> Alistair in Court: [ Hear Me, by Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/1Yr683VLxes)

The injury kit was misleading. It healed the worst injuries first, _vital bones and organs_ , and then any left over was applied to lesser injuries, _flesh wounds, sprains._ It must have all been used on her lung and bone, for when Alistair helped Tess dress in the morning, a simple raise of her arm re-tore her shoulder muscle. She dropped to the floor before Alistair could catch her, in so much pain her sob made no sound. Alistair spent the morning cradling her in bed, repeating himself at least a dozen times when Teagan, Leliana, Wynne, Teagan’s healer and the hysterical maids pounded on the door to know why Tess was crying. Tess clung tight and cried herself back to sleep in his arms through half of the racket.

Alistair traded places with Po, wedging himself from beneath Tess when she finally slept soundly. He was more concerned the overenthusiastic nannies would wake her than he was of her waking in pain. Wearing some of Fergus Cousland’s spare finery, which fit him better than any of Teagan’s clothes, Alistair walked down the vast corridor of the top floor.

_“Good morning, Your Majesty.”_

Alistair froze. After a quick dash of his eyes, he spied a dainty elven maid dusting the back of a statue bust, nearly hidden in the alcove. She didn’t otherwise acknowledge him, though. _Did he imagine that?_ When she refused to distract from her duties, Alistair walked on.

Two steps out, _“The Bann is taking morning tea in the sunning room, Your Majesty.”_

He froze again, slowly turning his head and eyes toward the busy little woman. She moved on to the opposite bust still without any acknowledgment of his presence. “Thank you...” Alistair said, suspicious. Was this a trick of Teagan’s? Or another lesson?

“Always, Your Majesty.” she finally turned, bowing too deep in a curtsy that was all limbs. As if none of it had happened, she spun again and stood on her toes to dust the top of the bust.

This had to be Teagan’s doing. He could almost hear the Bann’s voice, _As soon as he leaves that room, do it. I don’t care if he’s holding anything or trying to drink, just do it. Trust me, the whole house will be laughing by lunch._ Alistair would not put it past him.

Just when he thought the path was clear, he turned a corner only to jump back against the wall. The two young boys running down the hall almost didn't see him.

“Blimey! That’s the king!” one boy said as they skidded over each other with their eyes on Alistair.

“So?” the other said.

The first one smacked his hand across the second’s chest. “Oy! What do you mean _so?_ He’s the _bloody king!_ Of Ferelden?” he scoffed. “Andraste’s rump, you’re lucky he doesn’t have you beheaded for talking like that in front of him!”

Alistair winced. “I - no, _no,_ really-” but neither boy was actually paying attention to him.

“So what do we do? Er, curtsy or something?”

 _“What?”_ the first scoffed again. “ _No_ , you _ninny!_ Curtsying is for _girls!”_

“Then what are _we_ supposed to do?” the second boy asked.

“We’re _gentlemen_ in a _noble house-”_

“ _No,_ we’re _not_ ,” the second interrupted. “We’re _servants_.” Alistair doubted they’d notice him sneak away.

“I’m eldest, _I_ make the rules here! Besides, we _live_ in a _noble house. As_ I was saying, we give a prompt bow and address him _Your Royal Kingliness._ Good - _oy! Where do you think you’re going?”_

Alistair froze again in mid-step and muttered a curse. He wasn’t so sure about this whole King business if this is what he’d have to put up with every morning.

 _“You yelled at the king...”_ a loud smack sounded, following with _ow! You larch! “Don’t you_ you larch _me! You just sodding yelled at the_ king! _He’s going to_ kill _us!”_ the back of the second boy’s hand landed squarely against the first’s chest with a noise that echoed in the hall, _“he’s going to throw us in shackles-”_ another smack.

 _“Ow!_ Oy! You can’t just hit me! _You_ insulted him _first!”_

Alistair had no idea how to react. He could only stare as the boys tackled each other, pulling up the carpet with every shove and jerk. Grunts and yelps and poorly pronounced profanity filled the corridor. Had he not been the _king_ they were fighting over, this might be a very amusing scenario.

“Alistair! There you are. Are you lost?”

Alistair turned to find Teagan approaching. His face must have screamed he needed help because Teagan quickened his steps, and then strode even faster when he heard the commotion.

“What in Thedas is going on here?” Teagan asked.

“They are...fighting over me,” Alistair said, regretting he was _able_ to say that.

“Boys! Boys! Stop this!” Teagan immediately stepped in and pulled the boys apart. Both wiggled and slipped on the carpet as Teagan yanked them to their feet by the backs of their shirts. “Maker help me, boys! You stand before the _king!_ Now,” Teagan sighed, as did Alistair, but for a very different reason than the Bann. “Before you go any further, you will straighten yourselves out, flatten your hair and turn to King Alistair and _apologize_ for this unbecoming behavior.”

“But he-”

 _“No excuses,_ Finlay!” firm, while also kind. Like how Duncan used to train Alistair. “This is the man keeping your country safe. We must help make his job easier, not harder. Tussling in the walkway at his feet not only makes his job _harder_ but is also a safety hazard.”

The boys sighed together, however they bent into deep but swift bows. “Apologies, Your Royal Kingliness-”

 _“Your Majesty_ , Arran,” Teagan corrected. The first boy sighed again.

“Our deepest apologies, Your Majesty,” Arran said. “Please forgive us for...” the boy’s eyes drifted away in thought, “putting your royal feet at risk-” Alistair bit back a chuckle “and for the _unbecoming_ ruckus we made.”

“And _please_ don’t throw us in the dungeon or behead us!” Finlay begged. Alistair found this laugh harder to bite.

“Beheading?” he echoed. “Is that a common practice of yours, Teagan?” he joked.

“Your _Majesty_ ,” Teagan shot Alistair a stern glance now.

“Ah, _right._ Well...are...both of you secretly evil villains or abominations? Or... _apostates?”_ Alistair teased, trying to keep a straight face.

 _“No!”_ Arran exclaimed like Alistair was mad. Teagan scolded him, still gripping the boys’ shirts. “I mean, _no, Your Majesty,”_ he enunciated.

“Then...” _shit._ What in oblivion did Teagan expect him to say? “...since you are neither evil men or abominations, nor apostates...I...shall be... _lenient_ today. But if you turn into an apostate tomorrow, I will n _ever_ forgive you.” he had a harder time sucking in his smile with Teagan silently laughing behind the boys.

Teagan made the boys bow once more to excuse themselves and then sent them off to the gardens. “You are _ridiculous,_ Alistair!” he laughed quietly.

“After all that, I think I should make _you_ bow to me.” Alistair joked. “Or is beheading the _normal_ punishment for insulting the king?” he grinned.

“Not a chance, Alistair, _I bought you oil._ That excuses me for the next fifteen years at least.” Alistair’s laugh bounced off the walls, and Teagan offered tea downstairs. “How is Tesslyn doing?”

“She’s fine. Asleep. But...I’m more interested in those _boys,_ Teagan. You’re _positive_ none of these children aren’t yours? You know them by name and everything.”

“Alistair, what did I say last night?”

Alistair thought for a moment. _“Shall I moan while you’re at it?”_ he recalled with a proud smirk, causing Teagan to stumble in a heavy giggle.

“Clearly last night did not end like you wanted it to,” Teagan retorted.

“You proposition me, you buy us oils, you’re always asking about our bedroom activities,” he joked, “Teagan, are you asking to _join_ us sometime?”

Teagan groaned through a laugh. “It is _far_ too early for this.”

Playful banter didn’t last long though. Over tea, Teagan told Alistair he returned home to attend to business; he was a Bann after all, there were squabbles to dissolve and petty crimes to deal with. Alistair _would_ be attending to these.

 _“Come stay with me, Alistair, it’ll be fun there,”_ Alistair mocked to himself, not bothering to whisper, “I see now that _secretly_ means _Come suffer with me Alistair, Maker forbid I have to do this alone.”_

“You must be _serious_ , no jesting in court,” Teagan continued, however with a smirk. Alistair would simply watch unless Teagan felt it was necessary for Alistair, _as King,_ to step up. When Alistair protested, _he wasn’t ready for this, he had no experience deciding men's fates,_ Teagan said “thus is the life of a King.” Tess would be expected to be present for show as Queen, she would stand off to a corner behind Alistair as visual support, available for query if an issue directly affected her via some belonging of hers, _a handmaiden and the procession that led to the Queen’s direct servants_ Teagan explained. He called this _Practice_ , with the intention of building up Alistair’s very appearance as King by the time the Landsmeet convened.

Alistair remained a grump throughout tea and when Teagan conjured a more _kingly_ outfit from the spare stocks of Fergus and Bryce Cousland’s wardrobe.

“Why do you have clothes that belong to Tess’ father and brother?” Alistair asked as he looked at his reflection in three angled mirrors.

“Every noble has their own spare wardrobe and accessories and at least one room, if not an entire wing readily available at other nobles homes if they need to stop in during travels. Once you have your own wardrobe tailored to your measurements, I will keep a room and wardrobe aside for you as well. At Redcliffe, you will have your own wing.”

Alistair was convinced he looked ridiculous in such decorated clothes. “There’s no need for that. I will always sleep where Tess sleeps.”

Teagan rolled his eyes. _“Officially_ you will have your own wing and separate bed chambers. Whether or not you choose to utilize them is up to you.”

“I suppose we could use a few new places to test out that oil you bought us,” he said casually. Teagan’s gaze immediately flew to his across the mirrors and Alistair laughed. A feminine throat cleared in the doorway and both men turned to see a group of women.

And Alistair froze. Tess looked like a painting. Alistair had never seen her in a dress; the Chantry robes hardly counted. Her court attire was a frosty green gown trimmed in beads of pearl and emerald, outlining her waist, bosoms and neck, ornate pale gold stitching down her front that reminded Alistair of Vallaslin, extending down the strongest pleats of a dress that hid her feet. A robe that ended in dramatically large cuffs of fur draped over her shoulders to hide the scars she received from the Deep Roads. A small tiara of pearl and emerald rested atop her head. She looked like a fantasy, like the maidens of mystical towers Alistair had only read about. She looked like a Princess.

No, not a princess. A Queen.

 _My_ Queen.

“Where are your corsets?” Teagan asked, snapping Alistair out of his trance.

“I was stabbed in the _chest_ , Teagan, I can’t wear them yet.”

“You look beautiful,” Alistair told his wife, taking her face in his hands before he even realized his feet had moved him across the room. The fussy maids behind Tess giggled amongst themselves as Alistair’s kiss made a little noise.

“And to think we used to wish she married _you,_ m’lord!” the maids giggled.

“There will be none of _that_ in court, you two,” Teagan ordered as Alistair kissed Tess again.

“I look so silly,” Tess breathed as they ignored the small crowd around them.

“You look like a fairy tale,” Alistair corrected, drinking in more kisses.

“Alistair, come here, change into these.”

He groaned through another kiss but turned anyway. Teagan draped a stitched robe of green velvet trimmed in gold paisley over the top of a mirror and held out another silly quilted doublet. This one at least didn’t shine orange and red to give off the impression Alistair’s whole torso was on fire. With a sigh, he went back to Teagan for the new outfit. “Is it common for the Queen and King to match?” he asked, comparing the pale green to Tess’ dress.

“Not typically, but here I think it will make an impression. That’s what we intend to do with you anyway, make an impression. By the time we get to Denerim, word will have traveled and the citizens should recognize you by sight without having ever laid on you before.”

“Teagan, I’ve _been_ to Denerim. Ferelden’s Grey Warden Headquarters are there,” Alistair said.

“No one will have noticed anything unusual about a young recruit, Grey Warden or otherwise. But they _will_ notice a _King._ Come, take those off. Ladies, please ensure that tea is ready and have Hamish announce Court will be in session soon.” Teagan was all business.

“Teagan -” Alistair started to protest. Maker, these noble clothes were all so ridiculous.

“Just dress, Alistair. While you are here, I’m going to _attempt_ to teach you posture-”

“I need to _stand_ funny now, too?” Alistair asked, wedging his wide shoulders out of the fiery satin doublet.

“How long do you expect to be in Orzammar looking for this Paragon?” Teagan asked.

“Oghren said up to five months.”

“It truly takes five months to travel the Deep Roads?” this seemed to catch the Bann’s interest.

“That is my concern as well. Lothering’s already lost and it’s only been three months. I’m a little nervous about what we’ll emerge to in half a year, to be honest.” Alistair stole a glance toward the door to make sure Tess was the only bystander before peeling off the shimmering scarlet pants that puffed out around his thighs but clung to him knee-down.

“If Lothering’s all they’ve taken in three months, I’m not concerned about what the Darkspawn might take-”

“You _should_ be, they took Ostagar too, with all the king’s men and the Wardens from the Free Marches,” Alistair interrupted.

“Threat of an heir walking about or not, Loghain would be mad to simply let the Darkspawn run Ferelden in. He wants the throne, remember? What good is that if there’s no country to command? No, I believe this is actually a good thing. Five months will give us time up here to get plenty word out. I’ve maids in Denerim at Eamon’s estate, it won’t be odd to send men back and forth.”

“What are you planning, exactly? I thought _I_ was in charge of this thing?” Tess spoke up, closing the doors.

“You are _part_ of it now, cousin,” Teagan reminded kindly. “That had never been the plan, so it changes the circumstances. I can _use you_ now, rather than you using your title alone and family name.” Alistair watched the both of them while he sat on a chest to pull up the new cream colored pants, also Fergus’. “Alistair, you will have to start behaving like a King. You must order people around. No _please_ or _thank yous_ , none of this gentleman stuff.”

“You mean the things that were _drilled_ into my head by the Chantry after Eamon sent me off? That might be a tad hard, Teagan. Tess in danger is one thing, but that doesn’t happen all the time.”

“You must prove yourself a lover to the country like you prove yourself a lover to Tesslyn in battle, Alistair.”

Alistair paused, staring from Teagan to Tess while he processed this. “I...what I do with Tess is very different than leading a nation, Teagan. She’s...she’s my _spine_ and my _nerves._ She’s the reason I even wake up anymore.” Tess stood a little smaller by the doors now as she watched Alistair, her shoulders turning her entire attention to him.

“As should your county. As King you should be ready to spit fire if your citizens are antagonized, you should be ready to take down an entire neighboring country if a threat is made, and if it comes down to it actually leading men in war across our borders. The people understand they’re expected to raise up arms when the King calls. It is your job to make them believe you call them to arms for their own good, not just hers. You must convince them you wake every morning to attend to their needs and you must act like what offends them offends you. You will be the face of the country.”

“I understand all that, but -” he glanced down with a final tug that raised the pants in place. And sighed. “I have another problem; Teagan, _what’s this?”_ he pointed to the extended pocket of fabric that cradled his genitals in a more-than-obvious bulge. Tess gave a tiny giggle before slapping a gloved hand over her mouth, and Alistair couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face as he tried not to look at his wife.

“It’s a loin sack, Alistair,” Teagan said unaffected, “it serves a dual-function, one for easy access for relieving yourself, the other to show off that a gentleman is _endowed._ It’s a silent courting practice.”

“Courting?” Alistair laughed. “Teagan, I’m already married. My _wife_ is _right here,_ ” he gestured to Tess. “So what, I’m supposed to _pace and parade_ in your court all day so everyone _sees_ me whenever I turn? Or are you just going to have me stand sideways all day?” he did a double-take at Tess when she giggled again. “ _Riiiight_ , I _know you_ like it.” his grin nearly hurt his face. “All right, never mind, Teagan. There’s no problem anymore.”

Teagan failed to hold back a smile. “As long as the wife is happy, eh? _Sickening_ that all of your bedroom talk involves my _family_. And to think I was starting to regret sending you to Denerim while I live in Redcliffe alone.” he sighed. “Hurry up and dress. Breakfast and then court.”

Either he was growing delirious in Rainesfere from the smell of the brewery wafting up from town, or from the stiff, frilly noble clothes, but Alistair hated court. Aside from court being terribly dull each day - _he almost pitied Teagan_ \- the maids pampered Tess like a porcelain doll to be admired from afar. Gems of every kind to match the gowns they put her in, pretty things that sparkled especially in the rays of winter sunlight she stood under each day, they all reflected upon her face like freckles from fantasy tale; _Carlyn._ Alistair saw his youngest daughter in his wife more clearly with each passing day. When changing one morning, he even caught a glimpse of Eleonora in himself; the glare of the sun was just right through the open window that it masked his own freckles and there she was, peering out from behind his beard with large, curious eyes that watered when he touched the mirror to try to reach his child. He tried to hide this from Tess, but he suspected she knew something was wrong anyway. He thought about them each night and held Tess tighter because of it.

And then there was Tess, again. The fussy maids started coloring her face, replacing all or most gems with paints in shades that matched vibrant gowns. The bold colors around her eyes and on her lips changed her from a fairy tale princess to an exotic sorceress from an island adventure story. It took Alistair a bit of time to find his wife past the mask of paint, but then he could only stare. She stared back from across the room as if she knew the sight of her like this struck him deep in his groin. Between the desire to skip court, the new make up and Tess still too sore to make love yet, pressure built up within Alistair and lingered at day. No one said anything the day brilliant purple and glittering gold around Tess’ eyes straightened him in his loin sack, but he knew she saw it. Her gaze hovered on the swelling slope he tried to hide behind his hands before meeting his eyes with a look that only called further to him. By the time they had a moment to themselves, the makeup had come off and the dress changed into pastel evening wear and she was back to Carlyn again.

He tried to sneak off to the town and tavern with Zevran and Oghren the ninth night, but Teagan caught them; _one day, Alistair, but not yet, reputation first_. Too many dull moments imprisoned Alistair in times of accumulating need for release, _any_ kind; he just couldn’t get a break. It didn’t even feel like they’d been in Rainesfere long enough for petty town problems to bother him, but it was happening anyway. Not being able to reach out for Tess during the day was the hardest part, he was so used to her always being _right there_ at the end of his arm. The idea of being King, of holding so much power to his name and presence, was much easier than actually employing it. _If_ he even wanted the throne when he got to Denerim, he was going to make changes. He couldn’t last the day without her.

The twelfth day brought in another farmer, this one with a servant who dragged in a bound and bruised man under accusations of thievery. The bound man was scraggly, the farmer and the servant significantly better off. The complaint was trespassing with stores of produce broken into. The farmer wanted the thief hanged, the bound man complained he was hungry and cold. Other people who had arrived with the farmer or knew him spoke up in his favor; justice for easy pickings off of another’s hard labor. Random middle-class townspeople in attendance tried to argue on the thief’s behalf, and arguing out of turn quickly escalated to shouting. Teagan stalled his decision, just as fed up with petty demands though hiding it better than Alistair. The Bann explained to Alistair days ago that Ferelden court required fit punishments for certain laws broken, but a single man breaking and entering for shelter and food was not an emergency crisis unless murder occurred. Alistair was already fidgeting in the back of the room. Tess held face and stood poised as she had all the other days in Teagan’s court. Slight shakes from her head told Alistair the squabble wasn’t worth his time, but the noise echoing around the room rattled his brain. The only cure for headaches lie with either Morrigan or Wynne, neither of which his patience could endure lately.

Alistair didn’t give Teagan time to call him up. When the farmer’s servant backhanded the thief, Alistair’s voice rose above all the noise in authority of its own. _“Enough!”_ he felt his own sound reverberate back into his feet through the very foundation of the hall. He knocked Teagan’s hand out of the way to borrow a dagger from the Bann’s belt, heading straight for the thief. “I know every one of you can hear how ungenerous you are with all this _piddling_ over things that are replaced year after year tenfold right before your eyes! You stand here _bickering_ like _children_ fighting over toys over _what_ , a handful of grain?” He pointed the dagger toward Teagan. “None of you can even _hear_ the Bann make his decisions.” Without warning, he yanked the thief away from the farmer’s servant and cut the rope bonds.

“You can’t just do that!” the farmer cried out as Alistair pulled the thief to his feet.

“I just did.” he untangled the rope from the thief’s legs.

“He’s a criminal! Justice needs to be served!”

Alistair whirled, forgetting the dagger was still in his hand; gasps sounded as he point of the blade pressed against the farmer’s neck, but Alistair didn’t care anymore. “And we are in the middle of a Blight and need every able man to fight in this war! By refusing aid during war, you are committing treason against your country! You don’t have the right to demand death over a handful of food!”

“Bann Teagan, my Lord, please, this man is interfering-”

 _“This man_ is your _King!”_ Alistair pressed the dagger harder, though he knew not hard enough to draw blood. “I have had to suffer this entire town’s petty complaints for almost two weeks now! Where in Andrastian faith does it say to let a hungry man suffer? Where in Fereldan practice does it leave room to deny your neighbor the same loyalty you expect from him? You did not come here asking for justice, you came to ask your Bann to _murder_ for you! That is _unacceptable!_ ”

“But he needs to be punished - he broke the law-”

“The _King_ makes your law. Am I clear?” Alistair pulled the dagger away.

“Your Majesty, I don’t disagree with your reasoning, but crimes still need to be dealt with,” Teagan spoke up.

“Very well. Thief, you are ordered to train with Bann Teagan’s knights to fight the upcoming war against the Blight.” Alistair began walking back toward Teagan.

“Your Majesty?” Teagan inquired.

“That is not punishment!” the farmer insisted.

“Fighting Darkspawn is punishment enough, I guarantee it,” Alistair assured.

“King Cailan would have seen this taken care of properly! If you really are the new king, then prove it! Justice needs to be served!”

Alistair met Tess’ eyes as he spun back around on his toes. He took a moment to study the farmer, the servant, the thief, the other faces - some of whom he was starting to recognize, they were in court every day. “King Cailan would have laughed this off as a _not a problem_ and gone about with his sweet drink and tried to seduce another man’s wife. I may not have grown up with my brother, but that does not sound very much like _proper politics_ to me. _I,_ on the other hand, come into my position during a Blight that needs to be resolved with the man responsible for my father and brother’s deaths targeting my back. People of this country are growing _exceedingly stupid,_ ” he paced with his hands locked behind his back. “None of you know what _dead_ means anymore. _Dead_ is what happens to all of Ferelden when the _Darkspawn_ take over the surface with their crude blades and poisonous Taint. There will be _nothing_ left. No crops for you to grow and store, no animals for you house, nothing for a thief to steal and nowhere for him to try to hide from winter. _Nothing. Dead._ Do you understand that?”

“I...yes, Your Majesty...” the farmer trailed off.

“Yet every one of you comes here to annoy my Bann with problems you can solve yourselves. If you saw this man was hungry and was content sleeping in your barn, why didn’t you offer him a job as stable hand? Why didn’t you send him on his way with a loaf of bread and a quilt? _Who_ is watching over your stores right now, in fact? You don’t have the time to deal with thieves at home but you have time to drag your feet _hours_ uphill in snow to dally in court all day? I suppose you’re going to stop by the tavern next, aren’t you? A little something to celebrate your victory?” as Alistair stood in front of the farmer again and looked around, he became aware of how tall he was compared to many of these people, even the men. Right now, he hoped it added to his tone. “And then you’d stay all night in the inn with your servant camping out in the courtyard or stables while this man,” he gave a nod to the thief, “would be lucky enough to die overnight from the cold while he’s waiting to be dragged up the scaffold come day break. Bann Teagan! Do you even have gallows here?” he looked back to his sort-of uncle.

“No, Your Majesty. All hangings and beheadings go to Denerim for final judgment,” Teagan answered.

“Interesting.” Alistair turned again. “So you came to court asking the Bann to break the law? To _me,_ this sounds like greed from a man who has forgotten he’s _only a farmer._ Every single one of you who come to complain have forgotten you’re nothing but ordinary people who, in reality, have a pretty easy life.” He paused. “Thief, you will rest up in this man’s house,” he gestured to the farmer, and interrupted before the farmer could protest, “This man is now a soldier for the war against the Blight and at the disposal of Bann Teagan. You will welcome him into your home like he is family.” he stared down at the farmer stammering before him. “You will offer him your meals, bathe him in your tub, clothe him in your best attire...offer him your bed and sleep in the barn yourself...” a dirty, lowly thought crossed Alistair’s mind, and he frowned at himself even as the words fell from his lips, “You will offer him your wife,” _if this is what it takes._ The farmer cried out, and even Tess interjected with a hesitant call of his name. Alistair twisted to meet her gaze; she stood by Teagan with a grip on her cousin. Alistair read her expression loud and clear, _What are you doing?_ “Don’t worry, my dear, I’m almost done,” though he spoke gentler to her, he still heard _dominion_ in his tone. He turned back to the farmer, “I hope you understood that. My wife thinks I’m being a bit hard on you.” he paused. “Your _daughter,_ then. But if you have no daughter, then your wife will suffice.”

“That doesn't punish _him!_ You can’t just give away my wife!”

Realization washed over Alistair like he’d submerged in a hot bath. He wasn’t even done with his judgment yet and already he was an uncaring, unfair ruler. He was doing this before he was even legally on the throne. And he had made it perfectly clear Tesslyn, almighty enemy and threat to Ferelden, disapproved of his harsh methods. He glanced back at his wife; still gripping Teagan’s shoulder, still holding the rest of her tongue. He did it with Eamon and Harrowmont and Loghain’s mercenaries, he could do it now. What had Teagan said? _Order others around, be ready to spit fire._ Alistair could play this game. He could show off his determination to set _everything_ how he wanted it to be. It would work its way out when it truly mattered.

“It _is_ punishment,” Alistair announced loudly. “You are giving up your bed, wife and clothes for a month; the least this thief can do is go to war to help defend your lands so your wife doesn’t die by _Darkspawn. He_ is going off to war and will be _lucky_ to be dead after fighting the Darkspawn; the least _you_ could do is offer him a few nights with your wife. _If_ he survives, he’ll be in more pain than a prolonged hanging in the gallows could offer.” Alistair spun around once more. _“Oh!_ And one more thing,” with his back to his people, “ _you’re_ going to war _too_. _All_ of you in this room, in fact, and _anyone else_ who wants to try my patience by annoying my Banns, Arls and Teyrns with insignificant problems when there are legitimate dire circumstances upon your homes and children. Court dismissed!”

Alistair grabbed hold of Tess’s gaze as he walked straight for her and Teagan. Upon returning the Bann’s dagger by tip of the blade, Alistair held his right hand out for his wife. He bought her left hand up to his mouth, never straying from her eyes as pale blue silk softly scraped his lips. “Come, my dear. We are taking the rest of the day off,” he said with the gentleness he withheld singularly for her. Though not the usual hand he led her by, he escorted his Queen from the trifling lesser nobles shuffling behind them.

Out in the corridor, however, Alistair stopped and faced his wife’s stiffness. “You disapprove of my judgment?” She hesitated to answer; Alistair took the pause to direct a passing servant up to Tesslyn’s quarters with a bottle of wine. “Tess?” he watched her when the servant disappeared, brushed stray hairs from her forehead to coax her gaze to him.

“Well done, Your Majesty,” Teagan announced as he entered the corridor with them.

Tess clutched the fabric over Alistair’s chest with her right hand, her _injured_ arm. Alistair cocked his head. She was able to move her arm; she was able to make love again and she’d been holding out on him. “Teagan, was that too soon?” she asked.

“Dear wife,” Alistair said, “Teagan _insisted_ I participate in his court.” he grazed the back of his fingers down her _injured_ arm. A glimmer of contrition clung to her face as she slowly turned to meet his eyes.

“Had Alistair simply given the farmer’s property away, _yes._ However, our young King has judged accordingly with sufficient reason, which is more than Loghain can ever claim. Word of this will reach Denerim without myself having to encourage it, and it should strike the heart of the commoners, paupers and nobles alike including Loghain. Loghain has always expected people to follow orders without reason; Alistair’s first public judgment already proves he will not lightly hand over lives or country, that every victory must be earned. No victory is gained without sacrifice and the entire country must unite in order to succeed in war.” Teagan shot an approving smile toward Alistair. “Everybody keeps his brother. Glad to know my lessons aren’t flying out the window.”

“It was a bold first move,” Tess said.

“A very bold first move, and a damn good one,” Teagan praised. He dropped his trunk in a full bow then spun away. “A brandy upstairs after supper, Your Majesty?” he called without looking over his shoulder.

“If I’m _finished_ by supper, absolutely!” Alistair smirked. Tess bit her lip with a drop of her head a small sigh. He gave the back of her _injured_ arm a squeeze while he chuckled into a forehead kiss, “Yes, my love. _If_ I’ve finished.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continual hardening of Alistair based on King Alistair from the Bioware/Dragon Age comics [ Silent Grove](http://view-comic.com/category/dragon-age-the-silent-grove) [ Those Who Speak](http://view-comic.com/?s=those+who+speak) & [ Until We Sleep](http://view-comic.com/category/dragon-age-until-we-sleep/)


	42. Small Commands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overwhelmed by the lack of control he thought he'd have as King, Alistair re-establishes his dominance in his relationship with Tess to regain his management and fill that void in his life. Meanwhile, Alistair's children from the Fade continue to haunt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW: Dominance & Submission, Sexual dominance, foreplay, anal stimulation, anal sex, use of sex toys.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [ Desert Rose by Sting](https://youtu.be/C3lWwBslWqg)  
> [ Fountain of Life by Two Steps from Hell](https://youtu.be/oqt5EW7MKv4)
> 
> **WARNING** Possible Miscarriage-PTSD trigger. Events at end of chapter coincide with the notion that Alistair's children in the Fade _(the dream of having children)_ suddenly disappearing is equal/similar to Miscarriage -- Grief, pain, mourning, the overwhelming need to _try again_.

Tess was unusually quiet on the walk back up to her quarters. Alistair led her from the corridor by her right arm this time, _the injured arm she could suddenly use again_ , removed her glove to thumb circles on the back of her hand. Still she silently stewed. Curiosity burned so hard within him that by the time they reached her room the first thing he did after locking the door was open the wine bottle. _Any sort of release right now._

“You haven’t been this upset with me in a long time,” he stated. Wafts of dark cherry nectar hit his nose as he swirled the contents of the bottle.

“What if that was me?” she asked.

This caught him off-guard. He watched her for a moment, this time he _really saw_ her body speak. A ghost of a frown above emeralds darting ever so slightly before whipping to the other side only to do the same and repeat, clenched fingers pulsing around the unworn glove. He caught the gentle sway of rocking toes though he couldn’t see them beneath her dress. Worry, _fear_ , trying to find security within herself. She did this when he’d nearly lost his leg, too.

“If what was you, darling?” he really was trying to speak lovingly, but the way she kept flinching and flexing raised too large a concern for him. Was he so worked up from court, from the _power_ court gave him that it remained in his tone?

She only looked over when the first splash of wine hit the tipped glass. “The farmer. What if that wife...was _me?”_ he wasn’t sure what she searched his eyes for, but he didn’t like the hole her stare bore through. “What if that wife some governing noble gave away was _me,_ Alistair?” it was _please don’t do this to me Alistair_ and _how could you just give me up Alistair._ Fear of losing him made his judgment specific and personal to her.

He set the glass and bottle down immediately and closed her up in his arms. “That was _not you,_ Tess.” he smoothed her hair, put his lips to her head.

“But what if it was?”

“That will _never happen. No one_ is taking you away from me, no one is giving you to someone else. All right?” he tilted her face. “I would _never_ put us in a position like that. If that had been me, I would have sent the man off with what we could afford to lose. If he came back, I would have offered him a job in return for food and lodging. Worst case scenario, if he broke in and attacked I would have killed him. None of those options lead to leaving you alone while I go annoy some fed-up noble. _No one takes you from me,”_ he assured her. He pressed his lips to the center of her head, “I am never giving you up. You are _my wife_ , Tess.” he breathed in the scent of her skin with another linger of his lips, this time dipping his fingers under the shawl of her dress.

Her breath caught as he slid his hands down the back of her arms. He dipped his head to catch her lips in a groan when her _injured_ arm flexed another grip at his shirt. She made a noise when he pulled away, but the noises he could draw from her with a simple touch weren’t priority yet.

Alistair finished pouring a single glass of wine, then held her gaze as he tasted the first sip. “How long have you been able to use it?” he took one more drink, tart rich juice rolling over his tongue. It almost tasted like _her._

Her eyes fell to the side. “Three days,” she whispered. The glass clanked against his teeth as he froze before more could spill over.

“Why did you hide this from me?" Instantly it squeezed his gut. " _Tess?_ You’ve...been _lying_ to me for three days? I sleep right next to you...”

Her face pinched in a bit. “I-”

 _“What_ , Tess? What could be more important than telling me I don’t have to worry about you anymore?” he asked.

She blinked rapidly with a deep breath and covered herself back up with the shawl. “I’m... _embarrassed_. Alright?”

“Embarrassed?” his eyes darted, trying to put together pieces he couldn’t see. She pulled her shawl back up to cover bare shoulders and cleavage that pushed up from something abnormally tight...he sighed. “You’re wearing _corsets_ now, _too_...” how had he not noticed? He sighed again; he’d let the fussy maids attend to her after the third day to quell their yipping and blabbering, which it hadn’t much. They’d dressed Tess morning and evening and gave her baths while Teagan had him occupied with tea or drink.

 _Baths._ That was _his_ thing, _Alistair’s_ thing. _He_ gave her baths.

“I don’t...is something _wrong_ Tess? If it’s the scars, I promise you they don’t bother me. You already had scars by the time we first...” this was awkward for him. He was a jumbled mess of _scared_ all inside himself tangled with _worry_ and _feeling cheated,_ like his control on life was slipping from his fingers. His wife, his _own wife_ slept in his arms the past three nights and was such a clever performer he’d had no clue she’d been pretending to be sore. It frightened him, reminded him of losing her to lyrium at Honnleath, _solitude_ and _emptiness_ all over again. It also stiffened him in defense, _resolve;_ he would _not_ let that happen again. He _couldn't._

“It’s not scars.” she sighed. “can we please not argue? This is hard enough for me as it is.” she stepped in and reached around him, with shaking arms tried to fill the other glass with wine. With a silent sigh of his own, he stretched his arms to hug hers and helped her steady her hands. He brought the glass to her mouth as well, watched her down the entire thing in three gulps.

“Then _what,_ Tess? I’m your _husband._ If something’s wrong, please tell me,” he pleaded. As soon as she set the glass down, he moved her face so she’d look at him. _“Tell_ me, Tess,” he ordered. The longer this went on, the harder it was on his nerves.

She squeezed her eyes shut and also the shawl around her. Something about _uneven_ scraped off her lips.

“Uneven?” he echoed. _“What? What_ is uneven?” Without speaking, she pressed flat against her right breast with her right palm. As the gesture dawned on him, it felt like he’d been slapped.

 _Her breast. One breast was uneven so she hid her entire body from him for three days? Hid her_ healing _from him? As if he wouldn’t care about her health if he thought she was lopsided? Over one breast?_

Alistair unfolded her fingers from the bunched up fabric at her chest and took the shawl completely off her, tossing it to the thick chair in front of the fireplace. “Did you think I’d only care about _sex_ , Tess?” he sounded rather demanding as he moved around to the back to try to tackle her dress and corset. “That I’d only care about getting you naked once I found out?”

Her head hung. “Isn’t that what you’re doing now?” she asked softly.

“I’m undressing you, _yes_ , and from the moment you grabbed me in the hall after I dismissed court, I _have_ intended to make love to you. But before you grabbed me?” the dress was easier to loose than the corset. He hissed in frustration at the knot of the corset laces. “I had just planned to lie with you, _actually lie,_ maybe until we fell asleep. Just hold you.” he glanced twice at her when she gave a defeated sigh. Finally loosening the main knot gave a jerk of her body and she braced herself on the desk; he kissed the back of her shoulder with a murmur of apology.

A shiver ran from the base of her spine down through her hips when his beard rubbed as he straightened. He watched the back of her head as he blindly fumbled with the strings. He could barely see the edge of her face, forehead, cheek, chin, like she was trying not to look back but also wanted to.

 _“How_ are you ashamed, Tess?” he pushed the heavy fabric of her gown down to her waist to better reach the corset laces. For a moment, she just stood gently swaying with every tug. When she didn’t speak, he did, “You are not wearing these anymore. They’re too hard to take off.”

“I don’t have anything pure left, Alistair.” _herself_ , not the corset.

“How can you say that? You’re pure to _me_ ,” he insisted.

“No. I came to you impure, I’ve never been any sort of pure, I can’t even _make_ purity-” _their daughters_ “I just wanted one part of me to be _normal._ Is that so much to want? I’m _so tired_ of being _broken_ and... _crooked_ and _impure,_ I just wanted to be able to give you _one perfect thing.”_

He realized now how selfish he’d been to think this whole time in court had only overwhelmed _him._ With a final tug, the corset came loose, allowing her a deep breath. He dropped it all on the floor right there, “You spend so much time worrying about being flawless.” dropped the corset, pushed the remainder of her gown down, _“you’re_ _not a stone_ , Tess.” pushed her undergarments off her shoulders and down her hips until she was bare, and he walked around to soak her in. “You’re my _heart_. You’re not supposed to be clear-cut with... _specific edges and corners.”_ he brought his hands up to touch her. Her hips gave a lift with a steal of her breath as he grazed her nipples. “I see no difference,” he told her. The right _was_ lower, but it had always been a little lower. It hardly looked different save for the knotted scars up top. Her body still reacted the same way when he plucked the sensitive spots. “Still works the same,” he pointed out. He met her eyes just before bending for a kiss. “This is like Haven, me and my gut I suppose.” he unbuttoned his clothes. When she still didn’t look at him, he took both hands and placed slender fingers at his buttons. “Help me,” he told her.

His breath was already quicker. Her own frustration only added to his need for relief. Finally alone, finally a chance to shake off _bored, irritated, watching her but not being able to touch. “Help_ me, Tess.” his fingers tripped around hers, trying to make her unbutton with him. “Do you still like me naked?” he whispered. This drew her eyes. She nodded with a feeble _yes._ “Show me.” he guided her fingers down to the next button and let his head fall to hers. “It’s been a very trying two weeks. For both of us, I know. But I haven’t been able to _touch_ you, I keep getting pushed away, they keep _separating_ us...” she finally started moving on her own, fingers fumbling to do as he wished. He slid his hands down her arms to let her work on her own. “I _need_ you. I need your skin on mine.”

He _breathed_ her. Fingertips ghosted over his skin with every button grabbed. He watched as she ventured down, steadier with each progressing button, gliding quicker to the next as the need, _he hoped,_ to see him settled in. Unlike her, his undergarments came off with the outer; _easy access_ Teagan had said, and Alistair approved. He traced the length of her forearms again to the buckle of his belt. He helped her free his shirts, his mind already fogging over in a single goal.

“Take it off me,” he told her, not to command but to feel her hands run all over him. She obeyed as if he had though, no stalling or questions. A shiver ran through him as her hands slid up his chest, fingers tangling their way through fine hair over muscles reclaiming definition, grazing nipples that instantly peaked at first contact. His entire back exploded in tingles as her bare fingertips danced over his shoulders, framing bones, freeing his skin from heavy cotton. Her touch excited little zaps of lightning as she slid south, trailing the strength of his back down to the dimples just above his belt.

He recognized her heart beat against him by the hot breath at his collar. Fingertips feathering along where his belt met his skin sent another shiver through his hips, and as if it was cue he dropped his head. She gasped hard and drew up into him as he latched on. _Salt, cream, rosy_ even; it felt like it had been so long, he _hated_ all the waiting. She gripped his belt with one hand, grabbed for missing love-handles but settled for his waist as he sucked up skin along the edge of her burn scar. Groaning, pressing her hips against him as she trembled and gasped with a scratch of his beard.

“Take the rest off.”

Neck craned to encourage his mouth and beard, her fingers worked faster here than his shirt. He nipped, tickled the tip of his tongue to her ear, rubbing his beard hard against her just to feel her wiggle in his arms and struggle to keep up her task. As soon as his belt dangled, she dipped her hand.

“No, _no_.” Not bothering to hide the gasp that hung his jaw when fingers pressed down the cloth hiding his groin. He pulled his head back, watching her as he moved her hand back up to the waist of his pants. Her eyes flew all over him, he saw her seeking his sex and silently asking _why?_ “Undress me first,” this _was_ an order. He sought the flaming chill her bare hands spread through every stretch of his skin.

He studied her as she reoriented herself. Blinking, silently reminding herself where she was and what she was doing, what _he desired_ her to do. He stood without movement, save for the fight against his bucking hips every time she _intentionally_ slid a finger further down than she actually had wedged embroidered velvet. She sought him instead when he refused to return to her neck; he _relished_ her hot tongue tracing his skin.

 _He liked this._ Telling her how and where to put her hands, not giving in to the desire he had concocted within her from previous obedience when she didn’t do what he wanted. It rang as _satisfaction_ through his joints, bones, a grip he didn’t have on anything else around him right now. A grip that fit perfectly around her. And she already started making herself comfortable within.

She pulled the last of the belt from his waist with a gently tug and immediately started to _push._ His gaze fell, watched her chest heave at his front, pink pebbles rising with plump eager mounds that dared to kiss his ginger hairs with each inhale. Eyelashes fluttered up, down as she tried to watch both of her hands at the same time, each claiming a hip to expose. Puffy noble pants first though underpants quickly followed. He ignored her haste to read the language of her darting eyes, furrowed brows, the clench of muscles around her mouth, shoulders turned toward him, arms that faintly quivered in excitement to _feel_ him beneath toppling fingers. She composed herself better to attend to his boots. Smooth motions, _adoring_ even; he remembered himself kneeling before her at Ostagar, precaution driven from a need to make sure she’d come back to him. _Worshiping_ , she’d said. That’s what she looked like now, loosening and lifting, gently sliding.

She even took a moment, sat back on her knees, then pressed in to hug his leg. _Loving. Worshiping._ This took him beside himself for a moment. Alistair didn’t know what to say or do, but when her lips dotted across the scar on his thigh his eyes watered.

She moved on to his other boot without looking up, just as careful and steady. Boots neatly set aside and trousers completely off, she stood with a sniffle. She paused before reaching for the ties of his small-clothes. He stopped her again, tenderly and unrushed this time. She met his eyes as he opened her palms over his heart, _feel me._ He lowered himself before she could speak.

“More than love,” she breathed between kisses.

He nodded, “So much more than love,” he agreed. He didn’t know if her kissing the scar that made him feel unworthy for so long pushed his emotions over the brink after these hard weeks, or if the unexpected _love_ to the one part of himself he hated was unraveling. No tears, no sorrow, but an awareness of what was happening _._ He had always given her choices, _commands_ even, and when she listened they lived happily together; when she didn’t, they struggled. He was _still_ enjoying some form of relief that something was finally going the way he wanted. But it was beyond her just obeying because she felt like it or because he told her to. Whether or not she knew it helped him, she was obeying out of love, even when she felt _impure_ and _uneven_. _More than love._

A streak of gratitude flashed through him during another kiss, leaving him giddy and giggling inside, wanting to play with her. “Do you want to know where _I’m_ uneven?”

She froze and pulled back just enough to search his eyes. “What?”

A grin burst through on its own. “Untie me.” Instantly her cheeks flushed and he laughed. Her hands slid down his front, nails gently scraping below his navel, causing hips to buck with a _zing_ that shot straight to his balls. He bit his lip to contain a hiss and her eyes flew to his; she was playing too. _“One hand only,”_ he told her. Her eyelids closed as if she was cursing herself, but she returned her right hand to his chest.

Small commands, _his_ world going _his_ way; no one else would ever see, but each one she fulfilled mattered to him.

“Kiss me.”

She tore her eyes from his smalls, rising to her toes. One side of his smalls untangled with her lips locked in his; he groaned with freedom as he sprung out at her belly.

“Other side,” redirecting her as she reached for the liveliest part of him.

She had trouble with the other side. He stared at her face while thin rope kept slipping around her fingers, knot too tight or smalls too loose. She couldn’t do it. She scrunched with a struggle to stay focused. Her eyes followed his hand up her right arm from her elbow. As soon as he landed his finger on the back of her hand, he threw himself at her neck. A quick grab and a gasp turned to a whimper, a tight grip on his hair as he _wet_ her, pulled _skin_ with his teeth, scratched his beard up her neck in a vast trail to her ear. She whined against him in a tremor of her hips that shook her whole body, fidgeting so hard he had to squeeze her to his body to keep her close. Not only to divert her frustration; he wanted her ready for every inch of him that crawled over her. He closed over her earlobe first with teeth, sucking as he pulled back and her knees failed beneath them. He took another gather of soft ear between lips and tongue as he pulled back.

“Go lie down,” he told her, slowly releasing her. Her face was caught in _desire, now, why?_ and her chest heaved deep.

 _There it is. Now_ she needed him.

“Do you want wine?” he asked as she staggered to the bed. She looked over speechless, held up shaking hands then met his eyes, still unable to talk. He loved the flush on her face. It felt like he had done so little to work her up so hot. “You’re absolutely right, who needs glasses when we have a whole bottle? But first...” he untied the stubborn knot hardly still riding on his hip, dropping his smalls where he stepped, and reached into a backpack to pull out a very nondescript bag he knew she’d recognize. _Hot Lava._ He laughed at the look on her face. He retrieved a single small box and the bottle of oil from the bag.

“Is that for me?” she asked as he pulled a Titan’s Tear from the box.

“Nope. Today this is for _me_. Don’t worry, yours is perfectly safe in the other box.” he held it up to see the light flow through it, remembering something about _nicks_ and _scratches_. He turned the polished crystal in the light, running his thumb along to check for unwanted crevices; the way it distorted the shapes and lights behind it was actually quite beautiful. He grabbed both bottles and went to his wife, who lay propped up on her elbows. Her eyes were glued on the Titan’s Tear. He set the bottle of wine on the nightstand and held his Tear out to the naked woman still red at the neck from his beard and teeth. “Will you do the honors, my dear?”

“Honors?” she sat up with a smile she couldn’t contain. She took the Tear and oil from him, and he was already crawling on his hands and knees over her lap when she asked if he was sure and ready.

_Absolutely._

The oil was a wee bit cold as it trickled down the crack of his bottom. Tess giggled as he shivered with a hard exhale, catching the oil with her fingers before it dripped any further down his testicles. But then, _that massage. Their wedding night._ Tender circles, spreading warmth inside to that magic little orb and  _beyond,_ seeping outto his balls and shaft. He couldn’t help but relax, recalling the growing heat from her finger once inside to the heat outspread up his back, his spine now.

“Is it wrong to wish I’d met you ten years ago?” he muttered, hanging his head, trying to control his panting while he enjoyed her rub.

“Alistair, you were _ten_ ten years ago,” she reminded him.

“If I’d known then we’d be doing this now, I’d have let you tie me down and wait till I woke up sticky when I was twelve,” he joked, pulling a giggle from her.

“Tevinter has time-travel magic.”

“We’ll leave first thing in the morning,” he said decisively. She giggled again.

“Are you ready?” she prepared him.

“A thousand times yes.”

“I mean the Tear-thing.”

“So do I.” he grinned. He heard her breathe, heard the oil lid open, and after a pause something smooth, hard and very slick circled his rim. A perfectly rounded tip fit right in as he relaxed, and he heard a coo of welcome relief leave his throat when slippery width barely worked to push through. She tried to ease it in, but it was _well_ oiled and he felt himself suck it in and close just before a flat stopper. _Pressure;_ he’d forgotten _just_ how good pressure at this end felt.

“It’s a beautiful shade against your skin,” she told him. Laughter erupted before her words fully registered. A curl down of his back so he could rest into the bed tilted where the pressure concentrated. It took his breath so sharp Tess returned her fingers to pull the Tear out.

“No no no! No no,” he breathed as full as he could. “No. _Oh Maker_.” he moaned with the expansion of heat from within. He forced himself up, standing on his knees. One of his wife’s Orlesian curses fell from his lips, and he took a moment to gather himself. He turned his head to see Tess staring in concern, though she fell with a combination of a scoff and a sigh of relief when she saw he wasn’t in pain. He couldn’t help but laugh, and leaned over to kiss her. “I am _perfectly fantastic_ right now,” he assured her. He slid his knees until his feet dropped to the thick rug, wincing with the glorious heat knotting in his groin. He walked a few paces, unable to resist circling his hips or clenching his bum. Every time he clenched, he felt his sack give a little tremble and harden his soft erection _just so_ with each squeeze. He rocked his hips forward with another flex; he _saw_ himself stiffen, widen. A deeper rock, harder pucker; veins pulsed as he swelled fully erect, standing without droop or slack. He reached down, gently pulled back his foreskin, he _marveled_ at the pearly bead pooling at the slit. The Tear did all that? He’d have to think of an excuse for not leaving the room the rest of the day _and_ tomorrow.

“Shall I leave you two alone?”

A chuckle broke in his throat. “My sassy little wife.” Alistair grinned at her. “Right, so now that it’s all out in the open,” he crossed into better light and faced her. “Uneven parts,” he began.

She immediately winced and folded her arms over her breasts. _“No,_ Alistair, _please_...”

“ _Uncover_ yourself, Tess. I have cleaned soil from your open wounds and changed your bloody bandages. You are _not damaged,”_ he told her. Still half-withdrawn into her limbs, she slowly moved her arms. “ _Thank_ you, love. I mean this with everything, there is _nothing_ wrong with you. Look at me.” when her gazed carried over, he reached down and cupped his balls with a little shake. “ _These_ are uneven. Even I can see it from way up here, yet you have no trouble _kissing_ them and _licking_ them or stuffing them in your mouth. You _sleep_ next to them. Either you haven’t noticed or your don’t care, my guess is you don’t care. That’s how I feel about everything you think is wrong with your body.”

She looked away, clearly not convinced. She had no trouble when she was aroused though...

Alistair gave a wide swivel of his hips immediately followed by a thrust rough enough to slap his testicles against his skin. She froze completely, eyes flying to his erection. He popped his hips up again and wiggled, flopping his hardened shaft from side to side; Tess blinked and jerked with each noise.

“Uh- _huh.”_ was all he said. She raised her eyes to his. “I _thought_ that might get your attention...” it was too easy to smile right now. Out of all he could do to her, this was by far the most luring. She was nearly hypnotized instantly. “Wine sounds good. Do you want wine, love?” he took no more than one step toward the bed when she protested.

“What?” she looked him over like he was mad for stopping.

He let the grin spread. “I figured you weren’t interested.” he shrugged through another step.

“But I _am_ ,” she urged.

He watched her eyes dart everywhere, his groin, his middle, his head, his shoulders. “All right... _ask me.”_

Bottom lip a-tremble in anticipation, eyes still scouring his body, “Will you dance for me?” one of the most natural parts of her, something he knew was not the cause of another.

Alistair walked backwards into full light. A pop of his hips completed his steps; Tess was hooked again, already. He moved his shoulders, torso, rocked his weight slowly from one leg to the right. He fell back to his feet with a shove that slapped his penis toward his navel, balls clapped so loud they echoed. Her eyes sparkled, wide, _awe_ all over again. He rolled and bounced, galloped in place to smack his sex where it made the most noise. Angling himself and braced to arc, retract his hips, rapid thrusting that filled the room with sounds to nearly mimic the act itself had her gripping the quilts with white knuckles. She held her breath, _gasped_ , blinked, thighs wiggled, _wanting_ and _greed_ shone from her face.

It wasn’t just for her now, though. Almost every movement shifted the Titan's Tear inside him. Simple rocking side to side, pumping, swiveling, every clench and flexing at all these angles built up that _pressure_. He stood with his hips pushed out, leaning back to grind his proof of manhood up, circling to spin his solid shaft as if he might take flight. She followed every loop his pink crown made with her eyes, shallow breath and fingers trembling at her lips. _Alistair,_ however, _he was breathless._ Heated from every fiber inside like a furnace, he felt the sweat building, dripping from his shoulders down the crevices of his back. He had never tried moving like this with anything _in_ him before. That magical emanation inside _pulsed_ , throbbing his groin, tightening each testicle and shooting waves of force that nearly propelled his cock on its own. Her tiny mewls and gasps mixed with his quickened breath and his sack spanking against his thigh, his bum...anyone listening at the door might not know they were paces apart.

His balls tensed so deep his toes curled; _shit, could he climax like this?_ One last echoing toss before he ended the show, not wanting to spend himself so quick, before he even had a chance to touch her. Chest hot and heaving, he went to her, pushing her down against her back in a kiss he knew matched his exertions for her. She grabbed and pushed at his sides, only to coo and moan when her fingers slid on sweat. She pressed further into the mattress to search him, wonder.

Alistair secured her lips again, still catching his breath. “You’re wearing yours tomorrow,” he breathed.

“Really?” her tone of awe implied _curiosity_ for the Tear causing sweat, not of questioning him.

He nodded, lingering each kiss, letting his hips rock into hers. Her centre was _hot_ , and every tumble in, his softest skin squished and molded to her opening. A cradling massage for his sack, friction of hair and skin to rub his length along. He swallowed her moan with a taste of her tongue. “I had to stop. I almost made a mess on the floor,” he told her. Though subtle, every rock and press continued to squeeze his backside around the Tear’s handle, leaning pirouettes inside him like his own private dancer. When she bit her lip the same time an involuntary whimper slipped out with another push, it dawned on him she might also be enjoying herself.

“You like this?” he watched her face with a tender plunge of his balls again. _Pressure_ from two ends once more, eyes drawing to the other’s with pinched brows and heavy breath. She wet her lips with a nod. Another orbiting tangle of curls, crushing himself where she opened perfectly for him. _Hypnotic from within;_ just like dancing an actual breath ago, _slow pleasure_ , a steady impetus, _swelling_ without urgency to spill his seed. He felt he could do this for days, enjoy a never-ending ride, no worries of draining himself to sleep. Unbroken _intimacy_ that equally stirred desire in them both.

Alistair didn’t know when he dropped his head, but her neck was right there when opened his eyes. _Skin,_ flushed and ready, he smelled roses again. He felt vibrations from a sigh against his nose and tongue; flat, _tasting,_ curling to reach when she cradled his face in the crook. Steamy skin gathered with his tongue pulled from his teeth, lips in slurps, and when he burrowed his beard along his wet trail up her neck she squirmed. He rose to kiss her, cheeks, lips, nose, eyelids, _ear;_ fingers sunk into the curve of his bottom to keep him _right there_ , just like whenever she orgasmed. He held himself where she wanted, staring in her eyes while his groin and bum flexed on the own now. Hips obtruded, gently swaying in the little squeezes he couldn’t control. Another swirl of his groin as he wet her lips for her, _she held tighter with each kiss;_ so close he felt individual curls tangle with his, her most sensitive skin reacting to the pressure of his in pleasure he never imagined he could deliver or feel, _strong_ enough she kept trying to hike her hips above his erection. A massage that nearly had him blind with desire as well.

He had to stop her again. She didn’t stop trying to impale herself. A laugh bubbled up from his throat; self-conscious unless she had an itch she couldn’t reach herself. He was piqued and ready for her, but only an hour when he hadn’t been able to touch her for over two weeks? He could do better, even plugged up.

She let out a needy sigh as he arched away, planting kisses in a line down her front as he sunk back to his knees. She reached for him insistently, forcing him to climb completely off the bed just to grab the oil and the wine from the nightstand. He could barely drink for giggling, he hadn’t seen her genuinely pout without tears before. Even when he put the bottle to her lips she looked at a loss. Alistair took one last sip before leaving the wine on the nightstand and crawling back over.

“I am most certainly not done,” he assured her as he settled at her right. He tucked an arm under her neck and nestled her right against him still on her back. “Did you really think I was going to stop?” he smirked, setting the oil aside to sweep hair off her face.

“You kept stopping me earlier,” she reminded.

“I did,” he stroked her face. “and you listened beautifully.” she met his eyes, the pout finally fading. “ _Thank_ you for listening,” he told her.  

She opened her mouth, then closed it with a vexed frown. “I”m sorry. For not telling you...”

“And thank you for apologizing, and for being honest.” he lightly pressed against her lips, blindly reaching for the oil. “But never lie or hide from me again, Tess. All right?” he searched her eyes; thankful the cap silently opened. “I’m the _only_ person you don’t have to lie to or hide from. We have seen each other at our worst and our very best.”

She gasped loudly when a trickle of oil fell to her breast. He laughed quietly, though hard enough to shake his shoulders; every jerk re-sensitized him to the Tear again.

“Including now,” he giggled.

“It’s cold!” she wheezed through pursed lips and wide eyes. He chuckled in pride as he drizzled shining gloss over her skin. She watched with her mouth stuck open as he drew loose rings over each breast. The oil splashed off rosy pert nipples. He wrote his name down her middle in loopy letters, filling her belly-button till it overflowed as the messy dot to the second _i_ in his name. Her abdomen flexed into shapes the entire time, constricting so hard it caused her hips to buck, and he now knew why she liked to watch him with his shirt off: her belly moved the same no matter the cause, reacting the same to cold as she did to pleasure, _orgasms_. His cock twitched against her in this strong visual.

He glanced down to spy her reaction as he dribbled oil further down. He paused at her curls. “Open your legs and...bring your knees back.” he tapped his hip for example. He looked away, trying not to acknowledge any hesitancy as she peered at him with even larger eyes.

He could only stare at first. He rarely had such a view, and now she was completely open _for him,_ without him even in position to penetrate. _He loved her,_ glistening dusky hair crowing plump petals that grew darker pink as her folds tapered and smoothed down to keep a hole deep enough for _him_ , the _core_ where they fell apart together. The only home for the most sacred part of him.

He fought the urge to touch just yet. With a squeeze of the bottle, he drenched her curls and she withdrew hard breath.“Still cold?” he grinned, watching the oil drip down crease after crease. Florid walls clenched and closed her up, _pulsating_ as gloss in his fist dropped again, pooling at her centre - _he leaned over in curiosity as some of the oil disappeared down her womanly hole, intrigued and wanting to chase it_ \- before he urged it over to her other, tightly closed ring.

She _breathed_ this time, not a gasp of shock but a sound of anticipation. Alistair closed the cap with one finger, slowly turning his head to see his wife’s face. He smiled, dropping into a kiss as he pushed the bottle away from them. Slow, tender, hugging each lip between his, wholeheartedly trying to _show_ his love through his kisses.

He found her breast without needing to look, her _uneven_ breast. A drop of her mouth, a silent sigh as he drowned his hand in the puddle that had gathered at the seam where she squished against him. He traced invisible circles, how he’d poured the oil. Gently parting her lips with his tongue while slick silk conformed to the shape of his fingers. _Smooth_ efforts moving contours of her breasts with every _push,_ twitching him hard enough to buck his hips. She gave a moan and nipped his lip, curled in to reach for the hot pike stirring at her side, but he caught her wrist.

“Noooo, no touching,” he sang, gently pinning her arm out of the way with a grasp from his other hand. She breathed a scoff of frustration with a pouty frown, and he laughed with a grin that felt too big for his face. “Not yet.”

“So-” she sighed heavily again.

“Just _feeeel_ it all _,_ ” he told her. He let his himself buck into her again as he traced a softened nipple. “Just feel my _fingers..._ ” he lay his tongue flat to her cheek, the whiskers on his face lazily bending when he pressed his lips. He kneaded and rolled until she perked back up into his pinch. “making _circles_ and _curves_ ,” he drew along a partial rim of her nipple, areola, traced the crease below her breast. _“Plucking-”_ he demonstrated against softened pebbles; every time her hips quivered so did his, surging the aura of ecstasy hovering deep inside him. “and hugging,” he loved the sensation of her bare breasts beneath his palm. “Precious weight that waits for me to come comfort,” he bent his head, hand gliding as he readied her for his mouth. “ _Mine.”_ He took her with a squash of air; the oil was sweet and nutty, _flowery_ to match her skin today. She slipped from his mouth, _too_ slick. “Just feel _me_ ,” he told her. He painted his face trying for a stronger latch, saliva adding to his enkindling.

He _bit_ , _she hissed,_ just hard enough to maintain his grip, gave a deep suck to lure her nipple in and pin it to the roof of his mouth. Slowly he leaned back, trapping her entire areola between his tongue and cheeks. He slid his hand across her chest, gliding over padded bone as if she were wrapped in satin. Her hips twitched again and more often with both nipples worked on. In his mouth his teeth held her in, and just a slip and slide over he _rolled_ her, pinched. He pinched _again_ , three fingers making sure she couldn’t escape as a fourth finger strummed her polished rocky surface with his nail; flicking a stiff tongue quick, striking hard, gently grinding his teeth to move her, _swell_ her before his lips closed around tighter than his teeth, _drinking_ in the taste of overstimulated flesh. Her hips thrashed with frozen thighs, shaking him with her violent tremors to a melody of whimpers, _pleas_ , squeaks, unable to move to muffle her wails. She was _music_ that vibrated through his veins, playing his groin; he was in charge, there was no mistaking that, but she was already conducting _his_ crescendo.

His balls throbbed with an itch inside, and only when he pulled up his head and she fell from his lips with wet smack, did he notice he was grinding against her. He was _roasting_ down below, the fiery phantom orb ever growing, the very cause of every clamp and every thrum. Her chest leaped in choppy, rowdy breath as he slid his hand from her exhausted teat. A tender massage, ruining his name to spread the glaze for a moment of relaxation before he continued his journey.

She trembled as she stared, and for a moment he could only stare back. She was starting to glisten, flushed skin steaming from within, nearly as red as her tongue when she wet her lips between gasps. _She was beautiful. Perfectly undone and trembling before him,_ because _of him._ In itself, it was another sort of epiphany: it was one thing to be aware he had a woman’s breast in his hands and mouth, sweeter and silkier, rousing him deep in his groin, conforming without struggle to _him;_ but realizing this little act of enjoying _himself_ woke every nerve of desire for _her_ was mind-blowing. He was strapped in awe every time. _He_ did this, the boy who never did anything right. _Him._

She gasped again as he placed his mouth, her lips trembling against his, her breath for the moment his own. He kissed her slow, full, pressing his hand to the rhythm of his kisses, just hard enough to feel her muscles gradually soften and stop heaving. She hummed appreciation, his beard and mustache gliding right over as he smeared the oil around her lips. Every breath from her now an airy moan. Normally ticklish, she didn’t squirm this time when he squeezed her sides. She took him like hugs, unflinching, tangling her fingers around the hand that kept her out of reach of herself to return affections. Wedging under, rubbing up, _ease_ and _care_ the best he could give with a slippery hand. He gently pushed a flat hand over the puddle in her navel, lingering kisses stealing the sight of oil oozing over his fingers. He stretched his hand, extending each digit as far as he could to cradle as much of her as he could; he _loved_ this part of her body. More pliant than the rest of her abdomen, yet contracted harder, _tighter_ when she orgasmed. It completed the matchless forging of her body to his.

_Perfect as when she’d grown his baby._

He paused from her lips with silent breath, a curse playing in his mind before he brushed the dream away. Forcing himself back to _now,_ to _her,_ he began a descent he knew made her uneasy. He was supposed to ask; caution to subside an unfortunate trigger. Oil had paved the way for him though. He hovered above her mouth as he fluidly crawled his fingers down, their eyes locked. Her breath picked up in anticipation as he met slick, matted hair. There was no tangling this time, every curl wilted with the next on the little pillow of flesh that fit just right into the palm of his hand. He stroked her outer lips, re-lubricating through _coarse_ , _wet,_ though he couldn’t tell the difference between her and the oil right now. He trailed his fingers along the rim of her labia, slowing to a stop before he reached for inner petals. He told her to breathe; after a dry swallow, her breasts shivered with inhalation.

“Does this hurt?” he asked. After failed attempts to form words, she wet her mouth with a drying tongue and shook her head, swallowing. He dropped his lips and also his fingers, wetting her tongue as he pressed into the crease between hair and even finer silk. Sliding around a ring of heat, circling between his fingertips in a delicate pinch to the hood of the tiny shaft he could never excite. Breath left them both with a slip of his longest finger in her canal. Plunging into a small pool of oil and cream, he fell to her whims as she sought another kiss. Her tongue reached for him since her arms could not, hips flexing higher for another prod, his push at her pocket of hot flesh. He curled and tickled, billowing her between the length of his fingers, kissing lips that bit back noises as she tried to hoist herself up from his thigh. _He was leaking again,_ he was sure she felt it, tiny beads smearing and cooling along her sweaty hip as she wiggled. Her hips were off the bed with a steady thrust of stiffened fingers against her plush mound, and he tore his eyes to watch her body fidget, skin jiggle over muscles aching for reprieve. Her voice grew the distance from the bed to the door, _there was no mistaking the sounds inside her room right now,_ and he rose with her, _quickening_ the beat of his grasp, _pushing_ deeper, a strong rhythm of need _inside;_ and then she locked. Mouth hitched, entire middle curved like her bow, trembling as he worked to spill her _beyond._ Her voice drowned in her own shower of warmth.

A soft moan burst in his throat as he pressed his lips to her forehead, _More than love,_ he told her. He withdrew his fingers before she stopped shaking, but did not wait for her to cool this time; on to the next hole. A winded pule escaped her as he found her tight clench. He mimicked every move she ever made for him, slow circles, gentle urges where she closed and then more loops. She couldn’t seem to stop kissing him, even when he turned his head to watch himself play, watch _where_ his own finger was; _as if everything else wasn’t stimulating enough_ , a thigh draped high over his, opening her, tilting her for him. He had never tried this with her before, and he wasn’t sure what tugged his erection more - knowing he was about to explore _forbidden depths_ , or knowing she was in this position because he put her here _and she was enjoying it._

She relaxed slower than he had patience for anymore; maybe an hour ago he could’ve waited this long. He kneaded to help stretch out the ridges denying him, even re-wet his fingers with her own juices to add to the softening. As soon as she was smooth, he _pushed._ She gasped and froze again, he watched her closely as he eased his middle finger in. She closed around him even _as_ he pushed. _Tight_ was an understatement, nowhere else on her body was _this constricted, pinching_ without pain, an intensive embrace. By far the strongest port he’d experienced.

Only one thing on his mind as he coaxed his center digit to the knuckle: _how would this feel around his cock?_

He tested his reach within. This was...unbelievable, _wild._ To feel her finger inside of him was a completely different experience than delivering his own finger. It didn’t feel like a place of sin; the fairest silk he’d ever felt, though she restricted access he was not an intruder. He was not being struck by lightning, there was no thunder, no quakes that opened the skies in infernal showers. This simply... _was._ She moved to his tender bends like he moved to hers every time, flushed so hard already only because she was not done spending from her last orgasm. This was a source of _pleasure,_ a _good_ thing. He kissed her, inhaling every mewl and gasp; that’s all he wanted, to give her something good.

Her best reaction was to circles and twists, elongated loops with his finger stiff inside. His hand slid over her slippery bottom as he turned his wrist, allowing him to graze and give a shallow poke between petals every time his thumb danced on by. She surprised him with a gasping _there, like that_  when he made another round _;_ he laughed, unaware she had enough breath for speech. The husky scrape of his voice caught her eye, and she did little else but stare. Brows flinching a couple times each loop, and she started swiveling her hips in the opposite direction his finger moved. She swung wider than he whorled, setting her own pace; he did want her comfortable like this. When he took back the lead, he hit _that spot_ for her; he saw it in her face, pupils blowing back out all over again. He arched his wrist wide, twisting vast coils. Breath below his face picked up again, hips rose up and down against his motions. He gave a wiggle of his finger as he kissed the sweat off her top lip; her bound hand dug her own nails in. He eased another finger in and her sound struck his core, _wailing_ that echoed around them and prickled tiny bumps on his arms and neck. If this was anything like her own play within him, she was _close,_ again. _Two fingers_ winding, little bends, flexing her belly harder, more defined, she _cringed._ Stammering, shoulders tried to reach him like she was asking to be held, ripples shooting up her spine and vibrating his arm as he freed her wrist to cradle her. His hand between her thighs as she completely arched into to him, she wiggled hard, guided by his circles, _always circles for her._ The leg over his arm locked, digging her heel into his back behind his elbow, incoherent grabbing, singing so loud his neck couldn’t muffle her. Her nails scraped, bucking his hips, _rubbing_ him against her belly, _he felt her muscles hug his shaft._ Long-winding rocking fingers, broad tips, _stretching_ her around him, _gaping_ her as her mouth did. _Teeth; he_ whimpered now, adding melody to desire, caught himself in flicks of _pain_ at his shoulders and chest, _friction_ on his foreskin, daring him to hold out as long as she had. He pressed _hard, in_ , the crook of his neck a dripping hot spot for a cry from tremors shooting up her hips to her neck.

He slowed his hand as pressure from her teeth and nails lifted, still holding her to him when quivering lips kissed where she’d bitten. She gave a little whine as he gently rocked his fingers out, and for a moment they just cuddled.

A thin stream of tears from the corner of her eyes when he pulled back froze him, only realizing now how rough he’d been. “I hurt you,” it barely scraped off his lips, horrified at himself.

“No, no-no-” she stammered, stumbling over the simple word as her head shook with stiff muscles. She repeated herself for awhile before she gave up and just sighed.

“You’re crying,” he observed.

She shook her head still, stammered again. _Hard_ , he heard, _new, but I like it._ Still trembling, her fingers dragged themselves up his chest and neck; quaking so much she missed his lips at first. He rubbed tenderly, soothing her labored thew through caress and kiss, drawing lazy circles up her hips and back, a recovering massage this time. A little break. She convinced him, though, insistent kisses and tender strokes, completely curled into him. He gave in, ceasing the cooldown to return her intent, bracing her head for heated lips.

She had not forgotten his desire. A hand groped a full bum cheek and gave a little squeeze; the Titan’s Tear shifted ever so slightly, penis re-alerting between their bellies. With a groan, he moved, returning her to her back to kneel over her. She was sweaty, they both were. Oil beaded up where she flushed the most. She drew his eyes back to hers with a finger to his lip. A nip, a peck, then he fell to her mouth again. She was so hot she radiated, he felt her like she was his personal bonfire. Her fingers hugged his bottom as he thrust, just gliding over for now, feeling every hair bend and pull as her curls shared oil with his. He still smelled roses, even over the scent of almond and cherry that lingered over the bed.

A further arch back landed the crown of his penis between her cheeks. He hesitated, _curious_ , already veins pulsed _eager_ down there. The look in her eyes as he held his shaft and rubbed his pink head, _aligning his slit to hers,_ matched the question burning inside him.

“May I?” he whispered. With a blink and swallow she nodded. He waited for her to relax, deep breaths that gradually relaxed the rigid clench. He didn’t need to guide himself, but he did anyway; he was aware his erection was larger than two fingers. A gentle push, enjoining pry, and _breath; stolen air_ from both of them. _Even tighter_ around his cock than he expected, no tavern tales had ever mentioned _this; sultry_ yes, but never how it all felt _intimate,_ a sweet, willing receive _._ His elbow shook, forcing him to brace with both hands. He couldn’t resist watching though control was a harder feat. He wanted to just roll in but constant strain on her face kept him paced. Her hips tilted farther back with each part of him that disappeared; _he just kept going._ In her core, most positions they’d tried stopped him from fully entering, but here he just _pushed._ Stretched around him down the base, so far stretched _here_ that her petals squished closed.

 _All the way in._ He knew already he’d not last long, not after the Tear and dancing and holding her while he funneled the most beautiful sounds from her straight into his groin. He remained breathless; squeezing around him like nothing he had ever imagined, _tighter than when she milked him at her pinnacle._ Raw pleasure _simply resting_ , vivid sensations with every breath, and the Titan’s Tear now pushing back against the heat quickly resurfacing in his balls. He was very surprised he wasn’t spilling seed already.

Self-control was _definitely_ harder now. He began thrusting, what he thought was as slow through her sex, but she hissed brokenly, _Slow, slower!_ He tried pulling out, _pain was not the goal_ , but she stopped him, kept insisting _slow_. _Hardest struggle of his life._

Slower it was. He let her guide him at first, a firm grip on his hips to barely push him out, pressing her heels against his bum to pull him back in, a little more slack each time. When he caught on, he moved her hands away to take charge, gentle rocking, _deeper_. Already quicker breath, more shallow with every new depth. He felt like he fit _better_ here, maybe she was hotter, _needier_. He wondered why they hadn’t done this sooner.

She was louder, for one; cursing in mewls when he ground himself into her, rubbing his balls against her backside in little jiggles that made him groan as well. Back arching, nails digging into his arms, adding pain he didn’t realize he _enjoyed,_ every scratch zapping up through his body the same as any flick to the knot at the crown of his penis. She looked caught between agony and pleasure but it felt so good he didn’t want to stop, _couldn’t_ stop, _his shaft in a mind of its own_. _Rocking, rolling,_ hardly needing to thrust for the Tear to overwhelm that magic ball of euphoria. She didn’t stop him when he picked up speed. He could barely see straight with her squeezing so hard, pulsing back against the veins that throbbed along his shaft. They sang louder, moans and grunts, falsetto from both of them every time he jerked back in. Glances here and there to watch himself fucking such a taut space, _all_ the way. His own hairs matted to skin with oil now, shiny gloss that had him coated, easing every tug, every _thrust._ Filling her completely, even repeatedly pulled to the crown out just to watch himself fill her up again. She moved with him, hips curving, adjusting, _drowning_ him. Though right in front of his face, she was blurred; nothing he’d felt up until now had blinded him so.

He nearly collapsed as the explosion in his testicles shot up into his shaft. He looked at her, found her eyes, ready to peak, _so close._ Tiny beads of sweat all over her face glowed orange in the firelight, illuminating her like little sparkling freckles all over. Instantly, _Carlyn._

 _Shit. His daughters; what a fucking time to be reminded of the children he already had enough trouble trying to make. And he was in the wrong hole._ Too much affecting him at once.

She tried to stop him as he pulled out, flexing her legs, _hooking_ him. But he couldn’t; _can’t stay, not here. Have to try, have to make them. Carlyn, Eleonora._ “No!” He whined a gasp as he forced himself sharply out, pulling a noise of protest from her. “Have to try!” _Can’t lose them._ He trembled, had to guide himself through her labia because he had no control of hips anymore, _rushing_ before he lost the chance. She bit another noise down as he fell over after two hard thrusts. His sounds of release bounced back to his ears as nothing more than a reminder that he’d almost wasted the seed that might have actually planted.

“Alistair?” she asked when moments passed and he still hadn’t moved, her voice unsteady. His head buried at the seam of her neck and the bed, he refused to move still. A faint pulse still strong enough to milk his balls remained; he wasn’t done yet, he wasn’t moving. He _couldn’t_ , he didn’t want to lose them again.

He shook his head. “Have to try...” _Have to try. Can’t lose them._ It repeated over and over in his head, even when he felt himself soften inside of her. Only when she burst into a sob that shook him did he realize he’d been repeating it out loud.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any of you who have jumped into the story just now, Alistair is aware at this point that Tesslyn is unable to bear children. In the Fade, they experienced having children together, their own family (parenting, hugging, smells, sounds, tiny fingers, etc), and then as soon as they were sent from the Fade it was end of story, _babies gone_ , unable to hold their children yet full memory of doing so before. The notion of dreaming of a family and having it suddenly gone is supposed to represent Miscarriage and struggles it brings to mundane tasks and even intimacy.


	43. Mastery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair continues to struggle with the complications and pressures facing him as Fereldan's eventual ruler. As Teagan pushes him to learn what is necessary, Alistair seeks to regain the control he dreamed being King would inevitably earn him. He finds solace and his strength in Tess as he develops her unconditional trust in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, bondage, dominance, submission.
> 
> NSFW imagery within.
> 
> Mood music:  
> In the Garden: [Human Legacy, by Ivan Torrent](https://youtu.be/9NzlDUeS1U4)  
> [ Dead Inside, by Muse ](https://youtu.be/I5sJhSNUkwQ)  
> [ Hear Me, by Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/1Yr683VLxes)  
> 

_Dear Fergus,_

_It is my turn to write to you now. This is an inadequate introduction, but it will have to do until we find you. I am Alistair, son of King Maric. I don’t know if you remember me, we only spoke a moment at Ostagar. Your sister is my wife. I suppose that makes you and I brothers now._

_Today is Twenty-eight Firstfall. We are at Bann Teagan’s home in Rainesfere. We left the Deep Roads three weeks ago because Tess was wounded. She is asleep an arm’s reach away right now, fully healed I assume._

_I find myself in a hard spot in life. I understand you had a son. Oren, Tess speaks of him sometimes, and of your wife. I don’t have words but I am sorry you no longer have them. I know what it is like to lose your children. Tess gave me daughters, and before you say ‘but it was just The Fade’, they were REAL. I could smell them and they were warm, and they laughed. I see Eleonora every morning when I dress into ridiculous court attire. I see Carlyn in Tess...when she eats, when she smiles, when she stands there with the sunlight bouncing off all those jewels the nannies stick on her. I even see my children when we make love. It happened tonight, the light from the fire made her sweat look like Carlyn’s freckles. And even though I KNOW she can’t be pregnant, that was all I thought about. It froze me completely. I was...beside myself. Maker, I finally understand what that means. It was no longer me being romantic with my wife. It turned me into a man completing a chore, trying to fulfill duty. All I could think about was making my daughter real again._

_Tess cried herself to sleep muttering ‘I can’t, Alistair, I can’t make them.’ These past few weeks have exhausted me from emotion that I can’t cry anymore. I have no tears left. I think I laid in bed for a few hours before I finally got up to write, and my Taint is preventing me from getting drunk on Teagan’s wine._

_How do I do this, Fergus? I see my daughters so often, and it gets worse as my stress worsens, these damn nobles bickering all day long. Is there a method? I can’t forget my girls, I don’t want to forget them. But I can’t get them out of my head to concentrate. I can’t even make love to my wife anymore, can’t I just have THAT? I have no training in this. I needed absolutely none to be a parent, but there is no one I know of who has lost their child. Save for you._

_So from Father to Father, how is a man supposed to deal with losing his children? Even more so when they never existed to begin with?_

Alistair took the next day off. He and Tess did nothing but lounge, to the dismay of Teagan and the erratic nannies, whom Alistair had to scare off with his angry voice. He made it _very_ clear the King was not attending court today, and all he would permit up in the room was bathwater and food.

Alistair resumed bathing Tess that day. This was _his_ job, always and only. So dramatic, so intense he could see himself change while he washed her, as if observing from outside his body. Steam rising from every stretch of exposed skin, smoky wisps dancing up her shoulders and hair and the top of her knees; deep breaths that allowed her to fold up completely to enjoy the fall of hot water from his hand; little sighs. He felt pressure crack away like he was shedding dead hide; a subtle change, but another inch of reins back in his hands.

He walked Tess around the manor gardens after breakfast. As inside, Teagan had an affinity for aesthetics that made Ferelden seem like a far-away world, plants - _blossoms,_ animals that thrived in snow. Deep violets that bled into frosty greens and exploded in screaming scarlet, leaves thick and wide with veins that almost glowed like stalks of lyrium, even an aviary of fat, flightless birds of white and blue that burrowed in mounds of snow only to toss it about and bathe in it. A few of the manor’s cats peered from around potted plants to watch the strange birds.

They enjoyed a moment, no more, of peace and silence before Teagan approached them with an offer for tea and a notice for the King to return to court the next day; thievery and greedy farmers unfortunately were not the bulk of Ferelden politics and Alistair _needed_ to learn all forms.

_How is a single day of pleasant solitude so much to ask for?_ Wasn’t _Alistair_ supposed to be King?

When Teagan finally let them be, Alistair admitted to Tess his insecurity about taking the throne. _It’s too much._ He worried he’d lose his mind and slaughter an entire courtroom of people day after day over never-ending incidentals if he had no reprieve; he was already trembling with anxiety just thinking about it. It was not as he’d imagined kingship would be. He thought he’d have more important cases to settle. He didn’t see how watching citizens argue over who has a handful more grain allowed him to protect his wife. And now here, being summoned to observe court while he was supposed to be overseeing Tess’ healing...

“It feels like I am losing control, and I don’t even have the throne yet.” he could feel her watching him. He ran his finger along a bright blue leaf vein, avoiding her gaze, not wanting her to _see_ the depths of his struggle. He was supposed to carry it all for both of them, that was the unspoken promise made every time he drew circles on her hand, starting back...all those months ago. Any burden they encountered was _his_ responsibility.

“What can I do?”

He didn’t quite expect this.He looked her up and down, trying to decipher her offer. “I don’t know.” he tried to think. “Maker, it’s _boring_ and _annoying_. Am I allowed to hire _minstrels?”_

She bit her lips in a sheepish smile. “I don’t recall minstrels in court before unless they were under accusation, but you _are King_ , Alistair.”

_“King Alistair.”_ he huffed, looking out over the loose labyrinth of wintergreen shrubbery at the town not so far away. “I almost wish Isolde could hear that. And the Chantry.”

“You don’t answer to either anymore,” she reminded him.

“I know. I guess...I want to see their faces when I ask them to grovel. _Proof_ that it’s _my_ say now. _Anything_ to show them I’m not that soft, pushover Alistair anymore. No more _Alistair go refill at the well_ or _Alistair I’m cold, go chop wood_ or _Dammit those mages are fighting again, Alistair go shut them up._ Court’s just as bad as being a Templar apprentice, actually.” he paused. “You don’t have a necklace or anything, do you?”

“A necklace?” she echoed.

“A ring? A...lucky coin? Something to hold. Something for _me_. Something to remind me why exactly I’m standing there when I start to lose my mind and want to strangle the farmers in front of me.” he was trying to jest, but he could hear weight in his own voice.

“I had a necklace from my mother, but that got lost...at Ostagar,” she said. “I have nothing left. Except Po.”

“I doubt I can shove Po in my pocket. He may come in handy though. Suppose he could be _practice_ for me telling others to snarl _for_ me.”

“Alistair?” concern flashed as her eyes.

“I want something of _you_ , love. To know you’re there when I’m not supposed to look at you or hold you. I guess...something to remind me why it’s in _my_ best interest to pay attention and hold my tongue and learn what I can from all these silly lessons.”

A moment of silence passed between them. Assuming her lack of answer to be one, he moved his head from her; _could_ she _at least be supportive?_ ; only to turn it back when she pulled off a glove. He looked from her to her bare outstretched right hand, back to her eyes. “It’s all I have,” she said.

_His_ hand. He _certainly_ didn’t expect _this._

He accepted her gesture with a gentle bend of her fingers around his and a sigh elevating his heart. “This is perfect.” he pulled her in for a kiss, tracing a slow circle upon chilled skin, _right now a therapy for him same as her comfort_. “Thank you.”

Returning to court quickly spoiled the confidence Tess had spent the day building up again. While the majority of smaller issues had magically dissolved through the Bannorn since Alistair sentenced the farmer and the thief to war, there were still _things_ , boring circumstances he had to endure. A widow requested a loan to hire a wagon to take her ailed son to a specialist in Orlais, an elderly citizen wishing to retire to Amaranthine desired a permit to allow his crier to bid off his house in town, another farmer came to pay taxes. Insignificant things, Alistair felt. Tess pulled gasps from female nobles when she ripped off her glove and exposed her arm, walking across the room to offer her bare hand the moment Alistair clenched his fists and jaw. Though his own motions brought back memories of soothing Tess back down with her breath at his neck, it didn’t help _him_ now like he had hoped.

He told Teagan that night he wanted to leave. He was _done,_ he couldn’t handle it, his nerves frayed just by stepping into that damn courtroom. Teagan spent hours, and a good deal of his personal stock of ale, convincing Alistair he had passed the point of no return. He was _King_ now, just because Denerim was slow to this news did not mean Alistair had a window for escape. He said Alistair’s very party proved he was meant to be King - vowed to Alistair was the most important woman in Ferelden, a Qunari, an Antivan Crow, an Orlesian member of the Chantry, a Witch of the Wilds, a high-ranking member of the Circle, dwarves and a Golem _for Maker’s sake._ Whether or not Alistair was aware, he had united what would be seen at the Landsmeet as foreign emissaries willing to peacefully co-exist with Ferelden under King Alistair’s rule only. _There was no turning back now._

_Just like joining the Grey Wardens_ , only with nowhere to hide when he needed a break, and someone constantly on his tail. The last leg of Tesslyn’s recovery was just an excuse for Teagan to provide Alistair with more experience so the Landsmeet would not take the new king unawares.

The second day back in court, Alistair kept Tess at his side to possess her hand _; trying to lose himself in every loop and spiral he traced._ This drew a thick glare of disapproval from every noble that hung through the courtroom like a cloud of debris, but there was nothing directly said against him or Tess. Alistair wasn’t an idiot, he knew lashing out against a simple glare would start an ebb of support from the county in Ferelden who only called him King because Teagan told them to.

More trivial disputes. Mostly men complaining; the women seemed to leave yelling to their husbands. Someone’s tree overgrowing into another’s property, someone else requesting a merchant’s camping permit so he’d be compensated by the court if he was robbed, a farmer asking to build a bonfire in town to brand his own cattle in public because someone else accused him of stealing other's cattle to brand as his. Nothing but more petty requests that brought in headache after headache.

Alistair’s feet hurt from standing still so long. He was hungry. He needed a whole bottle of Eamon’s atrociously competent brandy.

As soon as Teagan told his manservant Hamish to relay a break for tea to the fussy nannies, court exploded. Alistair wasn’t sure how the citizens overheard Teagan, but they suddenly started talking at once. _High and mighty_ , _better than us, ignoring our needs_ were accusations thrown towards Teagan and Alistair, _hang him!, stolen, my dues_ and _Please! help, but Your Majesty, Sire surely_ and strong curses aimed at other nobles interrupting filled the room.

Alistair tried to calm himself. His toes were flexing nonstop as if on a string, tension between his temples, jaw and neck as he caught himself twitching, unsuccessfully trying to remain still. _He owes me!, lazy lout!, this knife-ears;_ it refused to cease. How in oblivion did Teagan survive this day after day? Alistair couldn’t shake the voices from his head. He heard a sweet, familiar sound, but there was so much noise echoing around him he may have imagined it. His favorite Orlesian curse was lost in his thoughts with a louder flood, Teagan’s voice now mingling with the muddle, yelling for people to stop shouting.

Alistair was sweating. No one forewarned it would be this hard to refrain from running to hide in the quietest corner. Had he not thrown two men in the dungeons the day before, Alistair might have considered escaping there. This was not worth waking up for. The throbbing in his head spread to the back of his skull now. Pulse racing like he’d just run from Redcliffe. Closing his eyes only made him dizzy. He needed a cold bath, or maybe a nude plop into the snow.

His thumb began a strumming motion. He was so overheated it took a moment to realize he kept grazing velvet, soft and pliable and -- hardening beneath his touch. When he looked down, he saw Tess holding his hand to her breast, moving his thumb for him; her other hand she had up to shield their little window of connection. At once, he surged inside, deep, _bidding._

_Her._ She was trying to bring him back, focus him. He honestly wasn’t aware she had tried anything else, but she was here now giving herself in front of others.

And it was working. Alistair watched his thumb, moving it on his own now, and as her nipple took definite shape beneath her dress, the noise seemed to flush _around_ him, not through him anymore. Whether she was asking for sex or just anchoring his senses, it worked. _Her._ She was absolutely his anchor, the one part of life he had control over; far removed from the chaos here. He pushed his mouth to hers, refusing to care about courtroom behavior or saving face; he doubted anyone noticed them anyway. He was still overwhelmed, but he could cure that. _She_ could cure that.

“Go upstairs. Don’t look back, just go. Wait for me on your bed. Call for a bottle of something strong.” he instructed in her ear. He pulled back to see her eyes lock with his before she took a step back. Eyes wide in wonder, she picked up the hem of her dress and turned. She left the room without acknowledgment as Teagan tried to announce her departure with no luck. Just like Alistair wanted.

The court visitors Teagan had calmed were still active in the calamity, noisily trying to get others to leave with them. Alistair nearly left without notifying Teagan, but he didn’t want to hear this all night. Without speaking, Alistair went around the room. He licked his fingertips to extinguish each candle individually. He caught Teagan’s perplexed stare as he pulled a set of heavy drapes closed. Three more candles. Another set of window drapes. He felt eyes on him; he suspected Teagan, the nobles were still yipping and chirping like starving fox cubs. Alistair wound himself around the nobles with surprising ease, amused as people finally quested the smell of quenching candles.

Last drape, gripping the last candle, Alistair gestured with his head for Teagan to join him as he left confused nobles in the dark of the courtroom they all so loved more than life itself.

Alistair leaned against the heavy door after it slammed shut. He stood listening to the panicking citizens for a moment; he could pick out the few elves of the crowd, servants trying to round nobles up in the dark like gathering stray sheep at midnight with a wolf nearby.

“The first king to be known for grand _exits._ Are you quite amused with yourself?” Teagan asked as a wave of giggles shook Alistair.

“These are _your_ people, Teagan. It’s not my fault none of them smelled the smoke or noticed the room kept growing darker.” Alistair wasted no more time at the door however. Squishing the burning wick between wet fingertips, he passed the candle off to Teagan and made straight for the spiral staircase that led to Tess.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, just like Alistair had instructed. She held up a foggy glass of liquid amber as he locked the door behind him, their eyes already locked.

Furrowing in confusion with a scrunched nose, she sniffed him as he approached her. He gave a small laugh. “The courtroom is a very dark place right now.”

She hesitated, then grinned. “ _Literally_ put out fires in court, did you?” she held the glass up higher.

He laughed softly, bending to meet the glass as he guided it to his mouth, her fingers still wrapped. Chilled, smooth whiskey spilled past his teeth; he welcomed the burn at the back of his throat. “Teagan’s impressed with how I dismiss court,” he joked.

“And to think I missed that.”

He planted a kiss upon her cheek. “You did beautifully, love. You missed nothing. I’ll show you how I did it at bedtime, even.” He brushed his lips upon hers. “Remove your dress. Only the dress.” and backed away with the frosty glass in his grip. He opened the vanity chair toward her and sank. Firm upholstery plush enough to conform to his hips was the most relief he had physically had all day, an audible sigh escaping as he settled in. He swirled the source of fog on the glass, icicles broken and already melting in the strong amber drink.

He watched her undress. Breasts pushed out as her arms flexed behind her back; cold glass smooth against his lips, hot breath steaming the opposite rim. Her corsets remained in the wardrobe, untouched as of yesterday to provide freedom today for every curve he enjoyed; a faint hiss with every swallow of whiskey that etched down his throat. A nipple dared to peek over lace that lined the collar of her gown as she arced and stretched; never once leaving where he told her to sit. A rise in satisfaction, a loosening of the knot where his heart and lungs should be, another chipping away of dead weight.

“Come here,” he told her, beckoning with his free hand as she freed her arms. Her undergarments stayed in place when she pushed the torso of her dress down, finishing the removal from heavy velvet as she stood. Leaving the gown on the floor, she stepped carefully over to him. Once in reach, he traced her thigh to the tie of her drawers. Teeth clanked on cool glass as he untied each thigh with one hand; she said nothing, simply stood in silence as he sipped his drink and worked his fingers. He followed the rise of her long winter chemise with his eyes as his arm disappeared with her thigh under white cloth. He sunk his fingers into the crease of her bottom to urge her on his lap, his mouth too full of whiskey to talk though he needed no voice to move her as he desired.

A melodic sigh rolled off his tongue as his eyes traveled up. Warm on his lap and under his hand; _his._ He watched her lips part as he held the glass up, watched as her tongue cradled the rim to catch the trickle of strong amber. He slipped from her thigh to bring her right hand to his own mouth; he was reminded of the gasps and glares when she extended herself to him the prior day and the knot inside re-coiled.

“Husband?” she whispered, clearly concerned. The memory must have distorted him.

“Alistair,” he found his voice again. “In here - just you and me, it’s Alistair. Out there with them, I have to be King, and I’m not...I don’t _feel_ like Alistair with anyone else. _There_ , I’m husband, but...just for you, I am Alistair. ”

She nodded. “Okay, yes. Alistair.”

He groaned into the glass and emptied it with a swift flick of his wrist. She said his name again, a tingle melting down his arm as her free hand touched him. “Unbutton me,” he told her, without releasing her right hand; this was _his_ hand, his safety hand.

It took her a moment to understand he meant _use one hand,_ but she performed as he bid. He knew using only one hand was hard for her, especially her left hand, though she had no trouble today. He could already breathe easier with the second button loose. He outlined the shapes in front of him, curls of cloth, _fingertips sneaked in between loose knots of his undershirt to graze chest hair,_ the little dip of her collarbone, _untying knots between buttons,_ the muscles on her neck highlighted, _little tugs on the strings of his shirt,_ back down to round breasts, circles pressing far enough into the cloth that he saw their rosy hue. He studied her as she took her time on the last button, _ghosting her touch under the hem of his undershirt to feel hair;_ he knew his hair aroused her. He let her play for a moment, wondering if she thought she was being sly, _teasing thicker hair around his navel._ An gentle scrape of her nail struck a nerve that jolted his groin and her eyes flew to his. She always did know how to touch him. A smile spread before he realized the look on her face amused him, _desire,_ maybe _anticipating correction._

_Both._ Not maybe.

“Go get your Titan’s Tear and...one of the silk handkerchiefs.”

She froze again, he grinned wider as he read her expression all too clear: _what did I just ask for?_ In a bit of a daze, she climbed off his lap to dig through their belongings. Alistair shrugged out of his doublet and matching robe, leaving them on the chair to refill his drink.

“Do...you mean a blindfold?” she asked.

“ _No_. A blindfold is not going to do me any good right now.” he felt her stare hard and curious as he drank. He stood at the vanity, watching her through the oblong mirror as she shuffled noisily around the bag from Hot Lava. He spun to face her when she returned to him. _“Thank_ you.” he downed the rest of his drink before taking both items from her. She stared uneasily at the handkerchief as he silently pondered. He didn’t need to ask why. “You’re worried I’ll hurt you.” Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she finally met his eyes. “It’s okay, Tess, _talk_ to me,” he said gently.

“If it’s not for a blindfold, then it’s...” she cringed with a step backwards. “No. _No,_ ” she shook her head.

“Look at me, Tess.”

“No. No -- _gagging_ , _no tying-!”_ she insisted. Too many bad memories already.

_“Look at me.”_ Alistair set everything on the vanity and took her right hand, immediately marking her skin. “Look at me _now_ , Tess.” she managed to find his eyes, but fear was prominent. “Who am I, Tess?” Blinking, trying to focus on him. A moment ago, he had _wanted_ to tie her up; now he _needed_ to. He repeated his question, but when she couldn’t stop shaking and muttering, he pulled her against him; back to both the rune and the circles. A few loops, a few faint runes and she finally took deeper breaths. “Who am I?” he repeated. His name tripped over her lips. “That’s right. _Alistair,_ no one else. Now _what_ am I?”

“K-king,” she whispered.

“No. _What_ I am is your _husband._ ” blinking eyes flew to his. “I am _Alistair_ your _husband,_ I _protect_ you. I am _always_ here at the end your hand _protecting_ you.” he tapped the center of the circles he continued to draw. “Have I ever hurt you?” he couldn’t hear the broken word but she shook her head. “I’m not about to hurt you _now._ Not now, not ever.” He glanced back to grab the handkerchief. “ _No_ , no, you don’t need to panic, Tess, I will _not_ hurt you. This is us making _new_ memories, you understand?” She didn’t understand, he could see the idea of being tied and it being a good thing was too far separated for her. “This is you trusting me with your life, just like in battle, just like when we fall asleep in our tent.” Seeing her finally calm bled relief into him as well. He held up her right hand a little, “This is me Protecting you,” then he held up her left hand, “and this is you trusting me. Did you wake up this morning? And yesterday? And the morning before that?” he tried to show his point; she could trust him to keep her safe even when she slept. After a few nods, she finally seemed to understand. She breathed deeper, fuller, hung her head to try to hide a tear he didn’t miss. He held her for a moment, pressing tender kisses between his own breaths. “You are _mine_ , Tess. I have never led you astray, I have never hurt you, I have always taken care of you. You need to trust me. How can I be your husband if you don’t trust me with _everything?”_

“I _do_ trust you,” she whispered. “But why? Why _that?_ ”

“I want to. _Not_ to hurt you, Tess.” her hair smelled of the tropical Par Vollen soap he washed her with that morning. “I have _never_ had anything in my life. I have never _owned anything,_ and now...I _finally_ have something of my own, and I want to use it. I want to use my wife.” Her skin still rosy in color and scent. He laced her lips with his. Her breath came slower, fuller against him with every kiss. “I don’t want to touch myself, I want _you_ to do it. I want to enjoy you like you enjoy all of me. I want to touch my _own wife_ without her flinching. I just want what is finally mine.”

She pulled back to regard the handkerchief, no longer gasping though breathing deep. He held it up a little higher. “May I?” he asked, unmoving from her eyes.

Staring from the silk to him, she bowed her head to enable his desire. “Yes.” _Strange how a simple word could chip away stone in his chest._ “But just one hand? Please?” she bargained softly.  

“Tonight, of course.” he brushed hair away from her eyes. “You’ve always needed baby steps, haven’t you?” she met his eyes when he tilted her head. He clasped her lips between his, still spiraling on her hand. “Go make yourself comfortable on the bed,” he told her. “Would you like a drink?” She nodded so quickly he nearly laughed.

Alistair refilled the glass with whiskey, even cracked open the window shutters to reach for icicles.

“Am I going to be sleeping like this?” she asked as he brought the whiskey, the Tear and handkerchief over.

“If you’d like,” he agreed.

“I don’t want to,” she shook her head.

“You don’t have to. I will absolutely untie you as soon it becomes too much,” he sat on the edge of the wide bed, propping the Tear on the nightstand; he suspected he wouldn’t use it after all, but she may just surprise him.

He let her drain the glass first. Even with the last drop, her arms shook. He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth as he took the empty glass from her. _Thank you for trusting me._ She trembled as he raised her left hand but otherwise let him shape her. He bent her elbow so she could hold the bedpost even when bound, planted a kiss to the underside of her wrist before tying a single layer. Her hand shook so hard it knocked against the post, so Alistair paused. _Do you want me to stop?_ She stumbled over words, but he waited patiently until she gave clear permission to keep going. With her hand in his lap, he made a single tie at the back of her wrist, and _kissed_ her. He kissed the knot, turning her arm until his lips had covered every bit of smooth fabric. Her eyes flew from him to her wrist as he caressed the deep emerald silk, _just like her eyes,_ and he could practically hear her asking herself _This is safe, this is okay, right?_

“I _more_ than love you,” he told her. _Love and trust. Trust from love._ Tender massage as he brought her hand to the back to the bedpost. He rubbed the sides of her wrist as she fidgeted, securing the handkerchief in a groove between ridges in the polished post, leaving enough room if she needed to hold on.

He continued to knead and caress after the knots were set, asked her if it hurt, _thanked_ her. It was upon hearing his gratitude she finally looked hopeful. _See?_ He kissed her forehead, _I’m still here, it’s still me, you are as safe now as when you woke up this morning._ And he realized, as she breathed and relaxed more completely with every rub over silk, that being able to calm her was just as satisfying as ordering her to undress him or touch him. A different kind of satisfaction, but effective nonetheless. He was still manipulating her nerves, and though she wasn’t fully relieved of shallow breath or jerks, she was _trying._ He was so in control she _wanted_ to try.

The night did not flow quite as he intended, but it was damn close. He reminded her he was still wearing far too much and he let her decide how to remove them; she had earned that much. He knelt over her lap while she loosened and tugged at his clothes, he helped her remove what she could not with only one hand. When he was bare before her, he paused to check on her wrist. He couldn’t squeeze his head in to kiss from where he’d tied her, but he caressed the silk again. He peppered his lips along her arm, intentionally nuzzling his beard at her inner elbow, _just to make her squirm_ , on a path to her shoulder, _scratching again_. When he reached her neck with another brush of his whiskers and asked _Do you want more?,_ she succumbed easier than he expected.

Whether desire outmatched fear or her trust had grown, she obeyed every command. She stroked and kissed where he wanted, never hesitating, held her mouth open when he wanted her to taste him. He sipped another glass of whiskey away from the bed to watch her strip herself - _almost;_ he had forgotten to remove her chemise. He laughed, _she_ even laughed a little, realizing her underblouse would just have to hang there from her bound arm. But there she was: still an echo of anxiety on her face yet _trying_ for _him._ Naked, blush at his favorite parts, _waiting for him._ Untying her to make love made her tremble again, this time in affection; crashing and melting into him in gratitude, ardently returning sensations as she received. And after he peaked as was the whole goal, she _asked_ him to hold her as she fell asleep; this she had never done before. When his own eyes closed, he was breathing easier than he had in weeks. Not quite as planned, but victorious all the same.

The morning was sweeter than they’d had since their wedding night. A new level of trust had been established; she didn’t flinch when he tied the emerald scarf in a bow around her left wrist. He wanted her to wear it during the day, a visual reminder he was always there, safety at one side that extended straight through her to the other side. An _extension_ of himself that was would be there no matter which way she turned. He would remove it for baths only, and to re-tie over sleeves or gloves. He never wanted her to forget _You are mine, you can trust me._

He held her Titan’s Tear up when he dried her from her bath. It had not been appropriate to use it last night, but _she was his_ , and he wanted her to be ready for him by lunch. She held her tongue, but her expression when he inserted her Tear told him she knew exactly why he wanted this. She enjoyed the stimulation too much, _they both knew this_ , so every time he looked at her and saw the struggle on her face, Alistair would have his proof of control. _His_ visual to remind _him_ there was one thing that did go his way, also a reason to smile during court. And it worked better than Alistair expected: she kept Alistair’s focus with all her little flinches, tensing and swallowing he’d come to memorize on his journey to please her; he didn’t care about the nobles at all that day, _he was sure they still argued,_ he could filter out their noise for the first time though; Teagan, his servant Hamish and even the maids who called mid-morning tea asked Tess if she needed the medic, she was _too pink;_ by lunch she was so flushed Teagan excused them to put Tess in bed. Proud that _he_ was the secret cause of Tess’ bloom, Alistair giggled the entire prance back up to her quarters, leading by her right hand yet already untying the handkerchief before they reached her door. The idea of her _so ready for him_ when it _felt_ like all he’d done was stand across the room sneaking glances excited him. He had no time to coax a safe tie to the bed, so he pushed her arms together above her head, _don’t move;_ both impassioned now, still in full costume, so sensitized every move he made echoed her voice around them, _be quiet, don’t scream._ She listened; she could obey even when drowning in pleasure.

Teagan took one look at Tess and Alistair when they returned to court twain refreshed and content, and immediately escorted them out into the corridor in a fluster of annoyance. He was suddenly _Noble Uncle,_ scolding them both, _Not a joke_ and _Inappropriate!,_ and _There are more important things than midday scandals; Tesslyn you know better!_

Alistair tried to play his hand as King, but Teagan interrupted, “Then you must _show_ it, Alistair! What you did was impetuous and callow! In the event of war, even a quick slip-away could cost you the lives of thousands. Leaving your kingdom unprotected so you don’t have to wait until after supper is for fools who have nothing to lose. Had an outbreak occurred, and I killed, you have no army and no influence here to command my knights to enact justice. Regardless of Tesslyn or myself, you are the son of a King and it is _time to show it!_ As long as you are in my house, you remain my nephew and you will follow noble practices. The fact that you are an inexperienced King simply means I am your tutor!”

It was suddenly _you screwed up Alistair_ and _you’ll get extra chores for this Alistair;_ surfacing threats of Chantry punishment if he didn’t get on his knees _right now_ and beg for repentance and right his wrongs. Vexation surged, _helplessness,_ someone else running _his_ life again, lack of control once more as if he’d had none all morning. He _hated_ this! He had worked hard for _months_ to become a man even a Qunari warrior refused to dispute. He felt a wall build up inside of him as he forced out the notion that Teagan may be correct. He did _not_ want an uncle right now, he _needed_ no uncle. “I am _not_ Cailan-”

“Then get out there and _prove_ it.” Teagan braced him by the shoulders in a sharp spin and a firm nudge.

No one made eye-contact with Alistair. Rather, Alistair didn’t remember any faces from court. He suspected he looked ready to murder the entire room. He gave himself a headache frowning daylight away. He vaguely recalled Tess slipping her hand in his and whispering _Husband_ , but as long as they were in the courtroom, he heard very little; he was nothing more than in the hands of a system that thrived on dramatic waning of people’s lives. Even when announced as King, Alistair was no different than elven slaves sold in the black market to the very nobles and high freemen attending Teagan’s court; at the mercy of something they weren’t strong enough to overcome. Day after day of watching his entire life outlined in every single monetary transaction that occurred, land and livestock handed to someone else, undeclared slaves present as _proof that living people had already been handed off_ because they were no longer good enough. Even if Alistair had set the slaves free like he wanted, _though he knew freeing others would not free himself,_ he saw the look of complacency in their eyes, not wanting to be a pawn but no reason to fight when they didn’t know better. He hated court and politics with a passion. And yet he would soon be in charge of it all.

Each day felt longer than the previous. Nothing but bickering, more greedy requests, more wailing, more legal tendering The only thing Alistair found slightly interesting was a new dwarven merchant asking to exchange currency. There was nothing significant that required a King’s judgment so Alistair remained a silent witness. He knew Teagan was aware these practice lessons were not sinking in. Boredom at best, irritation if the lingering nobles were lucky, _seething_ inside when he was denied the need to take charge. There were days Alistair truly expected the drapes behind him to catch fire from all his fuming; sometimes he wished they would.

Nights...were different. As soon as he locked the door behind them, Alistair was in another world entirely. He couldn’t tell if Tess was adjusting to being tied or if she just wanted to please him, but she was the only peace he had. She always dismissed herself a few minutes before Teagan ceased court at sundown. She was always waiting on the edge of her bed with a drink in her hand; the sight of her as soon as Alistair walked in began the daily cracking of his stone shell. The third night, she even had her handkerchief ready. Alistair could still only bind one hand at a time, but she obeyed when he told her to hold on and not let go _as if_ she were bound with both hands. He found a craving for the look on her face when he ordered _no touching_ ; the ability to bring her down to a dripping mess without her able to pull him up for penetration before he _ruined_ her gave him a high he didn’t know he needed. Sex became a last priority; he only needed her to bend to his whims. Working her until she _begged_ because his orders aroused her, just as when he talked during foreplay. In itself, this became a game of compensation for the Ferelden Law book hovering above his head every day. The more orders he gave her, especially if his orders constantly moved her around the room, the more eager she was to please and the sooner she asked for sex. The more commands she submitted to, the sooner the ice and rock cracked and fell from his shoulders and heart, and the sooner he relaxed and _really breathed_ each day.

And then there were days he returned to her _so angry_ inside that he dragged orders out, sometimes making her sit on her knees on the floor, watching her wait while he finished refills on drink. To this, he truly wasn’t trying to be cruel; he had too many unkind thoughts in his head that would not bury themselves until his inner _happy drunk_ surfaced. Desiring compliance and acknowledgment of his right to run his life how _he_ wanted; not wishing to lose control of _himself_ and scare off the one person who _did_ acknowledge his decisions. Making her sit in silence because he feared the beast swinging inside himself; _needing_ the silence to help gather his thoughts. _Appreciating_ the silence because it meant she _continued_ to obey without him having to repeat himself.

One afternoon, Alistair went through an entire bottle of wine while he watched Tess sit. He had sentenced a man to death for striking a young elven slave in court; apparently it only bothered Alistair because no one else flinched. Ferelden was tricky with slavery - while the trade itself was illegal in the country, no one noticed when Alienages suddenly _misplaced_ orphans and Teagan had taught him most nobles owned enough slaves that the crime was reduced to trading only; as long as they weren’t being sold in public, they could pass as unofficial servants. It reminded Alistair of being passed off his entire life, the elven abuse reminded him of Isolde; it made his stomach churn. Alistair blew up, struck the man, removed the child and ordered the man beheaded in the center of town _right now._ He delivered punishment himself. Teagan said nothing as Alistair dismissed court before lunch. But Alistair felt _dirty_ , lowly, like he’d succumbed to the petty theatrics of the high freemen, resorting to their perverse demands just to try to prove a point he was sure they’d never embrace. He had lost control, let the beast out; but that was solely uncontained rage, not life going his way. In her quarters, he ordered Tess out of her clothes and on the floor, _don’t look at me,_ and he scrubbed himself in a scalding bath until his skin was raw, red and shining. He sat in the vanity chair with the entire bottle of wine, not wanting to be touched, feeling unworthy of her gaze. He could not remember a single time he’d let himself stoop so low.

“Why do you listen to me?” he finally asked. The bottle was almost empty, and she had sat on her knees in silence the duration of his bath and the draining of wine.

Her eyes darted, widened when it dawned that he was speaking to her. “I want to take care of you,” she answered.  

“You want to take care of a king who beheads people for doing things he doesn’t like?” he asked. Her eyes moved toward him as if she was risking discipline.

“I can’t survive on my own, Alistair. I take care of you, so you can take care of me.”

“I said that?” he asked sincerely.

“I...don’t remember, honestly, if it was ever said. But it’s always been that way. I can’t-” her right hand flexing on her thigh expressed what words failed, _needing his circles._

“And you want a husband who tells you what to do every day?”

She met his eyes with a shake of her head. _“No._ I want a husband who-” she took a deep breath, swallowed, “who _more_ than loves me, _inside and out...broken and sewn-_ ” she was reciting his vows to her.

Pressure lifted for the first time that day. “But I _do_ tell you what to do.”

“Because it helps me take care of you. So _you_ can take care of _me_.”

This was a new ray of light. He knew she followed his commands because she loved him; _more than love._ He gave commands because it made him feel better about himself, it validated his thoughts, his dreams. Now she was telling him she obeyed because she knew it helped him. Allowing him to bind her when it still made her tremble, allowing him to lead her around the room on her knees, allowing him to ignore her for hours while she sat naked in silence...because she wanted him to be confident. Because she wished for him the ability to _more than love_ her when she needed help.

He almost asked her to marry him again.

“Tess? Who am I?” he asked.

She opened her mouth. “Al-” she froze, and with a quick glance to his eyes before darting in thought, she closed her mouth. Curiosity sent little sparks flying all over inside him. “ _You_ are _my king_ ,” she finally answered with a nod of certainty.

A huff of amusement fled before he could stop it. _She did that on purpose._

The smile spread as he realized she was playing with him. It was the first time he’d smiled all day, in fact. She was _encouraging_ him, _asking_ him for orders. Taking care of him, just like she said. Her eyes fled back to his when he didn’t respond, and he grinned into the wine bottle. _She_ was his world; his world going his way.  He was more than happy to indulge in her.

Court was no better even knowing Tess _would_ take care of him each night. It was no worse - or possibly it was, now with every attendee afraid to speak to even legitimate servants, _visibly different from slaves in wearing decent stitching instead of rags,_ after the news of the King himself beheading over a simple _correction_ spread like wildfire through Rainesfere overnight _._ Tess apparently couldn’t handle court anymore either. The woman waiting on approval for the loan to see the Orlesian healer was back, as was the old man retiring to Amaranthine and a buyer for his land who felt cheated by a price the old man’s servant made compared to what the old man wanted, in addition to another _thief_ accusation and other nonsense from faces that all looked the same now. For long moments, Alistair watched Tess fidget and gaze everywhere, exchanging glances a few times before she finally approached him. Right hand extended first, then switching to offer him her left, she addressed him _Husband_ , requested permission to take a quick leave. Curious to see what she would return with, or how she would return, Alistair waited in eager silence. Tess returned adjacent Leliana when Alistair stifled a yawn, the bard clad in her favored Chantry robes and clutching a lute. Teagan did a double-take at both women before glaring at Tess.

Leliana’s music echoed through the room like she was in all four corners at once, a tune a few noble women perked up to; likely popular in ballrooms. Melodies so jubilant it was like springtime had blossomed around them. Alistair grinned when he realized what his wife had done; she’d brought him a _minstrel,_ just like he’d complained the courtroom lacked. Leliana plucked each string hard enough to compete with the bickering freemen, and though Teagan rolled his eyes at Tess and shook his head, he let the music play on. Alistair couldn’t stop smiling at his wife. A surprise that tremendously morphed the ambiance; officially the first time he enjoyed court.

Even when the courtroom buzzed again; random complaints about _not being heard over the bard, the thief still needing punishment, only wanting to pay the first offered price;_ the racket did not bother Alistair as usual. He enjoyed Leliana’s euphonious skill, and it warmed and amused him that his wife remembered and brought to court something he’d once griped about. Something about the music helped him think clearer as well. Perhaps it was the drowning-out of the absurd complaints or the rhythm, but he suddenly saw a very clear solution to the problems Teagan was trying to avoid addressing that day.

Alistair stepped forward, hands behind his back except to motion to Leliana to lower the volume. He silenced the courtroom with a single roar and then waited, genuinely enjoying nothing but the music for a moment; even contemplated making the court attendees wait like he made Tess wait on the floor for him at night.

“How much coin do you need to get to this healer in Orlais?” Alistair asked the widowed woman with the ailed son.

“Three-hundred sovereigns, Your Majesty. The carriage hires for one-hundred, and the healer is sixty-five, and then we must have enough for food and to return home.”

“That is no small loan. How exactly do you intend to pay that back?” Alistair asked her.

The troubled mother’s face fell. “I don’t know, Your Majesty. Work it off...hopefully I can pay it off before I die, otherwise my son will inherit my debt.”

“Right. And... _you,_ ” Alistair pointed to the thief, “what exactly is your crime?”

“He broke into my safe and stole a horse, Your Majesty! Lucky for me, stupid oaf stole the one with a sprained ankle!”

“I did _not_ ask _you_ , I asked your _prisoner_ ,” Alistair sharply told the thief’s captor.

“I sought jewels, Your--Your Majesty. They fetch a fair price over the border.”

Alistair felt his brows jump; he hadn’t known this. “In Orlais?”

“Yes.”

“Good to know. And you two...” Alistair looked at the retiring man and his arguing partner. “How much are you selling your land for and how much are _you_ willing to pay?” They answered simultaneously: willing to sell for one-hundred-twenty sovereigns; _promised_ to buy for eighty-five. This instantly started another argument, which Alistair silenced with threat of a double-beheading. “Right, then. Your _land_ now belongs to this widowed mother; _no_ complaints, you were abandoning it anyway, you’ll never miss it. Madam widow, congratulations! You are now the owner of three acres and a small nug farm!” he said with a brief smile. “You can sell your land to the citizen wishing to buy. _You_ ,” he looked at the man trying to purchase the farm, “will buy this land from this poor widow for the full price of one-hundred-twenty sovereigns, and congratulations to you as well! You now have a free farmhand!” he gestured to the thief. “You will work off your debt for two...no, _five_ generations of baby nugs, and any gems you were found with when you were caught are to be handed over to this widow, as well.” He turned back to the lone mother. “You should have enough money to hire your carriage and arrive in Orlais, where you can sell the gems to pay for your son’s healing. If you do not have possession of these by nightfall, come find me,” Alistair made an obvious display of  gentleness toward the widow opposed to the men with their trivial issues. He had to silence an uproar from the thief’s master, the retiree and land-buyer with another threat. “Unless the three of you wish to lose your heads before the hour chimes, silence yourselves and do as you were ordered! My judgments are final!” he echoed louder than Leliana’s lute, smothering all music until he took a breath. “Bann Teagan, can your house afford to grant this widow the hundred sovereigns she needs to return home?”

“ _That_ much I _can_ grant here, Your Majesty. I will cancel the request to the Palace Treasury first thing in the morning,” Teagan agreed.

“Fantastic. Court is dismissed early for the three of you to pay your obligations. Hamish, please call for tea, I am _parched_.” Alistair thanked Leliana as he began his leave, pausing in front of Tess to hold out his hand. He stared in her eyes while she placed her left hand atop his. He brought the back of her fingers to his lips. “Your Majesty, I would be honored if you would join me for tea in the sunning room,” he told his wife. “Followed by a very romantic night in your bedchambers?” he added in a whisper and a smile.   

She expected to be tied and worked to breathlessness, or to be told to undress him with her mouth. That was what she said when he unbuttoned her gown after locking the fussy nannies out as soon as they set dinner and tea by the fire. _Not tonight,_ Alistair told her. He was in no rush. He lingered on every button, every string, gently unwrapping every article of cloth from her skin. He planted tender kisses as his hands traveled down in little massages. When she stood naked before him, Alistair retrieved the spare silk handkerchief, _the first always around her wrist,_ and as _he_ expected she hesitated; pretending both hands were bound was easier than still tying one. It took hardly any time to earn her blessing though.  

“You have done so much for me today, Tess.” he swept strands of hair from her forehead.

“I brought a bard into court. Interrupting like that is punishable with prison time, believe it or not. Three days, as long as there are no weapons involved,” she said.

He smiled for her. “Oh, _believe_ me, I _intend_ to _restrain_ you,” he teased.

“Very cute.” she dropped her head to hide her grin.

“ _Thank_ you, I’ve been waiting to use that one.” he chuckled and kissed the top of her head as she giggled in his arms. “Regardless, it was a wonderful surprise. Today has been the first day I didn’t want to kill anyone.” he turned her head up. “It was a big deal for _me,_ ” he said. “I want to return the favor, just take care of you tonight. Just you and me and supper, hot tea...wrapped in quilts together.”

“But I’ll be tied up?”

“Yes.”

“With hot tea?” she asked uncertainly.

He laughed softly and nuzzled down to kiss her. “ _I’ll_ be holding that, actually. I’ll be naked too. I would like to avoid...accidents.” he kissed her again, a ghostly brush, letting his breath do most of the work.  

“This _isn’t_ me forced to hold tea I can’t reach?” she sounded skeptical. He giggled harder.

“No, but that’s a bad idea!” It was almost strange, feeling so _free_ again. He hadn’t felt this loose inside for weeks, even when she performed flawlessly and let him channel his frustration through her. Tonight there was no overburdening stress to chisel off; he wanted to do everything _for_ her now. He captured her stare while he trickled his fingers down her left arm, sliding a finger behind the knot. “May I tie up both of your hands?”

_Both_ stumbled from her lips through a nervous breath before she acquiesced, nodding, filling her lungs again as she searched his eyes. He smiled; he couldn’t help it. It gave him such a sense of _mastery_ to tie her up, but that power meant nothing when she wasn’t ready, when she couldn’t bury fear to enjoy him upon her. Every _Yes, Alistair_ gushed a font of affection, _pride._ How many men owned trust like this?

He kissed her, assured he _more than loved_ her. _Go pick out a book. Something you love but haven’t read in a long time._ He readied the bed while she stood in front of her books, readied the platter of meat and roasted roots and winter squash on a nightstand for easy reach. He poured a glass of wine to share while she asked to choose two books; she couldn’t make up her mind. _You may._

The usual ritual for binding her to the bed wasn’t enough for her right hand. Clenching and quivering contradicted her permissions, requiring extra attention. He hugged his hand up her arm, feathering fingers until he pulled little shivers and sounds of welcome, delicate strokes along her forearm melting into a tender massage so deep it steeped through the silk. Each rub and kiss promised the same message: _I’m here, I have you, you’re safe. More than love._ More desperate than he realized in seeking her consent, she gave a winded laugh at his sigh of relief when she was ready. He kissed her as he tied her wrist to the bedpost, whispering silly things he wanted to do secretly to her during court, plotting ways he could sneak a necklace made of the penis beads past Teagan and the nobles. By the time he was done tying, she was giggling with him.

They watched each other as he undressed. He stood beyond the foot of the bed; she was too occupied with his disappearing clothes to notice her arms were unable to move or even care that her hips gave a squirm when he sprung out of his smalls. He hesitated, letting his clothes wrinkle at his feet. Able to relax into the pillows behind her though sitting straight, little pink buttons upon bunched rouge that rose dramatically, falling with breath to create grand shadows that danced her nipples across her skin, arms outstretched opening her entirely for him. _Beckoning_. Her countenance mirrored the swelling of his heart when he saw her like this. Her willingness to be vulnerable as _he longed her to be_ was beautiful, this calculating woman who had a hard time functioning when she hadn’t planned it all out. Agreeing to remain in waiting. _Maker, she was so beautiful like this._

Alistair doted on his wife just as promised. Worshiped her, rather; not a single need forgotten. He tucked her in, blankets behind and around, covered as if in another gown, making sure she was as comfortable as possible. He settled in as close as he could, caressing her arms and wrists while he read; they were equally fond of the old romantic Grey Warden tales. He fed her small bites every few sentences, neglecting  the book so many pages to serve sips of drink. He rarely made tea, between the two of them this was her expertise, but tonight he reveled in it. He took pleasure in it all - sharing the same wine, feeling her adoring gaze while he read as spirited as he thought he should for such stories, cutting her food to bring small shapes to her lips, the clank of the sugar spoon against porcelain as he stirred in honey. It soothed _him_ to watch her sigh untroubled as he tipped the steaming teacup past her lips, to dab the dainty corners of her mouth with smooth cloth, to receive a poised _yes_ every time he asked if she wanted more. It reminded him of caring for her when she withdrew. Though she was coherent this time, able to request or decline, he was still in possession of her. He made sure she was warm, comfortable, restored and flourishing, _safe;_ Tess exactly as he wanted her to be. Their never-ending cycle: shaping her well-being by allowing him control.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Domistair aesthetics](http://oblivion-and-wonderland.tumblr.com/post/142394646801/domistair-aesthetic-these-seem-to-be-getting) compiled by me but courtesy of internet stock photos and one Outlander/Jamie & Claire screencap


	44. Alas! These Fools Cooperate!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair discovers new ways to retain his dominance over Tess while the two of them ditch court to train before leaving Rainesfere. Alistair becomes aware of how Teagan's lessons have changed him, and the journey back to Orzammar prove his party has also grown into a team united. Alistair pushes himself past his personality conflict with Harrowmont to gain the support he needs for the Blight, and sex euphemism banter between Oghren and Zevran is interrupted by a surprise visit in the Deep Roads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW - sex euphemism banter
> 
> Mood music: [Gryphonheart by Jo Blankenburg](https://youtu.be/FmwjI1oQuWk)

They were leaving soon. Alistair was almost as excited as Oghren to head back to Orzammar, yet he would miss Rainesfere. While Alistair loathed politics, he was fond of Teagan. The man had been a good friend, a kind tutor and _family;_ before Tess, Alistair had none of those save Duncan. Wherever Tess was, Alistair could always feel at home; he’d be content hiding away in the Anderfels, even the Deep Roads, Ferelden so be it if they desired to stay, _anywhere as long as she was there._ But Teagan had given him damn good reason to want _Ferelden_ safe, he’d given Alistair a _place to call home_. Finally: a family of his own; and now Alistair was leaving a huge part of that behind, even though it was to gather warriors to ensure his family survived the Blight with him.

Alistair and Tess trained with Teagan’s knights and the rest of their party the last five days; Teagan insisted. It felt good to be outside again, to be swinging his sword again. Oghren _despite his height,_ Sten, and a few knights were large enough for Alistair to practice with his shield; a freedom he had forgotten waiting in court all day. Relief was the best word he knew to describe the feeling of his muscles stretching, straining, _strengthening. More power._

Wynne was kind enough to allow him to practice his milder Templar talents on her, _Cleanse Area_ and improve his _Mental Fortress._ After urging from Tess, Morrigan agreed - reluctantly, as well, the Wilds Witch physically strong enough to endure the stronger _Holy Smite_ and more intense administrations of _Cleanse Area._ Morrigan didn’t fool anybody with her pre-dual complaints though, cackling every time Alistair got hit with a spell even if he did so intentionally to build up more resistance. While Alistair could easily practice the movements on his own, testing the proper concentration was determined by how well it affected magic.

Many knights were interested in learning Templar specialties from Alistair. Though there was little time left to help them perfect, this provided further practice and boosted Alistair’s confidence. They referred to him always as _Your Majesty,_ yet informal enough to joke and laugh with him. And after practices, the knights who ate dinner when Teagan took his sat with them, laughed with Alistair again, drinks clanking and sloshing over the table during recollection of humorously triumphant fails; still only referring to him as _Your Majesty_. For the first time, Alistair truly felt being King wouldn’t be such a harsh chore. He would endure it anyway to keep Tess forever safe, but he realized he could have fun, at least sometimes, he could have _friends_ as King. This journey to conquer his birthright had been nothing but stressful, and part of his dread came from observing Cailan around the palace, never laughing, never enjoying, always annoyed at one thing or making excuses for another, never with a friend. Though he had Tess and Po - _and could honestly be content with just the two of them_ \- and now Teagan, Alistair preferred the sounds of _life_ to absolute silence. Fear was washing away, and these men looked to him for training; people finally acknowledging he could do something without screwing it all up. Alistair began to feel like a leader.

With more control over his days and a way to beat out frustration, Alistair didn’t _need_ to order Tess at night. He skipped one night of commands but instantly regretted it, for when he went to tie her up the next night, he had to calm and coax her all over again as soon as the idea of being bound became real. He realized then even if he mastered over her just for play, it would have to be daily, little reminders during the day - caressing the silk tie around her wrist, small tasks he could issue without raising questions from others; _they had enough drama to deal with already_. He needed to condition her.

Though a few curious glances danced Tess’ way, and eventually Alistair’s, no one said a word. Small commands in broad daylight, _always wearing green silk around her left wrist_ , the more specific the better she performed _; glass of rum, three chunks of ice_ and _wait for me on the seventh step, sit on your right hand, keep the left on flat on your lap, feet three steps below; Walk down the stairs then back up, cross the forebuilding twice then stand and wait on the left side of the third step; Circle the wall walk twice singing loud enough so I can hear you; Sit at the center of the top step with a bowl of snowberries and eat only one every time I take a hit -_ this one he played with a few times, once letting no weapon by, another time taking only a few, and others allowing himself to miss every time. He used these instructions to play with her while he practiced with the knights, unable to give her his full attention. It swelled his heart to see her obey, _still_ his _wife, still his world, still going his way._ She remained his validation, and when he consistently worked on her, it was easier to tie her up when he wanted to. It felt like she was trying to show she could be what he needed and that he could have what he wanted even if he _didn’t need_ it.

The last day there, Tess purposely did the exact opposite of what Alistair told her, and he learned why when they retired that night. _She wanted him_ , wanted his dominion, wanted him to undo her until she weakened like a rag doll thrown into a pond, she even asked him to keep her tied up while he made love to her. Their last night in Rainesfere filled the room with sounds of desire, desperation, obedience, _love_ , and spilled from the open shutters to receive noises of approval from the two most perverted members of their party.

Alistair was proud; not because he proved to others he could please his woman, but because of her control. She knew what she wanted and she sought his approval, asking louder with her actions than words could have phrased. He was proud of her for overcoming the anxiety of bondage to submit herself _entirely_ to get her needs fulfilled instead of reserving what could easily turn into resentment later on. After a hot bath, a glass of wine and a story together, Tess fell asleep comfortably against him. Alistair was _too happy_ to sleep, for possibly the first time in his entire life. He stroked her hair as she slept curled into him, soaking in the sounds of her tiny snores mingling with the crackling fire, of hot breath at his shoulder and delicate fingers slumbering in his beard. Much of him was heartbroken to know this fairy tale life had to end.

Alistair still couldn’t sleep when the moons rose past the windows. After carefully slipping from underneath Tess, he dressed and wandered down to the study with the view he adored. Though the town was silent he gazed, and when the town lights went out, he sought the stars. Finishing a bottle of his favorite whiskey, Alistair stood watching snow clouds float by overhead. Another last luxury for however many months; after these past few days, especially this night, Orzammar seemed like a dreaded chore. He wasn’t sure how he could keep conditioning Tess when the Deep Roads were so unpredictable. Stargazing between puffy clouds that filled the air with the smell of fresh snow, Alistair tried to concoct things he could do with Tess on the road and underground.

“I am honestly surprised to see you awake, nephew.” Alistair turned to see Teagan standing at the desk, reaching for a fresh glass and a bottle of whiskey. “Let me guess, Grey Warden stamina?” he teased. Alistair couldn’t help a small laugh.

“I suppose your house will be glad for our departure,” he gave a sheepish smile.

“You and Tesslyn, we will miss, despite all the noise you two make.” The amber drink burned in Alistair’s throat as a laughing cough winded him. Teagan merely mused over this with a triumphant smile.

“Ah --”

“No need to apologize, Alistair. It may always be uncomfortable to hear that from you; in a way, you’re both like children I never had-”

_As if it wasn’t hard enough to leave already._

“But I have never seen Tesslyn so...taken with a person. She has always been fond of that dog; the thing would find its way here when she came back from Orlais without stopping home first. It’s good to see her finally trust a human. _But_ ,” Teagan sighed, pouring himself a full glass of whiskey, “you two are not my source of stress tonight.”

“More fun in court?” he joked.

“Worse.” Teagan shook his head after a drink. “The mage propositioned me.”

“What?” Alistair huffed a laugh, unsure he heard right.

Teagan shook his head again and winced through another sip. “I was in the middle of writing - to _you_ actually, something to send you off with - and in comes...the _mage_. _Dastardly woman._ ” he shivered; Morrigan, had to be. Alistair laughed a little. “Asked if she could help herself to wine. I _agreed,_ out of the goodness of my heart knowing the lot of you will have little opportunity to drink for the next few months...and she propositioned me. Three glasses in, and she laid back on my sofa, hiked a leg over the back and propositioned me.” Teagan quickly downed the rest of his full glass. “You’ll forgive me if my letters are incoherent and a tad _drunk._ ”

The thought of Morrigan drunk and openly begging Teagan for sex was so horrid it was hilarious. Alistair could not stop laughing. It was like an uncontrollable wave that shook him from deep in his gut and spread out with crashing force to the end of his limbs. He could barely stand for laughing so hard, drink sloshing but unable to stop and breathe to remedy the problem. “You were -- you and -- Maker!” somehow his drink ended up on the desk, and he just about slid down the wall for lack of something to hold himself up on.

“Laugh away, nephew, I doubt it will be so funny when she does it to _you_.” Teagan smirked though, soft laughter rumbling through him as well as he watched Alistair.

“I can’t - Maker! She really -- _Morrigan!”_ his knees gave out under such violent titters.

“What? _No!_ Heavens! I daresay I might actually _take that_ one. _No!_ The _old_ one! That _old_ , _wrinkly_ mage propositioned me!” Teagan said in disgust.

_“What?_ No! _Ohhh_ Teagan, _no!”_ Alistair instantly groaned, his laughter now puffs from revolt. “ _Wynne?_ No no _no! Eeew!_ Maker help me, no! Did she really?” an image of Wynne lying there as Teagan had described her was... _no_ , _ew!_ She spoke to Alistair like an old _nanny_ , she’d taken on a role of mother/grandmother to the entire party. She was _old,_ she was _wrinkly!_ “She couldn’t _\--_ she _wouldn’t--”_

“She did.” Teagan grimaced.

Alistair was grateful for the amusement despite the less favorable picture of lecherous Wynne floating through his mind. It dissolved the tension he’d been harboring since Teagan had told him to get his act together. He’d intended to apologize for his inappropriate behavior in the past few weeks before he left, but the thoughts and discontent strayed until he and Teagan stopped giggling. When Alistair finally expressed his regret, Teagan said he never expected an apology. Alistair was humbled as Teagan explained there was no grudge; he understood Alistair had never been brought up as a prince should, he understood it was new and stressful and he would continue to help in whatever way to ensure Alistair’s success upon the throne. This included staying up late for lessons, cleverly paraphrasing studies so Alistair would fully understand them; being there as Uncle as he had not been in the past because he knew for Alistair family support was worth more than any riches kingship might offer; being a friend because he didn’t want to see Alistair pulled under the weight of the crown like Maric and Cailan. He wished for Alistair to fly free and true over Ferelden and never fail. And whereas he had utilized Tess’ healing time to teach Alistair and push experience, Teagan was genuinely concerned for the full recovery of his cousin. Plain and simple, Teagan wanted them to succeed at _everything_. Alistair had never had a friend like that before.

They had been in Rainesfere exactly a month by the time they set out. Teagan insisted they take horses to shorten their trek through the snow, and when Oghren tried to point out the Deep Roads was not a place for horses - they already had enough livestock to worry about as it were, the Bann said worst scenario they could at least butcher and cook the horses. Both wagons were fully stocked, barrels of drinking water, small kegs of liquor, barrels of dried food and roots, more chickens, plenty of firewood. Teagan saw them off only under the promise they would return, and just as he had warned Alistair that first day in town, females of all ages threw winter flowers and blessing of the Maker before the feet of their horses while the men bowed with crossed arms.

The King of Ferelden was leaving Rainesfere.

Teagan predicted Orzammar was about four days and nights away in snow with horses, five if they were caught in a storm; _three days had it been summer_. This was better than the six it had taken them on foot just to come in sight of the Bann’s town. _Let the horses clear the way for the wagons,_ Teagan had told him. So far the snowy trek was going according to preparation. Oghren was the only protester; he said being under all that _open sky_ was _sodding unpredictable enough_ and his legs were too short to mount. He rode on the livestock wagon to the disgust of Wynne, scooting closer every few moments as the old mage drove. Tess, originally planned to double up on Alistair’s horse, took Oghren’s; like Teagan, she was concerned about the time underground ahead of them, overworked horses would do the party no good if it came down to needing their meat to survive.

There was little Alistair could do on horseback to command Tess, but he was able to hold the reins for her, her steed to the left of his as if they were walking. Her job was to watch for enemies, Alistair told her, and he’d steer her horse. Until rivals were spied, he had her read aloud to him. This kept the others calm as well, if not distracted from the cold. During an Orlesian children's fairytale on the Golden City, both Sten and Oghren asked _What happens next?_ Leliana hushed them, _You must listen in silence, otherwise you will never hear the rest of the tale._ Morrigan recounted a version she was told by Flemeth, and Leliana immediately discredited _Flemeth’s_ story as if she had not quieted the burly men for disrupting, to which _Zevran_ interrupted with _his_ proper version from Antiva and Wynne piping in with _her_ proper versions from the Circle and the Chantry. Alistair just grinned at Tess and told her to read on, though the rest of her reading was broken with giggles from the bickering over who told the nursery rhymes correctly.

Steady wind and heavier snow at night required them to position the wagons to box the party into the rising mountainside each sunset. They cleared out snow, tied the extra tarps from tree to wagon over every breathing member of their party, every tent cover left open, nailed into the hard ground and tied up the covering tarps to keep out as much wind as possible. This was the closest they all slept together, the need to preserve heat unfortunately depriving husband and wife of normal privacy. Oghren always ended up snuggling up to the goats with their winter coats, and Po joined him as soon as the drunk passed out. The setup of camp was the trickiest part, but they otherwise traveled smoothly. Leliana praised the Maker and observed their lack of struggle meant He _must_ be on their side; Alistair deeply wished she was right.

They elected to camp a fourth night in the snow on account of rare luck: a stray bear late in getting her last fill before hibernating. For the first time in...Maker, _ever_ it felt like, they all worked as a team. They cleaned, skinned, divided and harvested the fur, edible meat and fat; Morrigan even cut bones for Po to chew. What they couldn’t eat for supper was kept on low spits all night long, and while Shale was in charge of browning the meat, every time one of the party awoke during the night the spits were turned yet again. Alistair couldn’t remember any of them working so well together, not even in combat. When Alistair asked why they were all so eager to help, even Oghren and Morrigan expressed _logic_ ; none of them wanted to get stuck in the deep roads, and though Teagan had set them up comfortably, gathering extra food and furs and oil was only wise. Even Shale so wished to remain active and _free,_ the golem expressed, that the only _logical_ thing to do was keep its fragile, needy humans alive. Alistair was relieved to see his party finally taking the burden they’d agreed to help with seriously. It was another glimmer of hope; they might just survive the Deep Roads now.

What felt like _at long last_ , their sloped trek came to a stop. They were all grateful when the huge doors of the dwarven city stood ahead, shiny and sparkling from the muffled sun and its blinding rays that peeked through clouds and bounced off snow. Despite the fact Alistair had left Orzammar rigid and uncooperative, he was relieved to be back. The sight of the grand doors was still a fairytale itself. Though Wardens were usually the _only_ ones allowed to enter, it was a place few humans had voyaged before, let alone _kings._

Alistair and Tess were announced as soon as guards at the door noticed them. Shouts of _The Grey Wardens are back! The Wardens returned! Someone get Harrowmont’s ass down here!_ preceded the couple as they entered the Hall of Heroes. Still as ominous as when they’d first stepped foot, they even re-read all the names of the paragons again. Guards pushed open the other set of heavy doors, and Orzammar bloomed before them. Still as magnanimous, still a paradise to the eyes, another place that seemed not to fit anywhere in Ferelden _though it hardly was part of it already._ Still a fantasy, just like Teagan’s manor, only seeing this great, mysterious buzzing city struck a different chord within Alistair this time. It was another reminder that the quest he and Tess were on was _bigger_ than them, was bigger than Ferelden, and they were the only ones who could stop it at its source. If he and Tess couldn’t end this Blight before it got out of hand and bled out of Ferelden...well, Alistair didn’t want to think about that. He knew what he had to do down here.

“Lord Harrowmont,” Tess spoke in a tone more formal than she usually used. Alistair looked over to see Pyral Harrowmont approaching with his small army of dwarven guards.

“Atrast vala, Grey Wardens,” Harrowmont greeted them. “Your visit is a welcome one.”

“Thank you. It’s good to walk through these halls again.” said the _noble Lady_.

“Lord Harrowmont,” Alistair acknowledged.

“I admit I did not expect your return at all,” Harrowmont said.

Alistair took a large breath. “I apologize for my behavior on our departure, Lord Harrowmont. I was desperate to get my wife proper human healing. Surely you understand?” he glanced at Tess, who wore her _court_ face again.

“Indeed. _My_ wife means more to me than my own breath,” Harrowmont told him.

“As should be the thoughts of _every_ husband,” Tess smirked; Alistair nearly laughed at this display of noble practice he hadn’t seen before. Harrowmont recognized the noble banter with a chuckle.

“Indeed, Lady Warden. When you have time, Tercy would love another sitting. She was broken to hear of your injury. I expect she’ll jump through rock upon hearing you’ve recovered.”

Tess briefly hesitated; Alistair guessed her thoughts went straight to Lady Tercy asking about human sex habits just as his mind had. “Thank you, Lord Harrowmont. I look forward to it. I recall she serves fine drink and conversation.”

“She’ll be glad to hear that as well,” Harrowmont smiled politely.

“Lord Harrowmont, if I may, we need to get down to business. We’ve been away far too long,” Alistair didn’t sound like himself with all this proper noble interaction. “I’ve had time to think over my actions upon leaving and I realize none of us can afford mistrust during these times. Our party is ready to get back into the Deep Roads if your Paragon still needs rescuing?”

“Indeed she does. The scouts I’ve sent in have seen no trace of anything besides darkspawn and the wreckage early on. I truly am surprised you’re here, but I won’t turn down capable aid. I’ve been waiting on my men to gather enough ore to forge a surplus of weapons and armor to send my own guard; I can supply you with the ready arms, since my men won’t be using them now. My sources tell me the camp where your Lady Warden was injured is still vacant but they don’t dare go beyond without proper supplies.”

“Well...” Alistair looked to Tess again. _Five months_ kept ringing in his head. But their own supplies were strong, Tess was fit for fighting, Po could better help sniff out darkspawn now, and if this Paragon was alive and could truly change the tides of war, then Alistair needed her and the support of Orzammar that would follow. “We could use some help carrying our wagons inside. I have a feeling we’ll need every ounce of reserved muscle once we’re in deep enough.”

“I agree wholeheartedly.” With a snap of his fingers, Lord Harrowmont summoned a guard who loudly summoned more guards. Within moments, both wagons and the horses were set in wait at the entrance to the Deep Roads. Good on his word to supply any aid, Harrowmont added another few barrels of nug jerky, cheese wheels, roots and edible mushrooms, ale and water, in addition to extra arms and what surplus armor had been crafted in the Wardens’ absence. With a final barrel of health and lyrium potions, the Grey Wardens and their Warden hound headed the horse- and cattle-pulled wagons and their strange herd back into the lair of the Darkspawn.

Alistair was surprised to feel a flood of contentment gush through him as the silence of the ancient rundown highway overpowered the fading city sounds behind. Tess looked more at ease as well. For the first time, Alistair _felt_ like a Grey Warden, understood _why_ so many wandered down here for their Calling. It was almost like he was coming home, relief upon seeing the place you usually slept when you’d been away or had a hard day. They didn’t necessarily go underground _because_ they were Grey Wardens, but because the Taint made it feel like a place of belonging. They went underground to die because it was a familiar place, just like when cats sulk off to die where they are most comfortable. The relief scared him; he wasn’t ready to be comfortable where the Darkspawn roamed yet.

“Hehhh. _So!”_ a loud slurp followed by a belch took place beside Alistair as Oghren stepped up. “You and the Boss, eh?”

“Boss?” Alistair echoed.

“Yeah, the woman. Er...she is the boss, right?”

“Oghren, you’re drunk. _I’m_ in charge, I’m always in charge.”

The dwarf gave another teasing laugh. “That’s not what I saw at that nug-humper Teagan’s place. Hey, he had a nice stock of hard liquor! We should have raided him before we left. D’you think he would’ve noticed say, six or ten kegs missing?”

“Oghren, is there a point this or are you just rambling because you’re drunk and there’s nothing else to do while we walk?”

“Point? Oh! Right, yeah, a _point_. So me an’ the elf couldn’t help overhearing some of your late night _adventures aboard high seas,_ ” Oghren said.

An echoing laugh escaped Alistair. “What?” he huffed.

“Haven’t heard that one, eh? You know, you and the Boss - how long have you been _donning the velvet hat? Whittling the love branch?_ No? Damn. I thought those were pretty obvious even for you.”

Tess groaned beside Alistair, who was caught between amusement and oblivion. He had an inkling of what the dwarf meant but he’d never heard it put quite that way. “Are we really talking about this? In the Deep Roads with possible Darkspawn around the corner?”  

“You know, _taming the Griffon_ \-- Grey Wardens get that one, right? At least?”

“ _Oh!_ I know this game! Yes!” Zevran walked right behind them to join the conversation. “In Antiva, we have a few friendly euphemisms as well, but they are all so known it’s really not a secret when we use them.”

“Eh? Official assassin terms, huh?” Oghren sounded too interested.

“ _Polishing the dagger_. That is common among the young Crows, until they grow into their, er, loincloths and become men. _Creaming the honey_ ,” Zevran piped up.

“Honey? That blasted stuff those annoying bees make?” Oghren barked.

“Yes. A tricky harvest, so I hear.”

“One of those buzzing thornballs managed to sneak through the gates and stung me once. Arm swelled up like half an ass.”

“Ooh.” Zevran winced. “I imagine that was one ass you prefered not to fondle. I assure you, the honey they make is much sweeter.”

“And you can cream the stuff?”

“Oh yes, my friend. In more than one way.” Alistair could _hear_ the grin on Zevran’s face.

Oghren gave his drunken slurred laugh. “How ‘bout this one? _Burrowing the winter nug!”_ he declared proudly.

Tess winced with a bite of her lip; Alistair was too amused to tell them to stop. “That almost makes it sound _adorable_ , Oghren,” he grinned.

“ _Priming the mage’s staff?_ ” Zevran offered. “That one’s more or less for _self-_ affections, though.”

“Let me guess, you broke into the Circle in Antiva and seduced a young mage from whom you acquired a whole slew of inexperienced pick-lines?” Wynne called up.

“Do not worry, dear mage, I was merely sixteen myself. Still don’t like that one? Hm...how about... _Oiling the cheese wheel_ , then?” Zevran offered.

“Oh!” Alistair perked right up. “I actually like that one!”

“Husband,” Tess growled low. Alistair laughed at the accusing glare on her face, but before he could say anything, Oghren spoke up again.

“ _Entangling the lower beards_?” that slurred laugh again.

Alistair laughed and squeezed Tess’ hand. “ _You_ should appreciate _that_ one!” he teased his wife. He laughed again, she was blushing so hard she practically _glowed_ even in the dim light.

“Of course she likes it! Everybody loves beards! Don’t they? Never mind that!” Oghren chugged another sloshing drink.

“You’ve a _creek_ down your _chin braids,_ dwarf,” Tess said from the other side of Alistair; he smirked at his wife.

“Hehhh, the better to wet you with, my bosomed Warden.” Alistair was too amused to be offended by such a drunken proposition. Oghren met Alistair’s eyes and grin as leather-clad stubby fingers wiped the alcohol from his crimson whiskers. “ _Negotiating the forested chasm?”_ he said slyly.

“Ooh! I like that one!” Zevran said.

"Are you just making these all up off the top of your head?" Alistair laughed.

"Nope! Been saving 'em!" one more giddy chuckle. "Got anymore, elf?”

“Here is one. It is quite known in the whorehouses in Antiva, for when the Crows for looking for some fun instead of recruits. _Feeding the birds,_ ” he said.

Shale groaned loudly. “I’m going to kill something soon. Will it let me? I’m almost hardly picky anymore. Just let me squish something. Or anything. That will do also.”

“Hold your pebbles, you overgrown stepping stone!” Oghren yapped between hiccups. “That one was-” _hiccup_ “-pretty good. And your people, these _Crows,_ they just walk in and say...what, _it’s feeding time?”_ Oghren asked. Shale groaned again.

“Pretty much. It’s a simple enough phrase. Most whorehouses even have women lined up and ready for times like that. Dwarves don’t have things like whorehouses?” Zevran asked.

“Er, not public ones. Dustown’s squatters are always looking for any kind o’ coin though, they’ll all proposition you if you stand still for too long.”

“As long they have means to bathe, I do not think I would mind. Do you have anymore dwarven sayings then?”

“Er...I gotta think-” a loud hiccup interrupted.

“Planting squash,” Tess’ voice surprised them all. Alistair, Oghren and Zevran whipped their gazes to her, and Alistair joined in laughter with the two as Tess slapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes grew wide as if she couldn’t believe she’d just said that. “My brother uses that one...”

Po crouching to growl cut all laughter short. Zevran and Tess instantly drew their daggers, Oghren surprisingly capped his flagon readying his axe in a blink. “It’s not Darkspawn,” Alistair told the others, pulling his sword as he advanced to the end of the tunnel where Po stood, snarling and baring teeth. _Back off_ was the warning; no translation needed to understand.

A single hooded figure, dwarven by height and width, stepped into the light just outside the end of the tunnel. “Please, stay your weapons. I mean no harm,” a male voice spake. Alistair readied his sword and shield as two other dwarves joined the man, fully armed; bodyguards. This was no mercenary, and definitely not leftover Carta.  

“Unlikely.” Sten was ready as well, joining Alistair with his greatsword drawn.

“We haven’t drawn our arms. We’d be stupid to go against the likes of all you.” the hooded dwarf pushed back his cover. Alistair vaguely recognized the face but he couldn’t place from where.

_“You!”_ Oghren growled.

“Calm down, Oghren, we’re not here to make war.”

“I thought you were working for Harrowmont?” Oghren barked at Alistair.

“Don’t accuse me of anything, dwarf, I have no idea what’s going on!” Alistair told the drunk.

“We don’t have time for this,” Sten said. “These dwarves are stalling our mission. We need to kill them and move on.”

“Just hear me out, alright?” the dwarf ahead held up his hands to prove he held no weapon. “We haven’t officially met. My name is Bhelen Aeducan, I’m Prince of Orzammar. I believe we can help each other, Grey Wardens.”

 


	45. Like Mother Like Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Deep Roads are not meant for man. Long-term stay is strictly discouraged, even for a Grey Warden; the effects can be sudden, extreme and if not removed in time, permanent._  
>   
>  Alistair and the party endure the harsh environment of the Deep Roads. Despite the extra battle support from Prince Bhelen and his guards, Alistair suffers the negative affects of being underground in conditions that were not meant for humans. Straining to see in poor light and excessive heat causes Alistair to lose track of Tess, and his mind wanders to their life in the Fade to escape the pressure of trying to survive what he was not trained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING** possible PTSD trigger -- claustrophobia, being trapped, lack of light and fresh air, mirages/delusions, hallucinating, insomnia, angst. 
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [ The Realm of Orzammar, Dragon Age Origins Original Soundtrack](https://youtu.be/0eo1E_aQ7ZY)  
> [ The Deep Roads, Dragon Age Origins Original Soundtrack ](https://youtu.be/TOXu29Js8Zs)  
> [ Aratta, Two Steps From Hell ](https://youtu.be/EO_ZvZWLV3M)

_The Deep Roads are not meant for man. Despite a reliable steady airflow and running water, it is not enough for those bred to live and breathe on the surface. Any dwarf can survive with ease, their eyes, skin, lungs adjusting little to none from their usual living conditions. Humans, however, and other topsiders were not meant to live as dwarves. They require ample amounts of constant moving air, fresh supplies of water and sunshine and food grown under these conditions, they rely on visual perception in generous daylight and thus grow weary when light fades. While elves are the least-affected race, it is inadvisable for surface-dwellers to plan for longer than a week, lest they risk claustrophobia, insomnia, nausea, delusions and hallucinations, disorientation, severe dehydration and other deficiencies. Holidays pose no threat to health and are highly encouraged, for the surfacer who visits gains in rich cultural or historical experience. Long-term stay is strictly discouraged, even for a Grey Warden; the effects can be sudden, extreme and if not removed in time, permanent._

* * *

 

Tess squeezed through Alistair and Sten to stare down Bhelen Aeducan. She pushed the dwarf’s arms sharply out of the way and pulled out every dagger she could find with a warning to Bhelen’s bodyguards if they tried to stop her.

“You know, I have no problem surrendering my blades. There haven’t been any Darkspawn in this area since you first came through here,” Bhelen told her.

“You tried to have us run around the city slandering people to gain favor, and now we find you’ve waited in the shadows for us. You’ll forgive our suspicion,” Alistair replied tartly, letting his wife jerk each dwarf so hard at the waist some sheathes split.

“We are indeed in the shadows, but not for you. We didn’t know it was you until we heard your dog. My brother Duran took a platoon with him in attempt to find Paragon Branka. A single dwarf returned after only a week and died shortly from the Taint. I came down here myself to find him.” the Prince of Orzammar was far too calm for such troublesome news.

Oghren snorted like a horse from the other side of Alistair. “Neither o’ you are particularly favored through Orzammar right now,” he said to Bhelen. “Ehh, somethin’ doesn’t sit right, Warden.”

“I agree.” Alistair watched Tess toss the last axe aside.

“There,” Bhelen said with a cock of his head and brow as Tess backed away. “Now we’re unarmed. Are we free to talk noble-to-noble now?”

“ _I’m_ noble. _Talk,”_ Tess said. “Duran was accused of murdering Trian-”

“He was?” Alistair asked. “Wait, who is Trian?”

“Trian, Duran and Bhelen Aeducan, the three Princes of Orzammar.” Tess looked back quizzed. “Didn’t you hear Lady Tercy?”

“I heard her ask us how we have _sex_ and tell us to go to Hot Lava,” Alistair told his wife, half of him wanting the tension to lift, half of him trying to show this Aeducan Prince he didn’t care about formalities or dwarven station.

“That’s a good shop,” Bhelen agreed nodding. Tess must have looked quite harsh, for when she whipped her head back to the prince, he held up his hands; and immediately lowered them when Sten raised his gigantic sword. “Yes, he was accused of murdering Trian, _but,_ ” he insisted, “I overheard Trian plotting to kill _him_ because he was worried the Assembly would favor Duran. And who wouldn’t? Duran is a reasonable being, he’s got a good head, he sees how to secure a future for dwarves and still preserve our past, he’s a fair judge.”

“But _you’re_ trying to take the throne, not Duran,” Alistair pointed out.

“Because Duran never wanted it. He hates politics.”

“So why are you down here looking for him?”

“Duran was exiled for the suspicion of Trian’s death, sentenced to wander the Deep Roads until death even though Trian hired a squad to ambush us when we were sent to find our family shield. I have guards seeded throughout Harrowmont’s own home; his damn butler belongs to me. His _crier_ even; he yells in code, have you noticed? Both criers holler strange, it’s because they’re using a _code._ Through them, I got word as soon as Harrowmont began preparing to seek out Branka.”

“That’s a lovely, clever story, but that doesn’t tell me anything,” Alistair said, stepping up to stand next to Tess.

Bhelen hesitated. “Has anyone mentioned how _big_ you are?”

Oghren grumbled, and Alistair glanced back. “He’s right. You _are_ kinda _tall_. The giant, too.” he gave a nod toward Sten.

“You can thank me when I reach something up high,” Alistair turned back to Bhelen. “Now how did you know we’d be right here?”

“I’m getting to that,”

“Not to interrupt, but since we’re stopped, now is a good time to eat, yes?” Zevran asked.

Tess sighed for Alistair. _“Yes,_ Zevran!” she called back, her gaze up, trying to hide embarrassment of their tough cover blown.

“Awesome! Many thanks, dear Warden!” Zevran leapt away.

Alistair shared a quick awkward glance with Bhelen before a silent sigh and a nod. “Continue.”

“Appreciated,” Bhelen said. “As I was saying, Duran was exiled, our father died, and the search for our living Paragon was suddenly up for debate. As the final living Aeducan heir, I’ve got the best claim-” _this was starting to sound like Alistair’s ordeal_ “-but if Duran found this Paragon for me, I’d be sure to get the Assembly’s vote, and Duran’s name would be restored. He wouldn’t be eligible for the crown anymore but he could come home a hero as the single dwarf who survived the Deep Roads and rescued our only Paragon. I sent a team in after him only hours after his exile, outcast warriors and a few surface dwarves looking to make coin. When one crawled back infected and dying last week, I made plans to find my brother. My medic is stationed in my quarters in the palace and guards posted to keep everyone out under the pretense I’ve been poisoned and visitors can’t be trusted. Five of us crawled through the escape tunnels in the loft of my room.”

“Five?” Tess asked.

“We tried to push beyond where you painted the rock with your blood,” Bhelen explained. “We barely made it past that camp. They had an ogre sitting in wait.”

“It’s a shame I wasn’t there for that. Ogres and I go way back,” Tess joked dryly.

“That’s not funny.” Alistair stared at his wife. “I had _nightmares_ after Ostagar, did I tell you that?”

“I _see_ it now, _husband and wife_.” The married couple attended to Bhelen again. “Alright, here’s the deal. I need to find my brother _and_ the Paragon. It wouldn’t hurt you to have three extra eyes and arms.”

“Wait,” Oghren spoke up. “The Prince Aeducan is asking to help the Grey Wardens fight Darkspawn?”

“And why shouldn’t I? We were outnumbered, but now there are enough arms to push them back. We have no shortcuts or side roads down here. The tunnels that are open are the only ones used since the highway was collapsed. Either we find Duran on the path we take to find Branka, or we find him trying to dig a side tunnel. I’m not asking you to stray from your mission; if we don’t get the Assembly to vote on a King then there are no troops leaving Orzammar, and if no troops leave Orzammar then the Blight destroys the surface and _then_ it will just seep back down here like an infected wound.”

So far Bhelen was making sense. Harrowmont made it seem like the Assembly needed a King to issue aid for the Blight because they couldn’t decide on their own if their lives were important enough to save. Bhelen seemed to understand the threat though. “Okay...” Alistair pondered aloud, “say we find your brother. We still came down here under Harrowmont’s name. What next?”

“It’s obvious you’re packed up for a full expedition. When we find Duran, we’ll stick with you until we find Branka...”

“And...?” Alistair pressed.

“And maybe in the months we’re down here together, you’ll hear out my plans for Orzammar when I’m King and you’ll consider endorsing me.”

“You don’t think Harrowmont’s just going to let sodding betrayal go, do you?” Oghren challenged.  

“You’ve done so much for him already, he has no reason to suspect you’d change your minds. You’ve won Provings in his name, cleared out the Carta in his name, you came back like you said you would, and from the look of those barrels hosting his House signet, he believes you’ll find Branka in his name. Just play it out. I have no idea what Harrowmont will do if I’m crowned. But you’ll have your troops and be on your way before anybody can make an attempt on your lives.”

“And if we decide we don’t want to endorse you?” Alistair asked.

“By that time, we’ll have gone through months down here together. I’d like to imagine we’d end up allies regardless of my station.” Bhelen held Alistair’s gaze.

“You wanted us to go around shaming your candidate,” Tess reminded the dwarven prince.

“Not outright, no. Just a little fib to sway some important votes. I’d rather not soil Harrowmont’s name; he’s a good man - a great man, I have no doubt of that. He served my father well and he can strategize down the crumbs and pebbles of perfection. But he wants our gates closed. He doesn’t see the need to allow open trade so we can expand our knowledge and find ways to reclaim the Deep Roads and our forgotten thaigs without getting hundreds of vital talented dwarves killed. He’s just too stubborn to admit Orzammar can't keep on living as it has. If there’s one lesson I’ve learned growing up in the palace, it’s _sometimes you have make hard choices to achieve the right results.”_

This rang familiar through Alistair’s veins. He had heard this before, recently it seemed... _Teagan._ What had he said? Something about _making unkind decisions for the greater good._ Even Harrowmont had tricked them, knowing the only way to get that cousin of his back into the Provings was to cover up a love affair. Did this mean Bhelen would be the better ally? From the corner of his eye, he saw Tess watch him in curiosity.

“We could use the extra arms, I suppose,” Alistair told them. “But Prince or not, you’ll be expected to fight. If you don’t help us cut down darkspawn, you’ll be on your own.”

“I don’t intend to stand back like an old maid.” Bhelen gestured to his trio’s strewn weapons. “Shall we arm ourselves and get a move-on? Time is rusting.”

“Try to keep up.” Alistair sheathed his sword, and when Tess returned her daggers to her belt Alistair moved to the other side of her to hold her _left_ hand. She watched him as he led her around the dwarves.

“Husband?” she asked.

“There is a lot on my mind right now.”

This was a sudden understatement. Court and all its practices at Teagan’s home had worn Alistair’s nerves down to the very roots. They made no sense to Alistair while he was in the thick of it all, yet down here with these _foreign relations_ they all worked, they not only made sense but they were helping him complete his mission as a Grey Warden - and future King. He had a feeling he was beginning his reign in Ferelden by ensuring he’d always have Orzammar to fall back on. It wasn’t the _obvious_ nice guy his instincts wanted to trust but the man - _dwarf_ \- who had seemed the crooked politician at first...who also waited in the shadows for them. His gut was saying _go with the dwarf who gets things done_ but his mind argued _go with the dwarf who doesn’t sneak up on you in the dark._

There were no new darkspawn as they retraced their original route from the first venture. Bhelen quietly entertained a curious Wynne, but otherwise noise was minimal. Tess asked _husband_ what she could do as Alistair kept a firm grip on her _obedience_ hand. He had no idea what could help right now. Disappearing from politics? Politics that hurt people like himself and how he’d grown up, but that were also allowing him to achieve the life _he_ wanted now? Or thought he wanted. Politics that hurt others so he could protect the woman he loved.

Tess spoke again as Sten walked ahead of them to lead with Zevran, the only of them who could see in the dark. Alistair turned his head and gave a second-take, then froze. _Carlyn_. The slight wave of Sten’s torch as he swayed with each step danced light and shadows in coppery hues all over Tess’ face. She was Carlyn minus the freckles. _Shit. Again?_

 _“Alistair?”_ she whispered. Her voice took him by surprise for a blink of a moment; Carlyn’s face but her mother's voice. Only when he fully remembered _Tess, not Carlyn_ did he notice how worried she looked, and that he’d frozen in place.

“Grey Warden!” Sten barked, causing Alistair to startle. “Is it _darkspawn_?”

“N-no, no darkspawn...” Alistair’s gaze shifted from Sten and Zevran back to Tess. _Still Carlyn._ He wanted to tell himself _at least they weren't making love this time,_ but that didn't make it any easier, didn't take the shock away.

“What is it?” she asked. “I don’t feel anything.” she glanced around. _Not Carlyn. Wife._

Alistair sighed deep inside his chest. “Nothing. This poor light is doing nothing for my eyes,” he muttered. He straightened his shoulders, moved over to hold Tess’ right hand, and felt her eyes on him as he led her on. “Zevran, can you see any old darkspawn camps? Old campfires?”

“Yes, two in fact...but there are also dead bodies. Er, we are not stopping to sleep, are we?” the elf asked.

“No. Get another torch and light anything that can be lit. The horses need light to walk. Actually, Sten, _you_ go light the fires, and bring back any torches and wood that we can burn. Zevran, lead on.”

He tried not to look at his wife again until they stopped to make camp. Even though they felt no darkspawn to expect, Alistair acted like he was too busy keeping watch. She tried to speak to him a few times, but he didn’t dare turn his head her way. Even at Teagan’s manor in full light, the sight of his daughters in Tess or himself froze him. It wasn’t that he desired never to see them again, but the desire not to be so distracted by what seemed like his memory, _his dream_ come to life in case they were attacked. Worse than never seeing his daughters again, he couldn’t lose Tess.

Somehow the dwarves deduced how many hours they’d been down there. The party stopped to make camp a few _hours_ after Bhelen and his guards said they _wouldn’t mind making camp_ if everyone else was up for it. Considering they had at least five months down there, Alistair agreed to rest when Wynne and Morrigan and Zevran, their only healers and medic, began tiring - sleep full shifts while the darkspawn weren’t around and save the sleep and stamina potions for when they had little or no time to rest. They set up camp condensed again, though this time with more leeway than the last time they’d slept underground, or in the snow even. Using a broken wagon as a third _wall_ , they closed themselves in an old darkspawn camp they’d drawn the monstrosities out of last visit. Almost like rows - the broken wagons, the horses and cow, the goats and chickens, then the fire surrounded by narrowly propped tents; Shale stood watch outside of the tiny camp. Their guests were grateful for the _exotic food_ from Teagan’s home. Alistair could barely eat.

 _Carlyn again._ In the firelight, despite the slight breeze trickling in from wherever, tiny beads of sweat sparkled about Tess’ face like little golden freckles. They were all sweating a little, save for Bhelen and his guards, but Tess was the only one the dazzling glow changed. Alistair couldn’t stop staring at her. Eyes large she listened to Bhelen and Leliana, every spark and crackle from the fire highlighted her in more glittering spots. Even her eyes looked more like Carlyn’s, clear hazel sap hardening atop moss. Her hair had grown out considerably, and dampened with sweat it fell around her temples in tiny curls. She even had two cowlicks just like Carlyn.

As if she felt him stare, she glanced over in a double-take and searched his eyes. It was like a spell; the shaded half of her face was Tess, and the illuminated half all Carlyn. Alistair reached up to touch her. Carlyn’s half claimed the cheek he drew her rune on. _Tess_ was worried however. She gazed like she knew something wasn’t settling in him. He smiled for her anyway, trying to push _the child_ out his mind to remember _the wife._ He pulled her in and kissed her, held her against him while he murmured apologies and _more than love._ Bhelen stole his attention with inquiries on Alistair’s birthright,  kept focus off of children for a while; but as soon as everyone settled in their tents, Carlyn had returned. Alistair lay snug against the grown version of his youngest daughter, freckles he _knew_ were not real darkened anyway as the tent flap allowed a thin stream of dimmed light around them. He could not sleep. He was not aware slumber took him; he only recalled the constant wiping away of liquid spots that seemed determined to pry at his heart.

_Dark. Swarming. So many now, moving in. Moving far. Do you hear that? Who is that? Who calls? Others speak. Ready; must be ready. Walking, pounding, sparks. Metal dropping like a heavy hammer that doesn’t pull up. Like an anvil dropping, and again. And another time. Voices; the others. Fire flies when metal is abused again. Rough, jagged. No care, no beauty. As long as they serve their purpose. That is what he says, as long as we serve our function. But not all serve. There are others, new others. Others here who are not quite here. Spawning where they don’t belong. They filter the warming, they fight the buzz. Fire, reaching far, burning blue. Hotter than the river down below. Blue like the stinging thorns that grow this deep. Rumbling, grumbling. Annoyed the new others have come. Not enough new others, not yet. They will never make it, not a threat. Yet, he says. Watch, he says, just in case. They must give in to follow It home. They will give in, it is the only way. They must come; it is home, they always come._

A shrill rank with terror jolted Alistair from sleep so fast his veins hurt. Tess was the one screaming, waving her arms to try to beat off something heavy that blocked out light as it smothered and attacked. Between Tess’ flailing arms and the heavy flapping of the dark cover, Alistair couldn’t see to escape. He was poked, prodded, various voices trying to shut him up, shut Tess up. Alistair kicked at the bodies that grabbed; Tess’ screams broke in hyperventilation. She tried to say his name, cutting herself off for air before she could finish yelling for _help._ His foot met something hard, forcing a huge body away from them; an angry foreign curse that echoed around Alistair like a drum, and with a sharp yank nearly pulled Tess along, the heavy dark thing flew away and exposed them to light as if dying from lack of it.

Every face in front of him instantly struck familiar as Alistair remembered where he was, but Tess tore away any thought for questions. Taking up his entire attention by throwing herself in his lap and holding on for dear life, she allowed no room for him to even look elsewhere. She tremored as if the very lava not far below and around them was about to erupt. Alistair held her, unable to think with her sob vibrating through to his bones. Arms locked tight, pressing the frightened face into his neck, he recognized the faces around them but was far from concerned with what they were saying.

 _Darkspawn._ He’d seen them, dreamed them, _heard_ them. And it sounded like they knew Tess and Alistair were there.

Eventually Tess’ grip loosened and Alistair was finally able to turn his head. Everyone kept demanding what had happened. He wasn’t sure how to answer. Scared of a dream? It wasn’t hard to predict what the others would say: _Dwelling on dreams is for fools and obviously careless,_ Sten would say; _His ignorance is rubbing off on you far too easy. You must cease such willingness to depend on him. When you rise, I shall remind you how to exit your tent, Tesslyn,_ Morrigan would say; _Sodding nug humpers! I choked on my blasted eggs! It’s not funny, elf! Where in the Stone did you learn to scream like that, Warden? Taking lessons from darkspawn now?,_ would say Oghren; _Ugh *scoff* frightened of tarps now, is it? It had best be careful - there are plenty to spare in the wagons, I may decide to pelt it with them all night. Just for fun,_ Shale would say.

“Did you dream of the Archdemon again?” Leliana guessed. Alistair met her eyes, still cradling his shaking wife as she tried her best to hide her face in the neck of his armor. He nodded, still trying to piece together where he was and why it was so dark and foul-smelling. “She told me of a dream back in Haven,” the bard continued, “she said it was horrible.”

“You dream of darkspawn?” it took Alistair a moment to recognize Bhelen, Prince of Orzammar and his two bodyguards Wonus and Velren. “Right. You don’t look like the Grey Wardens I’ve seen in the city. I keep forgetting you’re them.”

The fright of the Darkspawn nightmare woke everyone before they were ready to rise. The rest of the party settled in again to try to coax themselves back to sleep while Zevran and Leliana fixed the tent up around Alistair and Tess again. Alistair hadn’t found his voice quite yet his mouth moved to try to thank them.

Tess was afraid to go back to sleep but ended up rocking herself into it, shaking her head, whispering _no, no don’t find us, can’t find us, don’t see us_ until she lulled herself with her own movements. Between her and the nightmare, Alistair realized something he didn’t think he’d experience until his thirty years as a Warden were over: _he understood the darkspawn._ Duncan had told him the Taint took over hosts quicker during Blights. This was a frightening thought. Alistair definitely could not sleep now. He dare not set Tess down to lay on her own mat; if the Taint was going to take them both so soon, he couldn’t let her go. First night back in the Deep Roads without a single attack yet and already Alistair was reciting every prayer to spare and bless life.

Tess was laying next to him, greatly darkened, watching with eyes that barely reflected dim light. Alistair didn’t remember falling asleep again. “I feel it,” she whispered when he could finally hold her gaze.

“Feel what?” he croaked out in morning grogginess.

“The Taint. It’s everywhere. In the air. Even in the rock around us,” she said, “I feel it like I feel lyrium in my bones.” Alistair sighed. _That’s right, they were in the Deep Roads._

He groaned and squeezed his eyes tight. “I was really hoping that was a dream. Dammit, I don’t want to be in the Deep Roads for half a year!” he griped.

“We’re not so far in. We could easily leave,” she suggested. He peeked at her. “Leaving would also give us privacy and leg room.”

A small laugh puffed out of him. “That, I definitely agree on.” He mused at the idea of the others who were wide awake listening to them outside the tent. “I think I can be pretty quiet if I need to. Do you think there’s enough room in here to wrap your legs around my waist?” he said a little louder than he regularly spoke.

 _“Oh!”_ Morrigan scoffed loudly. “You fool, don’t you dare! I am _right here! We are all right here!”_ something hit the tent with a muffled thud and slid to the ground. Alistair laughed loudly, pulling Tess into him when she muttered and giggled _Maker help me!_

“Oh? Are you two making love again? Wait a minute, I want a good seat! Are you opening the tent for this one? I can’t exactly see through it,” Zevran played.

Oghren gave his typical giddy laugh. “Eh? What’s this now? Just like those nights at that big fancy topside house? Hehh count me in!”

“Romance?” Wynne asked. “Actually, there is a great lack of explicit reading material to distract me. Maybe a good show might make up for that.”

 _“What?! No!”_ Alistair laughed. “Oh disgusting! Maker, You have...a _twisted_ sense of humor!” Alistair groaned out another laugh.

“Oh, why stop now, Alistair? Proximity nor audience has never concerned you in the past. I seem to recall a night on the riverbank near Redcliffe,” Morrigan called from somewhere.  “And an Arl’s study, and a store, the rest of the Arl’s castle, and old ruins, and _countless_ times in tents upon poor, defenseless grass.”

Alistair peeked at Tess. “I think Morrigan’s assuming all the noises _you_ make come from _me._ Morrigan, are you suggesting all I do is _play with myself?_ ” he was embarrassed to leave the tent now, but he also couldn’t stop giggling.

“Those are not the sounds I expected to hear. Er, do you need help, Alistair?” Zevran asked.

“What now? Four sodding nights without a bed and you forgot where to put it? Move over, I’m comin’ in t’help!”

“Oh, me too!” Zevran exclaimed.

“What?! No! No no no!!!” Tess cried out.

“No! You guys, no! We’re fully dressed! We’ve still got our armor on!” Alistair couldn’t stop laughing.

“I admit, this isn’t close to what I expected would happen down here,” Bhelen said.

While it was a fun rouse to get Alistair and Tess up and on the move, the happiness was quickly sucked dry, for Alistair anyway. As soon as Tess was out in the light of the fires, Alistair froze again. _Carlyn_ as she stretched and yawned, _Carlyn_ as she drank from the waterskin, _Carlyn_ as she accepted a hug and sympathies from Leliana regarding the darkspawn nightmare, _Carlyn_ as she ate an apple and strips of bear meat jerky, _Carlyn_ as she froze when Alistair stopped helping her take down the tent to stare at his youngest child before him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly. He frowned; _Carlyn,_ but not a child’s voice. “Did I do something wrong?” she whispered.

 _Something wrong?_ “No...” _Wrong? Was it wrong that their daughters looked exactly like them? That Tess dreamed them up to look exactly like them?_ “No, I...” he didn’t even know what to say. _What_ is _a man supposed to say when can’t recognize his wife in her own face?_ He forced a small laugh. “This horrible light is working wonders on your face.” _dammit, that came out all wrong._

She fell for it though. With almost a shy smile, “Distorting all my legendary noble features?” she joked back softly.

“Terribly,” he teased. _Maker, help me,_ he would give anything to not be startled by his wife’s face ever again. “the _good_ kind of terrible, that is,” he forced a smile. Her own smile spread until it crinkled her nose and eyes, and Alistair’s heart was torn in hurt and joy; that was _exactly_ the smile both his daughters wore. _Oh my darling girl,_ he brought his hand up to her face, _my sweet Carlyn._

Extreme discomfort froze him as she stood higher, and though he knew she was bringing her mouth to his, he could not move away. _This isn’t right, this is what’s wrong, this shouldn’t be happening._ The lips that pressed into his were not a child’s though, and in confusion of trying to figure out whatever dark magic might be upon him, Alistair snapped out of his illusion, sort of. These were _Tess’_ lips, _Tess’_ kiss, not his daughter’s. Ashamed as his _wife_ withdrew in concern with a look that read she was convinced she had done something wrong, Alistair winced and sighed. “I’m sorry, C- _Tess._ I’m just...not myself right now.” he forced himself to look in her eyes. _Not Carlyn’s eyes. Tess’ eyes only._ “I’m sorry. Maybe it’s the air, or...I don’t know. Maybe I just need a strong drink.” the look of defeat around her eyes stung him. “It’s not your fault, Tess, I promise.” he kissed her the only way he felt comfortable with now - her forehead, high above any chance of an innocent peck turning to a lover’s dance of lips and tongue. He stood there holding her for a moment. Even though he _knew_ she was too tall, too mature to be his three year old daughter, he couldn’t shake the child from his mind. Alistair prayed again, this time for the Maker to clear his mind and _force_ him to see _reality_ instead of the dream.

Alistair couldn’t bring himself to hold Tess’ left hand as they walked; the hand with the green handkerchief tied at the wrist, the hand that clearly asked him for orders and permissions without involving anyone else, the hand that stated _I am Yours._ He couldn’t do it. It was a hand that when offered accordingly led to sex, nothing but raw pleasure. There was too much of _Carlyn_ all over her right now for that. It was too much. He kept his grip on her right hand, the hand of comfort, home, protection, _stability._ _Father,_ not husband, not lover. _Perfect Protector._ Alistair hoped this inner rift was a passing phase.

Alistair could feel the Taint around them as well. He wasn’t sure if he felt the echo of where Darkspawn had once lingered or if it was _living_ in the air and on the rock itself, but he felt it. Alistair, Carlyn - _no, not Carlyn,_ Tess, and Po all felt the Taint. Po growled at something every so often, sometimes constant growling when they navigated through tunnels and cavern rooms with many tunnels leading out. Sometimes Po growled because the poison-spitting deepstalkers were about to surface, sometimes spiders - _Morrigan even shifted into her massive spider form to sense for nests to avoid, with no avail._ Other times Po simply growled, maybe to hear his own echo; it returned even to Alistair sounding more sinister and threatening than Po’s real warnings did. Between his own Taint, barely being able to distinguish Carlyn - _no; Tess_ and Po from the Taint hovering around in the air, Alistair was on edge. He felt hypersensitive to every little noise, even memorized whom every footstep of his party belonged to and the sound of each horse and the cow, how each wheel rolled over softer ground and solid rock. His ears were open to every single noise, listening for the new and unfamiliar.

Alistair nearly lost his head when they found the first new group of Darkspawn. He saw his _daughter - his three year old daughter! -_ charge off in her mother’s armor and _daggers_ right toward the monsters he never wanted his children to see. Alistair could not remember ever running so fast. He put the entirety of his force into each blow, making sure every creature only took one swing to fall, never giving any a chance to slip a foot or weapon past him. When the last hit the floor with an reverberating clank of crude armor on stone, he turned to find the others, even _Carlyn_ standing slack-jawed in amazement.  

 _"Acceptable,_ Warden," Sten approved.

“You just...he just...” Wonus stuttered.

“That’s why he’s a Grey Warden and you aren’t,” Velren teased.

“The Legion each train to take out whole squads by themselves, I don’t see why Grey Wardens wouldn’t,” Bhelen told his guards.

Alistair ignored them, staring at _Carlyn_. Sparkling emeralds were out of place on her face, but at the moment he couldn’t place why. He stared down his daughter while he bought himself time to cool down by sheathing his sword and hooking his shield. But then he took the daggers from her hands. “These are _not toys!_ That was reckless and dangerous! Don’t you _ever_ do that again, do you understand me?” he reprimanded. He began to march off back to the wagons with the daggers firm in hand. He would hide them, somewhere she wouldn’t find them, maybe stuff them under the barrels of liquor.

There was a moment of silence before Zevran said, “I think you just got sent to your room.”

“I-wha-Alistair, what just happened?”

Alistair froze in mid-step. _Wrong voice._

“Am I grounded?” _Tess. Not Carlyn._

Alistair’s eyes darted in thought, trying to process what _did_ just happen, why he’d been so driven to protect _daughter_ , why he only saw _daughter._

“Husband?” _Husband? Definitely not daughter._ “Alistair?” _footsteps, Carlyn - no. Tess. Tess_ was walking toward him. Alistair’s eyes met curious and cautious stares from other members. Sten, Wynne and Morrigan glared in suspicion.

Alistair turned when the footsteps reached him. Splattered dark blood clinging to beads of perspiration painted the face of _wife_ , each blackened bead glowing and reflecting brown from torches and bonfires on both sides. The eyes nearly matched now too, enough flame around them to tint emeralds with burnt hues, turning green into hazel. Eleonora had hazel eyes, but that was still _daughter_. Not wife. Alistair didn’t know how to handle this. The person before him did not look like the woman he married. She was his _daughter_ , grown up before his eyes. Grown up, but still his little girl.

“Alistair, what is wrong?” she whispered, eyes darting to find answers he did not have. _The voice of wife, but not the face._

“I don’t...I don’t know what to say right now, C-” he caught himself and sighed, closing his eyes. “Tess. _Tess._ I’m sorry.” he looked at her again. “I am asking myself the same question, believe me. I _think_ it will be fine with fresh air, but...” he shrugged and gestured around to the never-ending rock. “I _hope_ it’s just a lack of fresh air,” he said quietly. He looked down at the daggers in his hands; _his rose,_ the rose dagger he made for _Tess_ , and the dagger with the lightning rune on it, _Tess’_ rune. He turned his head but didn’t actually look at her face. “Here. I’m sorry. _Tess_ , I’m sorry,” he whispered. When she slipped each back into its home at her hips, he dared himself to find her face again. _Freckles. The freckles are all wrong. Tess can’t have freckles, only Carlyn._ She looked up in time to see the cloth from the underside of his gloves pressing over her face. With both hands he pushed just hard enough to wipe her cheeks clean one side at a time, then her forehead, her nose, her chin that he used to hold when he kissed her.

 _Tess._ For a short moment, _Tess_ was back. His heart crumbled right there before her. He hadn’t seen _Tess_ for so long. _Wife, best friend, more than lover._ But as he stared, tiny drops of sweat started pooling right before his eyes. She saw his concern, he knew she did by the way she frowned and searched him, as panic knotted him inside. _No, no, no no no, not yet!_ Before she could disappear again he held her chin and shoved his mouth to hers. She gave a muffled noise of surprise but curled into him, knuckles pressing into his neck as she clung to the collar of his armor like she was afraid to let go. _Dammit, how long had it been since they last kissed?_ He couldn’t even remember.

He made the mistake of opening his eyes before he could hug his wife. Faint glistening freckles dotted her face once more. _Carlyn_ again. Alistair felt like he was trapped in some demented spell. This was not at all what he was prepared for. Darkspawn, deepstalkers, paid thugs, assassins; _anything_ but having to fight his own mind just to find his wife hiding in his daughter’s face.

Bhelen asked if Alistair needed a moment or wanted them to set up camp a few paces back the way they came, but Alistair refused, they’d already spent too much time down there, they needed to press ahead. He wanted to be done with this place more than anything.

It grew hotter the further underground they went. It was a gradual increase, but Alistair was used to cool Ferelden breezes and frosty mornings and cool water all day even in summer. Even the fresh drinking water in the barrels Teagan sent was reaching the Deep Roads temperatures. All of them, even the dwarves, were aching for a taste of water invaded by chunks of ice, maybe even a block of ice to lay on. It was hard sweating so much, it made the armor trap heat like thick wool, but none of them dared to take their armor off even to sleep. The deeper they went meant the Taint grew stronger still, and with no forewarning of small hordes anymore - and no downwind to carry scent to Po, they had to always be ready. Every other time they stopped to rest they took turns switching armor, and would then douse the sweaty armor and underclothes in a potion of lyrium and alcohol, _for sanitation,_ and lemon, _for smell._ But that didn’t stop the heat, didn’t stop the amount of water they went through trying to stay cool and not shrivel up. More water drunk also meant more sweat.

 _Carlyn._ Every stop for camp left Alistair staring at this grown daughter of his. Sometimes she would stare back with eyes that didn’t belong to her, sometimes she would talk - and then he would confuse all over again. It was eyes _and_ voice that made him question enough to remember _Tess._ Sometimes she asked to read with him, sometimes if he would read to her, sometimes she wanted him to hold her. When they were in the darkness of their tent, where sweat reflected no light, they could talk and he found himself _in love_ again. _Wife_ still existed, at these times anyway. After a few times falling asleep talking to her in the dark, Alistair anticipated rest times. He had no idea how long the days lasted, how long they camped for each time, and though he stared at _Carlyn_ while they ate with the others, as soon as they were full of food, armor changed and necessities dealt with, they retired into darkness. Their tent became his net of safety. They had no privacy, they dared not excite each other, but there and only there could he look at her and see her for _Tess_. He cherished each moment in the tent, he had no choice; each time she stepped into light, she was someone else.

Alistair had heard of things like this before, he had sort of seen it even with Tess before when she was recovering from her last lyrium relapse. But this was different than _her_ becoming someone completely different. She _was_ different, but only to him. She was Carlyn anytime they weren’t in their tent, which meant every time she spoke it threw him off - _Carlyn using her mother’s voice_. It was those moments that made him question his eyes and start to see _Tess_ under that mask, but if she didn’t speak she completely morphed into Carlyn. There was nothing left of the original host, not to him.

 _Grown-up Carlyn_. He hadn’t expected her to grow so fast, but here she was, big enough not to need Da’s help with anything anymore. As long as she wasn’t fighting Darkspawn, he was fine with her in combat, though on more than one occasion he insisted she use the bow he’d made. He was proud, even, watching his little girl. She was a weapon all in herself, grace and skill like her mother, wicked fast and deadly precise, bow and dagger alike. It was even kind of fun, battling deepstalkers together, fighting side by side, father and daughter showing off to the others as they wove around each other to kick, slice, stab, shield her only to have her slip under his protection with an arrow that never missed. He didn’t even care where the time had gone, how he had missed so many years; he was getting a chance to be here now. _Damn, he was so proud of his daughter._

And then camp. The changing of armor and quick wash-downs with a lyrium rinse, brief moments where she wasn’t peppered with sweat, where she was a person Alistair thought he had lost at the start of every day. _Tess. Wife, best friend, mother, more than lover._ He watched Tess merge in before his eyes when she washed her face and then fade out again in front of the fire to eat when sweat resurfaced on her skin. He broke everywhere inside. He missed his wife, he missed holding her, _watching_ her smile, watching her laugh, he missed the look in her eyes after he kissed her, he missed lying naked next to her and caressing her bare skin until she snored at his shoulder. He missed making love to her. _He missed holding her hand._ But he couldn’t do any of that in these murky, dank caves. He couldn’t even hold his _daughter’s_ hand. In the blackened safety of their tent, it was always _wife, partner, best friend. I more than love you_ was passed back and forth between blind kisses that sometimes didn’t meet lips the first time because they could barely see each other. And even through missing his wife while he had her back, he found himself longing for his daughter again. He could never wait to settle in each night to see his wife, and he could never wait to start the day and pride over the woman his little girl had become. It tore at him inside like a starving hunger demon.

Caridin’s Cross seemed to never end. Curves and turns where they thought they’d continue straight ahead, caverns that hosted side tunnels that just took them right back to the same open space, confusing everyone even Po after a while. Po and Zevran led much of the way, but scent and sight was hardly needed. The further they went in, the thicker the hordes of Darkspawn, the stronger the Taint buzzed for each horde. It lingered everywhere, they not only felt it all around it _was_ everything, it was the very air and rock itself not just _in_ or _on._ The power of the Taint never faded either, and for a few stops at camp neither Warden including Po could sleep. Wynne finally made potions that knocked them out instantly, but the Taint was so fierce that each time Alistair woke, his veins themselves felt sore at the Taint’s attempt to reclaim his body.

Alistair would sit there holding his hand up in the firelight and watch the Taint _vibrate_ the veins through his skin, at his wrist, the veins that bulged along the muscles of his forearm and inner elbow; _so strong he could see proof it lived inside him._ Carlyn - _Tess? No, Carlyn in the light_ \- also housed vibrating veins. He would watch her while they walked, saw veins in her neck and temples move as fast as dragonfly wings, he _heard_ them. Not as vile as feeling actual Darkspawn, but it was definitely in her. _His poor daughter, of all the things he could pass on to her..._

Sten wasn’t doing so well underground either. It occurred to Alistair that the Qunari, though free of the Taint, was simply large and very defined in muscle all around. More muscle meant faster sweating, more need for cooling. Sten said nothing, but Alistair tried to offer as much water as he could remember. He was only able to convince Sten into medium armor, that was all Sten was willing to negotiate, but that was hardly a difference. Sten even started whipping his head around at every crumble of rock or flutter of bat wings, no matter how far away, no matter if the sound of wings came from their own chickens. When the sleeping potions quit working on Alistair, he heard Sten mutter in his sleep; something the Qunari had not done since Alistair had known him. Despite that Alistair knew the air or heat or whatever wasn’t affecting himself positively, he was...almost glad, grateful even, to know it wasn’t just him. It felt like Alistair finally had some validation for his eyes tricking him in the light.

One morning _Tess - still wife in the dark -_ worked out that Alistair wasn’t sleeping, asked if he’d tried reading or writing. He wasn’t sure how he would grow tired by writing, but he was willing to give it a try. It was hard to lie there and watch what he could see of his _wife_ in the dark knowing he wouldn’t have much time with her again after she woke, before she let _Carlyn_ take over. The...whatever number night he couldn’t sleep, Alistair grabbed the stationary parchment and the ink and quill. He lay next to his _wife_ but at the opposite end, legs by her head, his head and arms outside the tent. Propped up on his elbow, he dipped the quill, put it to paper...and forgot how to write. Writing had seemed so unimportant. What would it serve him down here? He couldn’t exactly pin notes or directions to the stone walls, nor _Wanted_ signs with crude pictures of Darkspawn on them, or even him and _Tess_ and Po - not that he wasn’t tempted. He had no words or stick figures in his head though, only...only _Carlyn,_ and _Tess,_ and his other daughter Eleonora he wished he could see again. He saw them as clear as the parchment and quill in front of him. Maybe he could write them? Write to the girls? _Yes_. That should work. He dipped the quill again and set it below the splotches of ink he’d just wasted in pondering.

He had never drawn anything before. Alistair was not an artist; not a painter, not a sculptor, he couldn’t make magnificent statues or even little toys very well, and carving weapons hardly counted for they were not eyes and smiles or little noses. But two jars of ink...the hair was far from perfect, but there they were...an actual, corporeal picture for him to hold....

_Eleonora and Carlyn. His daughters, his precious babies._

Alistair was afraid to breathe. He was truly afraid he might lose them, accidentally blow them into the fire, or...under someone’s feet, or spill ink on them. He wanted to laugh though, and cry and... _sing, dance_ with them. _His babies were back._ He could hear them all over again, _feel_ them, _see_ them; Carlyn’s babe-like laughter, Eleonora’s little snorts when she giggled, Eleonora laughing so hard she forgot to breathe when he tickled her, Carlyn’s soft little lips pucker like she’d eaten a sour berry just to lean as far as she could to make sure she got a kiss for cleaning her teeth.

_“See?” tiny lips stretched far and wide to show just how far her teeth were scrubbed._

_“I do see. You did a very good job, they look...” Alistair made a few faces before squinting and hiding his eyes. “Maker, those teeth are_ too _clean! I can’t see! They’re like mirrors in the sun! They’re blinding me! Help! Help!” he teased. High-pitched squeals and tiny laughter erupted around him and Eleonora choked on her gargle of water even as giggles fought through. “Okay, okay, sister’s choking over here!” Alistair stopped teasing his youngest to attend to his eldest, remnant laughter escaping him still. “Nori, are you alright?” he patted her sudsy back. Shoulders hunched, ginger curls - tight like springs when wet - bounced as giggles pushed their way through expelling water. Hazel eyes with a vibrant inner emerald ring scrunched as she nodded, giggling at herself when the most adorable snorts Alistair ever heard shot water through crinkling little nostrils. Alistair couldn’t help but laugh with his daughter, and she swayed with his hand rubbing her back and let him kiss the side of her head. “My poor sweetheart!” he laughed._

 _“Da, can_ I _have a kiss? I cleaned my teeth,” Carlyn asked._

 _“Da is_ so _sorry! You’re absolutely right, come here,” he shifted back over to his right leg and pursed his lips over the side of the tub. Carlyn pushed her lips out his way, puckered so hard firm lines drew ridges from her tiny pink mouth, like she’d eaten the unripe blackberries again. Softest, sweetest kisses he’d ever received. He kissed her a second time, making a loud noise as he pulled away to make her snicker into her tiny hands. “Eleonora, do you remember when Carlyn was still a babe? Do you remember how she used to give kisses back then?” he looked at both his daughters while he lathered the soap Tess had made herself onto the washcloths she’d made especially for each girl._

_“Uh-huh, like this-” Eleonora gave a tail-end cough before opening her mouth wide._

_Alistair laughed again. “Exactly! When you were just a baby, Carlyn, you used to kiss us like you were trying to eat us all!”_

_“I didn’a eat you! I didn’a eat Mother!” Carlyn protested._

_“Sometimes I thought you were going to,” he teased with a nod, “especially when your teeth came in. You bit my finger once, drew blood. When you’d open your mouth like that for kisses, I just figured you’d gotten a taste and were coming back for seconds.” He laughed loudly as his three-year-old held a huge gulp of water in her mouth that puffed out her cheeks just to shoot him a grumpy frown._

_“You did so!” Eleonora had Alistair’s laugh down to every titter and gasp. “Just like this! Ahhhhh-!” she lurched forward with her mouth wide-open. Carlyn spit her entire mouthful of water out on Alistair to shriek, causing Alistair to squeal as well._

_“Da!!” flinging soapy bathwater all over Alistair and the floor, Carlyn threw her little arms around Alistair’s neck. But she laughed with Eleonora, caught in the thrill of fright and glee herself. Alistair could hear Tess laughing at the three of them from the kitchen._

“No sleep again, my friend?”

Alistair looked over to see Zevran rubbing his eyes as the elf just stopped moving in front of his tent. “No.”

“You should try it sometime. It’s quite addicting,” Zevran ended in a yawn. “What are you smiling about over there? Naughty poetry?”

“What? _No_ , Maker, Zev!...” but as Alistair winced, he realized he _had_ been smiling; grinning, maybe even giggling. “Did I wake you up?”

“Not at all. I need to take a leak. That weak mead still goes right through like wine, even though it disappoints.”

“Ah - that’s lovely. Thanks. Good morning to you too.” Alistair winced again. Zevran gave a groggy chuckle as he wobbled to his feet to wander out of sight.

Alistair returned his gaze to his daughters. _Maker, it’s them. It’s really them._ They were very much parchment beings, but they were _here,_ it was _them._ Alistair touched the curve of Eleonora’s cheek, and out of reflex for wanting to protect his daughters he caught a single drop that fell toward the picture. He was crying. _Shit,_ he might ruin the paper! He took the edges carefully and moved the paper just out of reach of his face, catching another teardrop on his arm. As he placed the ink jars on the long ends of the parchment, a voice above startled him. He quickly wiped his eyes.

“You should have the mages set that.” Alistair looked up to see Zevran leaning over craning at the neck. “It is very damp down here. I’m afraid it will not last long,” the elf said gently. Zevran’s eyes moved to his and held down a mug of Bodahn’s weak mead; a few batches had been started since the funny dwarves teamed up with them in Lothering, but the party had gone through each before it could age, this batch being no different - spices but no alcohol.

“What do you mean _set_ it?” Alistair asked. He took a large drink as he watched Zevran sit down at the foot of his own tent.

“You know, set it. Er...coat it, preserve it...something with lyrium, I don’t know how it works. Like a varnish, yes?” he dug into a sack of jerky, looking at the drawing for the first chewy bite. “They were lovely, my friend. You breed fine offspring, even in dreams.”

Alistair lingered on his daughters before looking at the elf again. “Is it wrong that I miss them?” he asked quietly, trying not to water his eyes again.

“Not at all. Who says dreams are not real?” this tore Alistair’s gaze entirely. Zevran shrugged. “Memories can bring tears and laughter, also anger, just as if they are happening all over again, yes? If a dream can do the same, and remembering a dream as well, who is to say that it is not real?” he took a drink and shrugged again, holding in a belch. “To me, it seems the brain cannot tell what is real between what is not really happening. Madmen have strange realities, do they not? That crazy mage in the Dalish forest. But it was real for him, was it not? In the Fade, I felt those tiny hands just as the straps from the stretcher felt as real as my first initiation to the Crows. It does not have to be your own idea to be real for you. They were warm, your girls. Real fingers, real hands. I had to _pry_ the little one off of Shale, that was a real grip. It was real enough. Like...another world, yes?” Zevran drank and ate while Alistair stared at him. “But you should have them set it, truly my friend. I do not want to see that ruin so quickly. I did not know you were an artist, Alistair.”

Alistair looked back at his daughters. _Beautiful princesses, beautiful babes._ Validation _they were real._ “I’m not. I don’t ever draw. I’ve never been able to. Not till now.”

“Hm.” Zevran mused while he chewed a bite too big. “Even more proof they are real, no?” he said with a full mouth. “Do not be embarrassed, friend. Children are a fine image of hope. These tunnels are dark and dire, and I do not mean the lousy light. I mean to say we may need plenty of hope before long.”

Alistair continued to hoard and stare at his daughters while the other awoke and shook themselves from slumber. With _Tess_ still snoring, _he felt the vibrations as she hugged his leg in her sleep,_ Alistair dare not risk waking her to get up, but he asked Morrigan if she knew how to preserve ink. Though he and Morrigan would likely never be on friendly terms, the Wilds Witch took one look at the parchment he gently passed to her and stopped complaining. She took the picture from Alistair with a curious stare, and as Alistair met her eyes and asked _Please?_ , he saw an unmistakable frown of concern, maybe even compassion. She laid the parchment flat on a crate and did strange magic, her hands lit up like moonlight reflecting off of moving water. Alistair watched her hands, too far away to see over the crate from where _Tess_ had herself wrapped around him, watched the witch roll her eyes when he told her to be careful as she flipped it. When Morrigan returned it, it shimmered in the light, like it had been coated in the finest sheer silk, smooth to the touch on both sides almost like a polished vase. She explained _Tis merely a spell, but it shall hold as long as I am alive or until I intentionally remove it. ‘Twill roll and fold as you desire._ She looked genuinely surprised when Alistair thanked her, but Alistair was too worked up to make her see he deeply meant it. _He wouldn’t lose his daughters now, not now, not again._ It was more than he could hope for, at least until they were real and in his arms again.

 _Tess_ moving around at his legs diverted his attention from the little faces before him. Unable to look back because of his armor, he watched the picture of his daughters while _wife_ behind him tightened her hold on his leg, and then eventually made her way up to lie on his back. She was still fully hidden inside the tent when she sat up directly straddled at the crease of his buttocks. He let out an accidental groan when she pressed her hands on his lower back and kneaded around through the thick hide of his armor, and then another groan;  it had been too long since she'd relieved his stiff back.

 _Wife_ gave a roll of her hips against his bum, and he dropped his head to smile, feeling his face flush a little. No one could see her, and he knew she was well aware everyone else was up already. She rolled against him again, _Alistair braced his elbows to the ground so he wouldn’t rock with her,_ and once more, with Alistair grinning while she played against him in secret.

“You know, if I had a _penis_ , I might be able to do some _serious damage_ like this right now,” _wife_ said a bit loudly.

There was a moment of thick silence throughout camp, and Alistair met Zevran’s eyes as _Tess_ led the round of laughter with her own fierce giggle. Alistair ducked his head again to laugh, his cheeks probably close to matching his beard.

“This expedition keeps getting more and more interesting,” Bhelen said from the other side of the fire.

Alistair turned his head, _but dared not look_ , as _wife_ emerged from the tent to nuzzle the back of his head and pepper her lips where she parted his hair from his neck.

“And to think, it’s only been eighteen days. Just wait till it’s been a month, then you’ll really start hearin’ _interesting stuff_!” Oghren offered.

Alistair froze. _Only eighteen days? What’s only been eighteen days? Not how long they’ve been down here...right?_

“Tis not _interesting_ when it causes _all of camp_ to lose sleep!” Morrigan scoffed.

“Ohh, hehhh, that’s most certainly interesting!” Oghren chuckled.

 _Tess_ froze also as she moved up to kiss Alistair’s ear. Alistair was too busy looking through the campfire at Bhelen and Oghren though. “What _eighteen days?_ ” he asked. “What do you mean _it’s only been eighteen days?_ What are you talking about?”

“Eh? Oh, right. Sometimes I wonder how Grey Wardens manage without any _stone sense._ ” Oghren said. “That’s how long we’ve been down here. eighteen days. Ehh, the funny, quiet guy-” he gestured over to Sandal “-is the one keeping track, but it matches up with what Bhelen and me figure our hours down here to be.”

“You’re joking. You’re...you have to be. We can’t... _are you fucking shitting me,_ Oghren? It’s only been _eighteen bloody, sodding, fucking days?”_ Alistair hissed. Leliana giggled something about Alistair cursing in Orlesian always sounded funny to her, but he didn’t bother with banter anymore.

This was bad news. He knew the heat and light was mushing his brains, Sten’s too and Maker knew how many others just weren’t saying or showing anything yet. This was couldn’t be right. He still had at least four and half more months left, _if_ they were lucky, of only seeing his _wife_ inside a blackened tent for a few hours every day? Of _losing_ his wife to his _daughter_ each time Tess came out into the light? Of losing his daughter to his wife each time they stopped to sleep?

Alistair was suddenly aware that _Tess_ was frozen at his shoulder. He risked her disappearing before he could even get a morning kiss to see why she wasn’t moving.

 _Not_ Carlyn, even though the light and shadows played upon her sweaty face already. She frowned deep, hard, glossy eyes blinking rapidly, _pain, sorrow,_ focused solely on his drawing of their daughters. She was still _wife;_ he could never imagine his daughter in so much anguish and hoped he never had to.

“Tess?” he whispered. He had no idea the picture would hurt her. He hadn’t meant to draw it but it made _him_ happy to see their girls.

Eyes wide and blinking to keep tears from spilling over, _Tess_ met his stare before retreating back into the tent. Alistair whispered her name again when he felt a sob shake her next to his leg, and his own eyes quickly filled up. He pushed up and grabbed the drawing and closed himself in the tent with his _wife._ Without a word, he set the picture just past their headrests and gathered _Tess_ tight against him. Despite the tears, Alistair was glad for one last chance with his _wife_ before the day’s journey took her from him.

She cried quietly into his neck, and Alistair was grateful she didn’t ask about the drawing. He had no answers for that; he’d never drawn more than stick people before, it was like the Maker gave him a sudden ability to draw the perfect image of their little girls for him to carry. Something real, something...like _hope_ , something to carry them through these dreaded tunnels.

 _The tunnels._ Only eighteen days meant they weren’t that far in. _That_ day’s trek was uneventful, and while everyone fell asleep the next set up of camp, Alistair still couldn’t sleep. He studied the maps, Oghren’s, Harrowmont’s, Bhelen’s and Bodahn’s; Bhelen’s and Bodahn’s maps labeled what creatures had been in each area They all kept track of where they’d been, their maps all tracked the same thing. They’d been in Aeducan thaig, didn’t reach Caridin’s Cross until... _those squiggly lines,_ Alistair supposed those were tunnels. They’d scoured only one cavern mapped for the Crossing, both Bodahn and Bhelen’s both had _deepstalkers_ and _darkspawn_ scribbled in the common tongue, Bodahn’s with an added _no wagon_ in the further proceeding tunnel. Alistair remembered they’d had to turn back for another route, the wagons wouldn’t fit through the passage. But it had felt like so much more time had passed.

Alistair sighed and hung his head, rubbed his face and looked at the maps again. He’d had trouble in the Carta tunnels, too. He supposed he should be thankful he wasn’t passing out and vomiting, but was this really any better? Other than being hot, he had no symptoms magic or alchemy could dismiss. There was no remedy except protecting his daughter each day so he could see his wife each night. He sighed again, rubbed his face harder, ground his knuckles around his eyes, looked around when the pain spots faded. Sten mumbled in his sleep. Oghren snored like he’d fallen asleep drinking and spilt his flagon in a nostril. Sandal giggled in his sleep as Alistair only noticed since they’d all been camping together. Po slept with the goats blanketing him because they wouldn’t stop bleating until he laid down with them; it was like they knew Po could sense and defend them from the darkspawn. _Tess_ twitched in her sleep, hugging Alistair’s leg tighter; an increasing habit each time they camped. No one awake but Shale, who was far from being able to understand what Alistair was going through. There was only one thing to do while everyone slept.

 _The girls. Eleonora and Carlyn._ Alistair dug his tiny mirror out of his backpack to compare himself. _Just like in Fade._ The faces he remembered and put to paper _must_  be perfect, because looking in his own eyes he saw Carlyn’s, watching his smile he saw Eleonora, his hair, the shade of pink his face always seemed to have; Alistair was a grown-up male Eleonora, who wore only a single ring of emerald in her eyes to claim her mother. And Tess...

 _Carlyn_ grew more clever as the caravan slowly journeyed on. She practically read the very walls, navigated by feeling the rock and listening; it seemed she’d inherited the best of both Alistair and her mother’s scouting senses. Alistair proudly watched her take lead one day as they crossed into a tunnel that reeked of darkspawn, the smell, the buzzing Taint all around them, the _stagnation_ of everything. Carlyn led on confidently, passing even Zevran save for when the elf jumped in and yanked her from what turned out to be a cliff; _cliffs, underground; as if this wasn’t crazy enough._ Alistair couldn’t help but chuckle to himself though, _scouting sense but not elf eyes,_ just as undaunted as her mother. He wished Tess could be there to see their daughter now, wished he had a painter who could capture her every moment down here where even strapping, seasoned warriors dare not go. _Little_ Carlyn, soon to be idolized more than Ser Aveline the strong or the Rebel Queen herself.

But Alistair soon realized _why_ Carlyn had taken lead. _Darkspawn._ They practically hit their heads on the sudden thick fog of Taint. _Damn, this was a large nest._ Before he could yell for her to stop, his daughter and dog rushed ahead to ignite battle. Alistair shouted for wagons to turn around, and as he sped after his fearless child he threatened death to even the Qunari if something were to happen to his girl.

Alistair interrupted Carlyn’s defense by ramming the genlock _flat_ into a pillar of stone. She scoffed as the rim of his shield severed the mangled head in two. “I _had_ that!” she complained. _Maker, she was sounding more and more like her mother each day._ He watched her dash off and leap against a wall to propel herself in a spin. The darkspawn had rogues too, though, and while not as good with blades as Carlyn, she still took a prick to the arm.

“That’s too close!” Alistair shouted, interrupting with another blow. He worked around her, keeping genlocks off her back between shoving her under his shield to stab straight through necks and hideous faces in front of her. _Every move had to count;_ he knew the wound she’d just received was trivial, but there was no way he would allow more than magic could heal.

“Ow! Hey! Stop that!” she cried to him as he covered her like a turtle, shoving his foot down on the shield to both keep her down and give him balance to intercept a hurlock with two arms on his own sword. Alistair nearly fell over when she squirmed out behind him, and he hurried to end the small flock of darkspawn immediately around them. The chance to tell her he was doing this for her own good was lost between more crafty genlocks and their archers beyond.

When the dwarves and the rest of Alistair’s party had the remaining horde overwhelmed long enough, he turned to his child. “Do _not expose_ yourself!” he ordered. “If I cover you, it’s for your own good, I’m _protecting_ you! You have _no_ idea what these things did to your mother!” Carlyn stood taken aback, glancing between him and their party, muttering _mother_ as she searched him. He groaned inside; _this damn light down here playing tricks on her face again._ For a split moment she almost looked like Tess, her brow scrunched as deep as it was. He shot a double-take at a hurlock in massive armor running into full sight on the bridge; there was bound to be more that followed. “ _Go_ , just go.” he pointed toward the tunnel they’d come from, “go wait with the dwarves. _Now!_ ” he barked when his daughter just _stood there staring_ at him, starting off toward the hurlock.

 _“What?”_ she cried softly.

“Don’t argue, _just go!_ ” he yelled back. Another step froze him: An ear-piercing terror shot straight through his bones. _Shrieks._ The noise rattled his brain so hard his skull hurt. It echoed around them in so many rapid waves that Alistair couldn’t tell where they were coming from _. Shit! No! Not like Tess! Not again! Carlyn!!!_

“Alistair!” panic so deep he hadn't the heart to correct her this time; _Da, not Alistair_. Alistair whirled around so fast he nearly fell, racing back to his daughter to prevent the very same blades her mother had once nearly lost a lung to. _Just in time_ , he shoved her down once more, forcing her to curl up beneath his shield as the long blades materialized in a sickening oily fog around them. Dagger in one hand sword in the other, Alistair fought alone until the elf and dog shared his burden. He bent far, swung firm and wide, his polished sword grinding so fast against rough Tainted steel that sparks flew, giving himself room to stick necks from ear to chin. Carlyn moved under the shield below his reach.

“No! Stay down!” he ordered.

 _“No!”_ she cried back like he was mad.

Alistair couldn’t reach to balance his foot on the shield from how he swayed with each dodge and swing. He saw pale blonde locks fly out with a tip of the metal disc. “I said _no!_ Zevran! Get Carlyn out of here _now!!”_ Alistair yelled.

“ _Carlyn?_ ” two voices echoed in unison.

“Just do it, Zevran! Or so help me I’ll drag you by your innards!”

“I-but-” Zevran stammered as he dodged his own shrieking, spitting opponents. Carlyn screamed, half in anger half in fear as Alistair caught sight of Sten throwing her over his shoulder to remove her from battle.

“Put me down, Sten! _Alistair, what is wrong with you!!!_ _I am not Carlyn!! Damn you!!”_ her voice flew out of the tunnel in ripples as the dwarves’ stubby legs allowed them to reach the spontaneous battle of shrieks.

When the last shriek crumpled under Velren’s axe, Alistair turned around. Sten was nowhere to be seen but Carlyn marched harshly back out, all but literally on fire. Alistair gave his daughter a stern glare of warning, _don’t even dare._ As soon as she reached him, however, her behavior quickly shifted. He caught a pinch of her brow and too much gloss from her eyes right before she threw herself down to her knees. He watched her struggle with rolling one shriek off another to retrieve her fallen daggers before he sighed deep and gave in. He couldn’t be mad at his little girl, not when she was upset.

He knelt by her and gave each dead creature a shove until she found both of her blades. “I am sorry I yelled at you,” he told her gently. He tucked a sweat-dampened twist of hair behind her ear. “I am just trying to keep you safe. Carlyn, these things stabbed your mother, she nearly died. I never want that for you.” She tore from him sharply, and Alistair stood with a sigh when she did. “Carlyn-”

“I’m _not Carlyn!”_ she yelled out. Her mouth quavered, gaped between wetting her lips and blinking so fast tears flew clear to his armor. “I’m _Tesslyn_ , Alistair! _Tesslyn! I’m Tesslyn! How could you do this to me?”_ she asked.

Alistair honestly had no idea how to respond to this. _Tesslyn? She_ was Tess? No. _No._ No, that wasn’t possible. The face before him...he knew what he was looking at. _He knew_ the face of his own child. “Where is Sten?” he asked. What was he supposed to say? He knew it wasn’t relevant, but she wasn’t making sense either.

“I put him to sleep! _You don’t do that to me! Maker!”_ she turned with an angry cry and kicked his shield so hard it skidded into stone and nearly shot right back. “Is _this_ what’s _wrong_ with you lately? I’m _Carlyn?_ I’m a _little girl_ to you? Is _that_ why you don’t touch me anymore?” she whirled back around. Tears collected smeared black blood and sweat as they trickled heavily together.

_Touch?_

“Yes! Touch! _Touch,_ Alistair! I’m your _wife!_ You _married_ me! In front of _Andraste's fucking ashes_ in Haven! _Carlyn_ isn’t even-! And you’ve been- for _how long_ \- _Are you fucking serious?_ This whole time I just thought you were _too hot_ or _trying to stay focused_ , or - or-” with another distort of her face that brought more tears, she shoved him at the chest. “You _can’t do_ this to me! _I’m_ the one with problems, _not you!_ I’m already-” she blinked with wide eyes as she gestured around to the rock walls. “I’m _already_ hearing things! _I’m already mad,_ you can’t be! _You’re_ supposed to take _care_ of me! You _promised_ you would! _Why_ would you _call_ me that?” she threw her hands at his chest again but they landed weak, limp. She refused to look at him as her fists fell flat and slid, smearing thick, foul black blood over smooth steel and filling in rough knicks of his chest plate. Alistair was frozen. He could not respond, could not move. He could barely remember Tess during the day. This _couldn’t_ be her... _could it?_ Her mouth trembled in a wrinkled crescent. Even when another flooding of tears washed down her face, he couldn’t reach out to her. Right there in front of him, and he couldn’t reach her. “Why am I suddenly your- your _Fade daughter?_ When did I stop being your wife?”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Screenshots taken and modified (sweat and freckles) by me; Dragon Age Origins, my Warden Tesslyn Cousland and Alistair Theirin (both modded for armor and beard/hair).  
> Mods Used:  
> Tess: [ Underworld Armory Mod (armor)](http://www.nexusmods.com/dragonage/mods/1533/?)  
> Alistair: [ Grey Wardens of Ferelden (armor)](http://www.nexusmods.com/dragonage/mods/3258/?)  
> Alistair: [ 67 Vanilla Alistair Morphs (red_beard2)](http://www.nexusmods.com/dragonage/mods/896/?)  
> Tess: [Hairstyle Day (Starlet)](http://www.nexusmods.com/dragonage/mods/3552/?tab=1&navtag=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.nexusmods.com%2Fdragonage%2Fajax%2Fmoddescription%2F%3Fid%3D3552%26preview%3D&pUp=1)
> 
> [Original art of Eleonora and Carlyn](http://dara1hunter.deviantart.com/art/Eleonora-and-Carlyn-Theirin-Original-version-605108279) by me.


	46. Clarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood music: [ Carpe Diem by Audiomachine ](https://youtu.be/tEjtW_Jbw7g)


	47. Chimera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rough battle and unexpected casualties force the party to recover in Ortan Thaig. Despite the comfort of the resources in the thaig, Tess' past self-harm makes her more susceptible to the effects of the Taint. Alistair has nightmares as he tries to cope with the fear of Tess becoming a ghoul, and trying to force his nightmares into good dreams has an outcome neither Warden can afford to succumb to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood music:  
> [ Aratta by Two Steps From Hell ](https://youtu.be/EO_ZvZWLV3M)  
> [ Kogan by Two Steps From Hell ](https://youtu.be/y9wJHXizAL8)  
> For the good dreams: [Carpe Diem by Audiomachine](https://youtu.be/tEjtW_Jbw7g)

_What doest ye here, Taintling? Thine haste to take place amidst ye brethren is inspiring. Unforeseen. Hast thine map erred thee? Or hast_ **_she_ ** _erred thee? In shirking thine command, dost thou let her lead astray? Pine not, ye will find the way._ **_Thy_ ** _mind is safe, no doubt, I have no need; thou art corrupting it thyself. Ever her ears press eager for mine whisper. So close to my domain, her blood dost heed my call. She knowest not why she follows the Taint._ **_She_ ** _is thine guide._

Darkspawn invaded their dreams two nights in a row. Tess woke screaming the night he’d called her Carlyn in battle. Alistair did not have this dream; he wasn’t sure he’d evaded it simply by not sleeping. She insisted it was real, described darkspawn moving and working, and though he tried to comfort her in the dark of their tent, he suspected an ordinary nightmare brought on by him mistaking her for their daughter. The second dream hit him though, while he was awake, of all things. Alistair went rigid, felt his bones rattle and tremble his limbs as veins burned and fire exploded in his head. _It knew._ It spoke to him, the Archdemon, _it spoke directly to him._ Tess shrieking jolted Alistair back to the reality of camp, and for the first time since they returned to these forsaken Deep Roads, his mind felt clear - but for all the wrong reasons.

 _Doom_ haunted him as he held Tess until she fell back asleep; he realized he hadn’t been the only one having a hard time. Not only had the Archdemon spoken to him, but it mentioned Tess. Alistair recalled the days leading up to calling her Carlyn aloud: she had been muttering to herself lately, she’d been first into every battle, _she listened along the walls_ as they walked, leading them without a map and often without Zevran’s eyes to guide her through the darkness. _Ever her ears press eager for mine whisper. So close to my domain, her blood doest heed my call,_ the Archdemon had said. Alistair had been _so proud_ of his _daughter_ for scouting - how had he not cared she’d acted so strange? Alistair sat rocking Tess, tears streaming down his face, breathing through his mouth so he wouldn’t sniffle and give himself away. He’d been so eager and _obsessed_ with seeing his daughter each day he hadn’t seen his wife slip away. The Taint was claiming her down here. She might still have enough mind to talk, but... _She knowest not why she follows the Taint._ She had said she could feel it as if it were road signs showing her the way; Alistair plainly assumed she meant the residue on the wall, the filth on the ground. But it was her Taint, leading her down as if her Calling were upon her. And he’d been too busy forgetting her to say goodbye.

For the first time in however long, Alistair slept. He only knew this because he awoke, still sitting, his head on Tess’. He’d worn himself out trying to hide his tears.

Nightmares were the only time they held each other anymore. Tess was hardly speaking to him; she hadn’t since he’d...mistaken her out loud, save for when she tried to convince him her nightmare had been real. Alistair was seeing imaginary people, everyone knew he spent every night staring at the picture of his pretend daughters, Tess dreamed of darkspawn when no one else did and _heard_ directions in her head. She remained hurt he only saw _daughter_ in her, aside from him questioning her dreams of darkspawn. Husband and wife were more like happenstance acquaintances anymore.

The entire party pitied them and doubted their success. Bhelen said he’d bear no grudges if Alistair and Tess needed to turn around. Morrigan made supper now, even cutting up Alistair’s food before serving it to him; Alistair wasn’t sure if this was mockery or concern, for she served Tess the same. Wynne took over care of Tess, gently washing her face and skin in between armor changes, telling stories of griffons and the old Grey Wardens as she brushed her hair each night - as if Tess was incapable of doing anything herself anymore, though Tess allowed Wynne to enable it. Leliana and Zevran went over the maps with the dwarves, agreeing on paths they’d already taken and where they’d yet to go. Sten made sure armor and weapons were all accounted for and capable every morning and night.

Alistair and Tess were supposed to be the Grey Wardens, they were supposed to be the ones guiding the others around and watching out for the other’s safety, but they had failed. _Alistair_ had failed. More importantly, _Alistair had failed his wife._

He tried talking to her, but he had no words to explain why he let himself get lost in their daughter each day. He didn’t know what to say, how to rationalize himself, no words at all other than _I’m so sorry, I can’t help it, I miss them._ To weigh down more guilt, Tess told him he looked like Eleonora when he slept. _She_ could separate _child_ from _spouse_ yet he was incapable. Still, he _tried; he missed his wife too_. He couldn’t kiss her yet, but he forced himself to hold her hand again, mostly when they sat at the fire at night. Holding her hand when they walked was another battle, but each day he kept her fingers a little longer.

Trying to force Carlyn away did not help Alistair any. The more he tried to focus on _Tess_ the more he heard... _something_ , he didn’t know what it was exactly, voices? Like a language he didn’t quite understand. _Darkspawn,_ but he only figured out what the sound was by watching _Tess;_ still freckled with sweat but out of character in melancholia - back to only _half_ Carlyn again. Alistair observed what the voice of the Archdemon had whispered in his head: a conversation only she could hear. _Shit._ It was just like him with Carlyn’s little voice in his mind and no else involved. She spent most days coherent enough to remember names, food, faces and even well enough to fight, but the moments she _wasn’t there_ were strong. _Tess_ muttered just like before but now at the end of her arm, _forcing_ himself to keep hold of whatever he had left of his wife, Alistair was able to hear her. She spoke of torches before the party came upon them, stated where each foot should step, warned about grades downhill and the bit of fresh air that wafted in from time to time was _unstomachable,_ she said. Passing natural vents near Alistair’s head made _Tess_ chill and sneeze violently.

One night at camp Zevran said the ventilation had been causing Tess reactions for _nearly two weeks_.  Alistair crumpled into tears right there. He couldn’t even crawl in his tent, he just cascaded in sobs. _The Archdemon was right_ , Tess’ Taint was taking over her body, she was adjusting to the Deep Roads and he was too busy _corrupting_ himself to notice. He hadn’t caught it when he should have. Tess tried to tell him she was fine, _she wasn’t gone, she was still there, still Tess_ , but Alistair was so overwhelmed with guilt of neglecting her, fear of losing her - and even more guilt for not fully seeing _her_ still - that he couldn’t stop crying. It didn’t matter how much of her remained, he only knew he had let himself lose enough.

Alistair slept again that night. Too many tears after so long without any.

If the party was following the right bends and caverns, they had reached a place called Ortan thaig. Almost instantly, there was a thick waft of _cool, fresh air_ and while Oghren complained it was a sign they’d _clearly_ made a wrong turn somewhere, the _topsiders_ of their party were relieved. They hurried, not because they had to but because the horses and cow were eager to find the source of clean air. The wagons bumped and echoed along with noisy horseshoes, the goats and chickens equally loud as the horses ran the carts. Po suddenly barked and dove around the lead, causing the horses to buck and whinny in surprise, and Bodahn let out a frantic plea as white strings blanketed a mare. _Spiders!_ _Dammit, Alistair hated spiders!_  

The only good thing about spiders was their _squishiness_ \- a perfect job for Shale. There seemed to be a whole nest of them, but as long as swings were wide and arced, the creatures fell as if nothing more than stepped on. Someone yelled for Morrigan but shapeshifting did no good right now; Oghren ended up chasing the witch’s giant spider form down another tunnel, which only drew more spiders, _spitting_ ones that caused Sten and Wonus to cry out as their armor sizzled when hit. The noise drew heavy attention to _spirits_ now; Oghren and the other dwarves were suddenly superstitious from _angering the ancestors;_ spirits who just happened to be in possession of a golem twice the size of Shale.

Alistair quickly wished for more spiders. As if the spirits weren’t tough enough, the enormous golem was immune to everything from ice to lightning and even Wynne’s conjured rock weapons; arrows and blades did no good. The golem ripped chunks of rock the size a tent straight from the ground, each one causing a ground-shaking dance of hopping and balance. The entire combat crew repeatedly dodged, jumping head-first, ducking, pushing each other out of the way so they could avoid being crushed. One barrage of boulders hit the chestnut mare so hard her neck snapped instantly with a sickening echo. The other three horses tied to Bodahn’s wagon jumped in panic, but the red dun stallion _charged_ , ripping itself from the yoke so hard it broke free in a shatter of wood; the stallion never had time to defend its mate with so many rocks flying.

While Shale never staggered, Alistair’s golem did little to no damage or defense; the apparent disadvantage of being chiseled down. Out of desperation, Morrigan threw a ball of fire; rarely used because every flame unprejudicedly attacked even their party. The metal giant staggered under the heat - _finally_ something! With a triumphant scoff, the witch threw another and more, until Wynne regained her footing to help pelt flames. Alistair heard Sandal eagerly exclaim _“Enchantment?”_ of which Bodahn frantically cried _“No! No, Sandal, no enchantment! No BOOM! That’ll blow us all!”;_ a moment ago, Alistair might have obliged Sandal. With the oversized golem now struggling to stand, Alistair and Sten and the dwarves charged, Shale thundering after them. The mages attacked up top, the warriors shoved and rammed below until the stone beast fell. After what seemed an eternity, Shale and the huddle of men smashed and dislodged the head from the body.

Wonus helped Alistair to his feet. Bhelen and Velren had arm injuries and Zevran thought he sprained an ankle, but nothing worse aside from the horse fatalities. While they made sure the immediate tunnels were clear, they all agreed they’d have to stop. They needed to butcher the horses and smoke them, dry as much meat as they could because it otherwise wouldn’t last in such heat and _Ancestors_ knew how much longer they’d be down there. Sten and the uninjured dwarves climbed over the fallen golem to scout ahead and Alistair turned to the women. Words for Wynne to calm the rest of the horses were lost upon seeing Tess. _Tess! She was Tess again!_ Freckles of sweat replaced by open bleeding and violent bruises across her right cheek; not at all how he wanted to get his wife back. Alistair crossed the cavern so quick he didn’t recall how he reached her.

 _Tess_ winced when Alistair brought a finger to the edge of the gaping cut that stretched up her cheek. It nearly cut into her lower eyelid, that entire side of her face swollen and deep purple save for trickling blood. _Bone moved_ beneath his finger, _that definitely wasn’t right,_ and Alistair immediately dropped his hand. When she continued to wince, wincing _because_ doing so made her repeat, he called for Wynne.

“No, _no,”_ Tess whispered, her right eye nearly swollen shut.

“Your _face_ is moving, you _need a healing kit_ ,” he only realized he was leaking because his voice.

“No,” she insisted. “I want it to scar. Please?”

“Wha- _why?_ It’s - _no. No,_ you _need healing._ Your bone is broken.”

“ _Please_ , Alistair. I want to be _Tess_. If it _scars,_ I’ll just be _Tess again._ Right? I don’t want to be Carlyn anymore.”

Alistair had no time to debate her resemblance to their daughter though, or even make sure she healed. Someone hollered _spiders_ and _golem._ As he ran to help he ordered: _Tess stay!_ , Zevran would remain with her but Alistair needed the mages; fire against the new golems. Crush the enemies before they could be crushed. The party could afford no worse injuries.

A rushing chill of air hit Alistair hard as he spilled into the open cavern with Morrigan and Wynne. He _smelled and heard moving water_ over the sounds of clanking metal and other battle clamor. The water must have been moving very quick for the breeze _sucked_ heat from the seams and openings of Alistair’s armor, giving the impression he was caught in a waning-autumn wind. His lungs were filling, _fresh, alert,_ awakening his blood and mind. For the first time in so long Alistair felt himself function as he once knew himself able. He could _think_ , his eyes focused effortlessly allowing him to distinguish shapes, lights, shadows, predict force of attack and every slight jar his way. The golems seemed nothing more than moving training dummies, the spirits went down so fast they blurred together as a single mist. It was over before he knew it.

Alistair rested on his knees over one of the two bridges. Rapid moving water below him echoed about the open cavern as loud as any storm crashing against Ferelden cliffs. He didn’t know and did not care where the air was coming from but it whooshed in all around as if it were the territorial mate of the impatient river. Here, he could breathe, the cogs of his mind turned, _no excessive heat to keep sweat on skin._ There was no trace of darkspawn, the spiders could be thrown to the current and the horses cleaned here with no regard. Houses stood undamaged, old and probably never opened in centuries but there nonetheless. More than enough room to keep a bonfire going for meat. Shelter, fresh air, fresh water, open space and _clear minds..._

“We’re staying here,” Alistair told Sten and the dwarves as he rose to his feet. “Toss the spiders to the river. Someone drag the horses over. Shale, break down as many doors as you can, but keep the doors _intact._ We’ll camp in the houses. This is as good as we can expect down here.” his voice carried without effort as he walked down the bridge.

“Oh good, the stone-hide king has returned,” Shale said wryly. Alistair shot a glare as he drew near but said nothing. He _felt_ astronomical compared to mere hours ago; he imagined he looked a damn sight better, even to a golem. “Fine. I prefer to stop here as well. Nothing squishable left to catch us off guard.” with a scoff of defiance, the _small_ stone golem stomped away toward the nearest house.

Oghren gestured behind him with his thumb and Alistair noticed a faint orange glow from an otherwise invisible slit in the wall. “What should we do about the crazy guy?”

“Would you elaborate?” Alistair kept walking.

“There’s a crazy dwarf who yelled at us and took off down that little tunnel. Me an’ your dog chased after him when you finished off that last golem. He’s sodding lost it.”

“Just one?”

“Yeah. Looks like he’s Tainted or something. Doesn’t talk right.”

“Just leave him, he may know something about Branka. Two of you on spiders, everyone else get the horses. Wynne and Morrigan, there are people to heal, get to it.” _Damn_ it felt good think again! This _had_ to be a good sign. Heading back to _Tess,_ Alistair made a mental note to kneel in thanks to the Maker before trying to sleep that night.

Tess held a firm gaze as Alistair walked straight to her. Her face fell in hope as he picked her up and cradled her to his chest, just like when he’d carried her in the snow. It was good to see her - to see _Tess_ in the face before him _._ Her lip quivered as she said his name; he knew the rest of the question that didn’t make it off her tongue, _Are you back? Am I Tess again?_ He didn’t speak. He pressed his lips to the good side of her face, _the first kiss he’d given her in too long,_ and she tightened her arm around his neck and cried into him. Alistair still didn’t have words just yet to make up for all the time he’d abandoned her for their daughter, but he felt good enough to hold her and kiss her again. Right now, it seemed to be enough.

Alistair sat holding Tess’ hand as Wynne did something with pins and tweezers to Tess’ broken cheek. He drew circles though it was the wrong hand; Wynne occupied the right side. Behind them, the others were shuffling with the spiders, horses and wagons, and Shale cursed _pigeon crap_ before reporting it had punched a door too hard. Alistair didn’t bother trying to help the others just yet. His _wife_ needed him more.

“It’s strange to see you two getting along,” he observed quietly. He wasn’t sure if the circles were working on her left hand, but Tess sat still with closed eyes, calm as if only sitting through a makeup painting.

Wynne applied whatever the thick goop in the injury kit was directly to the seam of Tess’ broken cheekbone, propping the loose chunk in place with the pin. The elderly mage smiled with a small chuckle. “And it’s strange to see _you two_ not attached at the hip.”

“I’m not trying to insult, Wynne. It’s just...strange.” he paused. “This whole journey has changed everyone.”

“That’s exactly my point.” slim wrinkled fingers applied another layer of _goop_ to broken bone. “It’s taken a good deal of observation to see the woman in front of me is no longer the young girl who caused so much trouble for my students all those years ago. And a good deal more of understanding _why_. Had I remained at the Tower, I’d realistically go about my business living with resentment until my last breath.” Tess winced as Wynne pulled the pin out. “It’s amazing what we choose to suffer to find what we believe is the right end.”

“Still...I expected _Morrigan_ to warm up to _me_ first before _you two._ You can picture it, can’t you? Morrigan in hunting leathers, me with a bow,” he tried to joke.

“For the two of _us_ to hunt ‘twould have to be in a _dream_ , Alistair, and _I_ would be the _hunter,_ ” Morrigan announced as she led a horse by. Alistair glanced over.

“See? I knew you’d like the idea,” he played along.

 _“You_ would be my _prey,”_ the witch finished smugly.

“ _That_ is more or less what I imagine us hunting together would be like,” Alistair admitted. Wynne quietly laughed.

Shale opened nearly all the buildings on either side of the river. Mostly residences, one particularly large building a manor; possibly the ancient dwarven equivalent of a Bann. Bhelen theorized it used to be a small farming community at one time; constant source of fresh water, softer soil _maybe for mushrooms_ between houses and the river, plenty of room to keep a nug farm, what looked like storage units now crumbled. The lord’s manor based atop a slight hill to overlook the other homes and any activity across the bridge. Two stages possibly used for market stalls for travelers or even play areas for children. A huge paragon statue stood watch over it all; this alone won over the dwarves concerns on being stationary in Darkspawn territory. Alistair’s party had lucked out for sure. No better place to stop than an old town.

Alistair went through the homes with Bhelen and Oghren, determining which ones were safest, which were better suited for camping in. Alistair was in awe once more: the ancient dwarves had nearly identical technology as present-day Orzammar. With the help of Morrigan who wandered in and re-energized an old lightning rune, Alistair understood the technicalities of keeping a place like Orzammar running all the time. The homes had running water, air that filtered through vents in the walls as if circulating through a watermill, and when Morrigan lit a sconce on the wall the flame traveled along in a miniature intricate trough that followed the wall up to the second floor, wound its way around the room and then came back down to light the other side of the room. These houses were incredible. There was no magic other than runes to power the running water and air - but hardly a challenge, even novice runes held a week’s charge with daily use; and the trail of light? - _simplistic_ , some thick oil Alistair had never smelled before that remained level by tiny dams, allowing for even light as the trough rose. Simplicity employed to its full potential _that still worked after centuries dormant._ Alistair wondered why Ferelden had never thought of this. He was baffled his country had managed to survive beyond the Orlesian war without engaging in more efficient methods of living. He made another mental note: the castle in Denerim would have this _technology_ built in.

The brief recharge to the lightning rune didn’t last long, but Sandal was elated to make more than enough new runes to use indoors. The houses they chose opened to each other atop the small hill to right of the Paragon statue, except for the one Alistair, Tess and Po would occupy. The group had to stay together _regardless of how tempting it was to branch out for comfort_ , and the two Wardens _and Po_ would _need_ to be able to feel an attack first; their door would be first approached, and if needed they had quick access across one of the bridges and the courtyard beside camp. The men - Sten, Zevran and all the dwarves took residence in the manor along with the remaining horses and cow. The women shared a separate house _for required privacy apart from such men_. The goats and chickens were corralled into a small house, and the rest of their food stores were divided amongst the three residences; the last thing they needed was for a crazy Tainted ghoul to steal their food supply. It would be close quarters, but they had all slept closer and in much worse conditions before. Cool _clean_ water, cool breezes, decent lights, safely concealed within sturdy stone walls and lockable doors; this was much better than they knew to hope for in the Deep Roads.

With the wagons parked between the men’s and women’s lodgings by some old stone block _of which both Wynne and Morrigan warned against,_ a bonfire ignited between the houses and everyone...mostly settled in, Alistair looked around. Shale took over watch without orders, pacing every few moments from one bridge to the small courtyard in front of the Paragon statue, feet thundering clear to the other side of the river and back to make sure the party wouldn’t be ambushed. Injuries tended, supper (and future meals) in progress, nearly everyone helping to salvage meat from the fallen mounts, running water, fresh air, water heating inside for _hot baths_ for once, _beds_ even and hardly a trace of the Taint around...Maker, it almost seemed too good to be true. Alistair hoped this was an act of pity from the Maker Himself, a chance for them to gather their bearings so they could proceed. Alistair felt they at least deserved a chance.

The day was too long. They all took a round of Morrigan’s stamina potions to stay awake to finish carving the horses, and after the carcasses were disposed of _minus a few bones for Po,_ they sat around the fire together. Shortly after the party began eating, Shale announced they had _a visitor._ Oghren groaned but Alistair, Tess and even Po watched in interest as a hunched dwarf with years of progressed Taint shyly hobbled into sight. _Ruck_ , he called himself. He was interested in their food, sniffing the wafts of sizzling fat and blood dripping over the fire. Limbs bent and withdrawn, inability keep eye-contact for long, speaking common tongue but in third-person only, graying skin and clouding eyes, very little flexibility, ticking of the head and arms, fully grown but child-like curiosity and a mentality to match.  

Alistair felt sorry for the fellow. He invited this _Ruck_ dwarf to join them, and Ruck eagerly took place between Tess and Po. From the corner of his eye, Alistair saw the others join him in watching a curious interaction. Tess understood everything Ruck said, just like the madman in the Brecilian, only this time her Taint accounted for her relation. She had a patience for Ruck that the Tainted dwarf instantly affixed to. _“Not go into light, light bad, light burns. Remembers light, oh yes, sometimes sees it, but never touches, oh no. Light always goes with winds, bad winds, winds that make coughing and choking, winds that itch.”_

 _“Yes, the wind,”_ Tess trailed off. Alistair saw a peculiar glint of recognition in and around her eyes. _“It makes me sneeze, the light and the wind. I have to walk around it. Otherwise the light dust makes my nose burn when I sneeze. It burns my head...until I get back in the shadows.”_ her eyes darted while she recalled. _“It was like being reprimanded. I felt it, in a way. Like an instinct I ignored...”_

 _“You hears it in the bones, yes? Feels it calling, hears its beautiful music,”_ Ruck insisted.

Alistair watched in horror as Tess took over from there: “ _In the walls, in the dust in the light. It’s like a song-”_

 _“Oh yes, yes! A most beautiful song!”_ Ruck nodded in sharp, unnatural movements. _“Sometimes - and even sometimes, it comes from the ground-”_

 _“Like waves,”_ Tess said, staring at Ruck like she’d found a kindred soul, _“from the ocean, but not wet, just sounds. Never letting me get lost, always telling me to watch my step, when to turn, when to look down, the farthest place from the holes above. It’s like strings, a thousand strings throughout my skin pulling me. I almost see it, when He talks. It almost glows when He talks. He warms the walls with it when I reach out. He makes the other noise disappear. He’s like a blanket and I’m cold, always cold. He warms my blood. We’re going to Him, to the others. I’ll see them, all of them, I’ll see how much they’ve done, they must be so busy. He must be so tired, repeating himself each day. He needs to rest, the surface will be hard enough. Too much light, too much sun.”_

_“Pretty lady understands. Pretty lady knows the darkness. Just like Ruck...”_

Alistair suddenly couldn’t eat anymore. He felt sick to his stomach. He let his bowl fall to the ground as he crawled away, feeling eyes on him and ignoring voices that addressed his well-being when he scampered. He barely made it to the edge before he vomited. It seemed like everything he’d tried to eat in the past few days came up, and when his stomach completely emptied he spit up more. His eyes watered but the sting in his throat wasn’t the cause.

“Are you all right, Alistair?” Zevran, not Tess. When Alistair didn’t answer, the narrow person knelt beside him and held out a rag. Alistair’s arms shook as he pushed himself up to take it. Sopping wet, it dripped when he pushed it to his face, but he trembled too hard. Zevran ended up washing him. “What is the matter, my friend?” the elf asked kindly.

“That’s _her!_ That’s - that’s _Tess_ , Zev! It’s - she’s just - that dwarf -! The _Archdemon!”_ it felt like Alistair’s chest was crushing his lungs. “It’s exactly what the Archdemon said! He said - he said _blood, her blood!_ He’s using her Taint! That’s how she’s - it’s just what they’re - Maker help - _help_ me! He’s going to take her from me!”

“Shhh, shh, shh, it is not that bad, Alistair,” Zevran tried to soothe, gently picking at Alistair’s beard with the wet rag.

“Tess is going to end up just like that! She’s nearly _halfway there_ , Zevran!”

“Alistair, you need to calm down, my friend. Dear Tesslyn is not so bad, this I assure you.”

“But she’s - _talking_ like him! The _lights_ and the _song_ and the _air!_ ”

“Tesslyn has had...moments of unique dialogue before, do you remember? Even before we came down here. I do not think this is her Taint. Hm.” Zevran dropped the rag and stood back a bit to examine Alistair’s beard. He interrupted the young king before Alistair could work himself up again. “I think you are overwhelmed, yes? A great deal must be rushing back today. I know it is for me, it has not been this easy to breathe for some time.”

“What if she doesn’t come back with us?” Alistair whispered in dread. “What if she turns into... _that_ and I have to _leave_ her down here? We still have...how long has it been even? We still have _months. What if?”_

“What if’s will not save your marriage, Alistair,” Zevran said plainly. “I think what you need is sleep. I will send the little strange man away and have Wynne make strong potions.” as small as he was, he pulled Alistair to his feet.

“Sometimes I wonder why you haven’t tried to run away yet.” Alistair wiped his eyes before accepting a waterskin.

Zevran sighed. “Sometimes I ask myself the same question. But then I find myself in times like this, and I get my answer.”

Even cool water burned down Alistair’s raw throat and he closed his eyes to try to hide his clouding vision. “And?” he capped the pouch and returned it in time to run his hands across his face.

“No one here seems to have a mother. I swear, this would be so much easier if I had bosoms,” the elf joked as he turned away.

Zevran’s attempt to lighten the mood did nothing, however. Alistair went back to the fire after Zevran sent Ruck away with fresh meat and and bread. Tess was incoherent again. It seemed talking with Ruck, who hosted such a firm concentration of the Taint, had pulled her back into the depths of her mind...or wherever the Archdemon spoke to her. Alistair remembered the Archdemon’s voice in his own head as he watched Tess: _So close to my domain, her blood doest heed my call._ The hot bath drew her back to Alistair and their surroundings, but it was too late at that point. Alistair could not forget what he had seen. _Fitting_ , he felt, that as soon as he was strong enough for conceptual awareness, the wife he’d neglected began to fall. He wondered now if this wasn’t a blessing to stay here but chastisement.

 

_“Da!”_

_Alistair scoffed back. “Nori!” he teased in the same tone._

_“Da, we_ **_have_ ** _to check the cake.”_

_“I thought we were waiting for the hourglass to stop?”_

" _No.” frizzy ginger curls bounced as dramatically as her brows with an adamant nod._

_Alistair couldn’t help but laugh. “All right then, tell me, Lady Shortcake-”_

_“Da!” she accused again._

_His grin refused to flee. “What was the point of tipping the hourglass if we’re not supposed to wait for it?”_

_“Mother’s notes say_ **_almost_ ** _an hour, not an hour.”_

_Alistair paused with a frown. “Are you sure?”_

_Tess had not been wrong; Eleonora had Alistair’s attitude down to every exaggerated brow arch, lip purse and eye crinkle. “Da, I’m a_ **_woman_** _. Of_ **_course_ ** _I’m sure.”_

 _He laughed so hard he nearly fell off his chair, causing the smirk on his daughter’s face to disappear in youthful laughter that filled the room with more sunlight than the summer day itself. “Oh Maker!” he wiped the corner of his eyes as he straightened himself. “When Mother gets back, you_ **_have_ ** _to tell her that. I’d be sleeping with the goats if I said that to her,” he trailed off in laughter. Alistair definitely never had more fun than when he was with his children._

_“Da, the cake. Can’t you smell it? It really is done.”_

_“All right, yes, I suppose we won’t surprise your sister if it’s burnt.” Alistair stood and grabbed the padded mitts._

_“Well,” Eleonora said, standing off to the side as he pulled the bundt pan from the brick oven, “I think it would still surprise her, just not in the funny way.”_

_“Oh, I don’t know, it might be pretty funny to watch her if she expects a delectable bite of fine chocolate cake,” he giggled._

_“I’m talking about Carlyn, not Mother. Mother might laugh after making a funny face. Carlyn would cry that we tricked her.”_

_He giggled again. “Actually, I think you’re right on both accounts. I suppose we’d better play nice if we don’t want to wake up in the chicken coop.”_

_“We still have time to decorate it, right?”_

_“I...sincerely hope so.” he glanced out the window, craning his neck. “I don’t see them yet.”_

_“That’s not hopeful, Da. You’re always telling us to be rogues like Mother.”_

_He pulled his six-year-old in and kissed the top of her head. “Yes, and_ **_you’re_ ** _here with Da in the kitchen instead of out there practicing.”_

 _Eleonora beamed at him without an ounce of regret. “I don’t want to be a rogue. I want to be like_ **_you_** _, Da.”_

 _Alistair’s heart melted faster than shavings of Orlesian chocolate sprinkled over hot cake. To be loved by such a pure person, no matter how tiny, to be admired like the greatest hero simply for being Father...it was perfect, incredible. His children had been born into the world believing him flawless and worthy. “I love that so much, Nori. Thank you.” he kissed her again, keeping an arm around her tiny body. “But being a rogue has some amazing advantages._ ** _I_** **_never_** _learned to sneak; Mother_ ** _always_** _catches me trying to steal a cookie.”_

_“Da, I can’t sneak either. I keep stubbing my toe.”_

_Alistair laughed again. “I guess we’ve got it all backwards then, huh? Next time, you and me will go out sneaking, and Mother and Carlyn stay home and cook their own cakes!”_

_“We’ll only end up back in the kitchen asking for food, Da,” she said with grinning eyes._

_He laughed louder. “That we will!”_

 

 _You trespass on the lawn of starvation. A hunger gnawing inside, ripping tendrils from inside her mind, unwinding slowly. A different hunger than you know, but you know_ **_of_ ** _it. You have not the heart to sit and wait for her to leave, to wander away from you, yet you watch for it. You seek out decomposition within her but fail to see your flaw. By watching for the growth to consume her, you are summoning it. You test its patience by delving further. Sooner or later it will give in to your begging._

 

Alistair shot up so fast his head hit stone; a hollow crack echoed about the room as pain trickled down like fresh blood. He clamped his hand over his mouth to muffle the sound that tried to escape. _Fuck!_ Bright colors blurred together until they brought in the darkness, and the faint glow of two milky circles some distance past his feet told him Po was watching. The mabari offered a whine of concern; Alistair winced he thought he was fine, but moved around in the dark to find the lantern and extend the wick to check for blood anyway. _Maker, what was wrong with these dwarves? The luxury of being short,_ he reckoned. He repeatedly touched where he’d hit his head and held his fingers in the light before accepting he hadn’t broken skin.

 _What in oblivion was that?_ That dream, that voice...he couldn’t recall ever baking with Eleonora; and that _voice_...a woman, not the Archdemon. A woman who wasn’t Tess, nor any of the women he was familiar with and yet he knew he’d heard that voice before. Wispy, like the wind reverberating through grass and trees and windows cracked open. His gut flipped as realization slapped his memory. _Desire demons,_ like the one from Kinloch Hold, the one he’d convinced Tess to let go because Alistair sympathized with the Templar; _everything he could ever want but only in a dream._ He sighed heavily within. _That’s sort of me lately, isn’t it?_ His dreams were where his daughters thrived, where _his_ family was whole...and healthy.

He looked at Tess. She still slept, snoring her little snores, curled up tight with her neck craned back and her mouth open. Alistair envied her. When she slept, she slept hard and full; only dreams of the Archdemon seemed to wake her. He set the lantern on the stone stand by the bed and climbed back into bed, but he remained sitting. Tess moved at his touch when he brushed hair from her healing cheek, never opening her eyes, closed her mouth and pressed in until she was right against him clutching his leg, then fell limp and slack-jawed and snored all over again.

There was something missing...but what was it? Po was here, Tess was here, Alistair was here...at least he hoped. Carlyn; he sighed again. The dream hadn’t showed Carlyn, only Eleonora. He couldn’t find his youngest in his sleeping wife right now either, in fact he hadn’t seen his speckled child all day. Panic rooted in his heart like a barb. He saw Eleonora in the dream, but not Carlyn? Why? What happened to Carlyn?

 

_Alistair woke so swift he sat up. Clammy, winded, face and neck dripping with sweat. A familiar touch stopped him from getting out of bed._

_“Another dream?” Tess asked gently._

_“Yeah.”_

_“The Circle again?”_

_He did often dream of the Kinloch Hold disaster lately. “Not this time. I don’t think. I don’t know. It was a woman speaking, so...maybe. I don’t know,” he repeated._

_“Carlyn’s been having dreams too.”_

_“I know. Eleonora, too. It seems to be hitting all of us at once. Except you?” he looked back at his wife. Her belly was swollen like the strangest allergic reaction he’d ever seen. Alistair reached over with a tender rub; a tiny jolt met his hand from inside. “Silly, isn’t? Probably just...anxiety. Carlyn’s never seen a babe before, and Eleonora’s forgotten how small Carlyn used to be. It feels like we haven’t had a baby in the house in years.”_

_“It_ **_has_ ** _been years,” she cracked a smile. Alistair softly laughed. “Three in fact,”she teased._

 _“_ ** _Are_ ** _you having bad dreams?”_

_“No, not that I remember. The babe moves a lot at night though, I have trouble getting comfortable. I don’t suppose he has the nightmares for me?”_

_“Either that or he’s a natural bard. Instead of wailing, he’ll come out singing. Maker, that’s_ **_horrifying_ ** _; don’t you dare tell Leliana I said that!” he laughed at himself though, and leaned down to kiss his wife’s stifled giggles. “Do you mind if I open the windows?”_

_“Please!” she urged. “I feel like an oven!”_

_He stifled his own giggles with another kiss. “You_ **_do_ ** _have a_ **_bun_ ** _in there. It’s been cooking quite a while, too.”_

_She groaned. “You’re cooking the next one.” Alistair couldn’t help but laugh._

 

“The rock breathes.”

Alistair frowned as he blinked strain of sleep from his eyes. “What?” he hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep again, laid down even, knees bent because he was too long for the bed. The oil lamp still burned as brightly as when he’d cranked it up to check his head.

Tess lay on her side, eyes shifting ever so slightly, her face otherwise blank. “The rock,” she repeated, “it’s breathing.”

“Are you awake?” he squeezed his eyes shut, dry from sleeping with circulating air, rubbed with his palms until his lids unstuck from his eyeballs.

“I’ve been awake. You’ve been dreaming.” she spoke strangely, too calm, too emotionless for _Tess._ “You asked if we could name him Griffon.”

Alistair stared at her, frozen. “Griffon?” _He remembered, it was a dream. He’d felt her belly, he remembered massaging her before bed to try to calm the baby; she’d said she had trouble getting comfortable at night because he moved too much. He asked to name him Griffon. She had been hot beneath his hands, little feet pressed back against him as he smeared the lotion over taut, shiny skin. He’d seen proof of his lively sprout, ran his fingers over tiny toes pushing out until he tickled them into retreat. It had felt so real._ “Did you have the same dream?”

“No. I dreamed of Shale.”

“You dreamed of Shale?”

Her eyes shifted. “Rocks. Maybe not Shale. Huge rocks. People-rocks. They breathed, thought, drank, bled. They were where lyrium comes from. They sang like lyrium does.”

“So it’s not...it’s not your Taint singing?” even as he asked, he was afraid to.

She paused in thought again. “Is it? I don’t know. The lyrium here is Tainted. Rather, it’s susceptible to it. Eager, like it _wants_ to be Tainted. It’s slow, tough, doesn’t surrender easy. Complex blood. Right? Tougher than ours? Eventually the Taint takes it though. I don’t know which one sings.” she frowned a little. “No,” she changed her mind. “Lyrium sings. The Taint _yells._ ”

“What happens with Tainted lyrium?” he asked.

She met his eyes. “An _angry_ song. That’s what I feel in my bones down here.”

 

What had seemed like it might be a reprieve turned out to be waking nightmares. First, another injury: Zevran this time. Sten, Zevran, Po and the warrior dwarves scouted ahead for shallower, calmer water to try to wash clothes and the livestock in, but not an hour after they left a scream echoed out from the hole across the river. The Wardens and the mages ran across the bridge and down a winding tunnel and literally crashed into the dwarves. They’d found a shallow river, but something had attacked Zevran’s legs - the first of them to test waters. Zevran screamed between grunts and whimpers, and it took all the dwarves to hold him still so Velren could scrape something thick and glowing green off with a dagger. It was hardly effective though, corroding the blade before their eyes. Wonus tried to explain: the toxin was a mold called _glowing slime_ that grew in shallow water and preyed upon the living with acid - but they never knew where it was for it did not glow till it attacked. Bhelen noticed the mages and interrupted, yelling to use fire. 

Alistair had never heard Zevran scream before. In fact the elf never complained once about hurting; mild jokes but nothing real. Through attending to the Wardens’ pains, Zevran had become somewhat of a friend. Alistair wasn’t sure whether his friend screamed now from the vicious mold or the fire, even though Wynne kept a steady stream of healing spells funneled in as Morrigan scorched the slime.

In trying to avoid the pain of his friend when he could do nothing to help, Alistair looked away, walked up the tiny bridge; even ancient dwarves had tried to avoid the slime. It took a long moment of staring into a pair of eyes straight ahead to realize they were being watched. _Darkspawn_ , more than Alistair could count. Gruesome distortions nearly blended in with the filth-worn rock when they weren't grunting or attacking. He hadn’t recognized the buzz at first over the chaos around Zevran, and Po didn’t appear interested; the mabari’s focus spent growling at the slime. The Darkspawn never moved though, not a single arrow raised, they only watched. It was like they were too wary of the glowing slime to engage in anything that might require them to draw near it. Tess stood a step ahead of Alistair to join the staring match. _What are they waiting for?,_ she asked. Alistair answered before the depth of his words hit him: _They’re afraid._ He knew he was right the instant he said it, but it didn’t ease his mind. To know the darkspawn _felt_ \- felt _fear_ of all things - made them seem more...human, alive...as if they, too, deserved a chance at life. Even down here where any Darkspawn had an advantage, the creatures were hesitating. It almost made him wonder if they weren’t attacking out of _sympathy_ , as if they knew what it felt like to be Zevran right now. Nothing but one vast staring contest. It was the strangest, creepiest moment of Alistair’s life.

Zevran’s wound required they stay for _about a month,_ Wynne said. Her healing spells counteracted enough of Morrigan’s fiery attack on the deadly slime to keep the flesh-burn minimal, but the acid excreted before Morrigan arrived had done considerable damage. They couldn’t use the dwarven Quick Heal potion because of the exposed nerves and muscle, but the injury kits had salves for burns and they had plenty of wraps, and of course they had magic. Sten opposed the idea of staying so long but also pointed out they would need Zevran able to walk and fight, and Alistair agreed; they were all safe for now, no use in wasting the fresh air and water available here just to try for good time. He watched Zevran throw out lame prompts for a threesome while Tess applied a numbing balm to the wounds, and as Tess blushed in response Alistair realized he could use the delay for at least one good thing. Alistair needed to repair his marriage, he needed to make up for treating her like _daughter,_ before he completely forgot what it was like to be _husband_ again. He vowed to start that night.

He didn’t start that night, or the next. Ruck returned, and kept returning for more food, and Alistair ended up agreeing to share meals because Tess _begged_ him - even though he knew what would happen. He kicked himself mentally each time he watched his wife slip away yet _again_ in the presence of such strong Taint, and then he kicked the dwarf away. The third day Ruck came seeking roasted horse, Alistair _actually kicked_ him out, shoving his foot hard enough to skid him across the stone. Wynne scolded Alistair, affecting him to whirl and nearly strike her as well. Though all he had to do was point to Tess; who sat in front of the fire rocking and staring into the void muttering about _Him_ the Archdemon and _His song;_ to validate his actions, Alistair’s voice echoed back to him: _Enough! I am done losing my wife!_ If Wynne really wanted to feed the stupid ghoul, she could give up her own rations away from the rest of camp, out of sight where Alistair couldn’t feel the gimp’s Taint burrow in wreckage and filth. Even though Tess came to later that night, Alistair didn’t talk to Wynne for days. He’d thought he’d made it clear Tess was the most important person in this party - on the whole quest, _he couldn’t believe Wynne had tried to justify indulging Tess’ Taint!_

Having Tess in a freer state of mind didn’t help like Alistair thought it would. He desired with such passion - _needed_ \- to spend nights reclaiming his wife, cuddling, talking, _remembering_ , touching, maybe even try to make love again...but _daughter_ interfered once more. An interference of _lacking_. Alistair was grateful to see his wife again, _more than he could express,_ but Carlyn was severely absent. He dreamed consistently of Eleonora, of Tess, of preparing to welcome what they all assumed was a son - but no Carlyn. He dreamed they’d _had_ a son - Tess had let Alistair name him Griffon even, he’d dreamed teaching Eleonora to hold baby Griffon, dreamed Eleonora was disappointed because she’d expected _a nug with Mother’s nose_ and that she wished they named him _Goraidh or Evander_ instead. He dreamed of holding his son, bundling him up, cradling him to his chest, singing softly while he bounced each step until the sweetest, most precious cries and tears faded into a dream all Griff’s own. Alistair remembered being breathless in _awe_ as the tiniest person he’d ever seen fell asleep against him, an iron grip on his finger, waking with the sweetest, saddest pout and wail every time Tess tried to take him back for feeding; he dreamed Tess’ breasts leaked through her dress and the breeze carried a sweet scent up to his nostrils. He dreamed of relieving her swollen breasts of pressure, music of love, lust and raw need cradling him as sweet milk spilled down his tongue, moans and grunts of appreciation with every suckle and perfect thrust. _Vivid_ images, touching - _things he’d never done before,_ ripe smells, _warm bodies, growing his family._ As Tess swelled with new child again in his dreams, Alistair woke each day with a sunken heart upon realizing Tess was _not_ pregnant. And still no Carlyn - always mention, never sighting; this greatly disturbed him.

Alistair drew picture after picture when the dreams kept him awake, but he could not add Carlyn into each one; she was not there in his mind. The times he _did_ sleep lately were due to tears; waking from dreams, _recalling_ in dreams _playing with her, tucking her in, receiving soft kisses from her just above his beard, reading to her, smelling lilac and lemon in her hair, feeding chickens and gather eggs with her;_ realizing he was underground where dreams were unheard of, crying himself to sleep trying to force Carlyn’s face to appear for him. Though he could not find her face in his memory for the life of him, he always left room for her in every portrait, except once. He’d tried to draw her likeness from the picture Morrigan preserved, but it _wasn’t Carlyn_ and in disgust at himself for insulting his daughter he tore the attempt from the rest of the sketch. He otherwise drew until they were out of ink, and then he propped the pictures up all around the house on shelves, on stands and barrels; anyone could tell which house was theirs simply by the all the pictures. When they all dried, he had Morrigan come in and preserve these as well; the Witch said nothing, shot him a look of suspicion when she thought he wasn’t paying attention but Alistair didn’t care. He had lost Tess for a time, was losing her again to the Taint, and he was afraid he’d lost Carlyn - there was no way he would allow losing the rest of his children or the image of pregnant Tess.

Tess did not express concerns the others did. Mostly the women questioned Alistair, he overheard without trying in this open cavern that echoed every little noise. Sten and Bhelen asked if Alistair was skipping sleep again, Oghren told him he should drink more, but he insisted he was fine. He _was_ fine; he could breathe and think, as long as that Tainted gimp didn’t hobble over, he could eat. He even smiled sometimes - that was more than he could say for half of their party. He and Tess had not re-established sex physically yet - truthfully Alistair was satisfied with the sex they had in his dreams, _it always felt so real_ \- but they were talking, _kissing_ even and spending time together, especially before she fell asleep. She asked him to tell her about the dreams behind the pictures he’d drawn, and she sat curled in his arms through each tale. Tears always soaked seeped through his shirt when he told her about his dreams, and on those nights he always sang and rocked her until she drifted off. _So what,_ he thought; he may not be acting like mages or assassins or Qunari or dwarves thought a normal human or a Grey Warden should act, but Alistair felt better than he had since they’d first ventured underground. The others called him _different_ , but he could only respond _How?_ He remembered Teagan and missed him, he vaguely remembered Eamon but didn’t care. He otherwise didn’t remember what he’d been like before they entered the Deep Roads and figured since he couldn’t remember then it wasn’t important. He knew he would be King of Ferelden - _no, he_ **_was already_ ** _King_ and Tess was his Queen, and they were going to save the world together. As long as he still dreamed of his children, that’s all he cared to know. King _Da_ and Queen _Mother._

One night he actually slept, he woke up _sobbing_. _Something was wrong, Eleonora couldn’t stop crying, the baby was wailing, Tess wasn’t in the house and he couldn’t find Carlyn. There was a layer of dust on the posts of Carlyn’s bed and her bureaus. There was no one to ask what happened. Alistair couldn’t handle baby Griff crying so much, and nothing he did consoled Eleonora. She cried on her bed curled up around a doll Tess had made, and Alistair left the baby in the cradle. No one was outside. The beach was silent, no gulls, sunshine hidden behind dark clouds yet not a single wave. The chickens and goats weren’t there. He thought he heard a noise so he ran around to the front of the house, and saw death: remains of a scorched forest, blackened ground, charred tree stumps, no grass, no flowers. Only death. He called out for Tess and Carlyn but they never answered._ He didn’t remember waking up, but he knew he had because suddenly Tess was right there, she was _real_ and _here_ and she was worried.

“What happened?” he could barely talk through his tears.

“What? What do you mean? Alistair, it was just a dream,” she tried to soothe him.

“ _No_ , you were _gone_ \- you were - and the _baby_ \- what happened to Carlyn?” he searched her eyes. She froze for a moment, then looked insulted and cautious but he couldn’t focus on that right now.

“What?” she whispered.

_“What happened to Carlyn? Why is she gone?”_

Alistair had no desire to leave the stone house after that. He went out to piss and to dump out the shitting bucket, but he waited until everyone else was asleep. He couldn’t face anyone. He knew in his heart that Carlyn had died, and Tess had died in the dream as well. Unlike Tess whom he could always crawl to when he woke up crying, Carlyn was nowhere. There for weeks on the face of her mother and then suddenly _gone_ , and in every dream the dust collected thicker upon her belongings. Alistair had nowhere else to find her, no other memories to reflect on, he couldn’t remember the sound of her voice anymore or the shade of her hair, nor her small hands grabbing his. He had the one picture he’d drawn, and that was it. In his dreams, the days were quiet save for Griffon, who hated the glass bottle with a strange nipple and goat's milk that had replaced Tess, and Alistair could not engage Eleonora in any sort of talk. Eleonora no longer slept upstairs in the room she used to share with her sister, she fell asleep in Tess’ shirts curled up next to Alistair, the baby’s crib was next to the bed and Alistair cried himself to sleep each time his remaining children finally settled. His dreams had traded his wife and daughter for a new baby. _No one understood this._ Alistair’s reality consisted of waking hours surrounded by stone only to fall asleep and spend more waking hours with a little girl who’d run out of tears and a baby who never had enough, while Alistair struggled to mourn in both lives. No one in his party understood what he was going through, not even Tess. She tried to talk to him, tried to get him to talk, she brought him food and drinks, she _begged_ him to tell how she could help. But she didn’t understand, she didn’t have the dreams he did. They would spend long moments staring in each other’s eyes before he broke down in another waterfall and she held him, sometimes cried with him, until they both fell asleep again.

This was not fair. Alistair never wanted this life.

 

_“It is time for supper, my pet,” she drawled. Gray skin glowing almost purple from the vibrance of void-dressed horns, purple and gold cloth swaying as hips swung slow and wide with each step. A tail like a spider’s leg dipped in melted ore swinging carefully behind legs, skin turned into tufts of fabric._

_Alistair braced his palm flat against Tess’ chest to keep her from entering the room. He met her eyes with a silent "Shh” and a finger that did not reach his mouth. The demon hadn’t seen them yet. They did not want to lose this advantage._

_“Yes, my love. What are we having tonight?” the Templar asked. His voice was hollow as if reciting an unfamiliar script._

_Alistair cocked his head and repeated his silent shush when Tess gestured in protest. Sometimes these creatures could be persuaded to leave. If not, and if caught off guard desire demons were savage and lethal._

_“Roast boar, your favorite. And candied yams. The meal looks sumptuous,” the demon purred._

_Alistair had never heard of a demon pretending to cook for anyone before. What exactly had they walked in on?_

_“You spoil me, my sweet. How fare our children at their lessons?” the possessed man inquired in his eager, absent tone._

_“You should ask them yourself.”_

_“What have you learned, my son?”_

_The desire demon’s voice changed around them, mimicking that of a young boy. “Mother has me practicing my penmanship. She raps me on the knuckles if my letters are not formed correctly.”_

_Alistair was taken aback. This desire demon was not inflicting pain. It was...domesticating itself. For the sake of this Templar. The man seemed to be so desperate for his own family he was letting himself fall prey to a dream. Every Templar learns in training that if you become trapped in a dream in the Fade, your body wastes away in reality until death. Why would a Templar do this?_

_“Yes, it is important for a young man to be able to write. And what about you, my dearest Eleonora?”_

_Eleonora?_

_Tess giggled before him, snapping him out of his daze. “Yes, Eleonora. Your puffy-haired ginger daughter? Does a perfect imitation of that cocky eyebrow thing you do?” she reminded him._

_“You mean this one?” Alistair lowered his right brow only to shoot the left far up his forehead. Tess giggled so hard she clapped a hand over mouth to stifle the snort. “All right, all right, I’m sorry!” he laughed._

_“Shh!” she hissed through her girlish laughter._

_“Right, I know, the children are sleeping.” he grinned at his wife. “And we were talking about their lessons. Yes, so, what do you think of Eleonora’s progress? I think she’s...” he trailed off as his eyes landed on her hat that flaunted itself. “Maker’s breath, Tess, I can’t have a serious conversation when you’re wearing this.” he reached up and flicked a curved tip. Some strange hat that mocked Qunari horns, pieced together like spider legs made from bark dipped in melted onyx and curved outward to loop up, complete with...something fluffy dyed a brilliant violet and covered in lace stitched to mock flames._

_Tess just giggled though. “It was a gift, husband. From Leliana.”_

_“Hmph. Orlais. Figures. No wonder my father took them to war.” Tess bit her lips to cover another laugh. “Are you sure it’s supposed to be Qunari horns? It looks almost...demonic. Well, on you, anyhow,” he teased._

_She couldn’t stop giggling. “Stop it!” she completely missed his mouth when she raised herself for a kiss. It was Alistair’s turn to laugh now._

_“And that’s how I know you’ve have too much to drink,” he teased again with the grin he knew she melted over._

_“Well then, as a demon I believe I’m entitled to as much drink as I can sneak past my husband.”_

_He shook his head, sneering his grin as his own giggle escaped. “It’s not considered sneaking when you put the entire bottle to your mouth right in front of me.”_

_“You mean like this?” she smirked as she brought the bottle of wine up to her lips again. Lust grandly dilated her pupils. She would not be able to keep her voice down tonight._

_“That is exactly what I mean.” he drew her in by the waist and rooted his lips to hers before she could drink more. He groaned though. “Dammit.” he kissed her again before pulling back, licking their lips. “You got into the blackberry. Do we have any pie left?” he asked._

_She laughed, and so did he when she snorted though another slap of her hand to her mouth. “And this is why I can sneak drinks past my husband. Food food foooooooood," she sang while she giggled._

_He grinned. “What can I say? I have to keep up this soft gut you love so much.”_

_“Hm, it’s not nearly as soft as it could be,” she had a hard time straightening her face._

_“Glad you approve.” he loved to hear her laugh, even if she was drunk. It was the most beautiful song he’d ever hear. “Now, speaking of pie-”_

_She giggled again, licking her lips before taking another drink. “You know, Eleonora helped make it.”_

_“Did she? The _pie?_ And she didn't sneak into it before dinner? That’s...amazing, actually.” He grinned, remembering the evidence on Eleonora's face the last time Tess made pie. _

_“Carlyn helped too. Or - rather, she helped make sure two bowls of berries were ripe.”_

_Alistair laughed loudly, but clamped his hand over his mouth...a little too late._

_“Da! I’m thirsty!” Eleonora called down._

_Alistair groaned. “Dammit. So close!” Tess giggled again, and he stopped her from taking another sip. “No, no, that’s enough. Otherwise you’ll pass out. It’s going to be another hour now before they fall back asleep. It’s really no fun trying to make love when you’re not awake to enjoy it.” he teased her favorite grin again._

_She snorted again and Alistair pulled her in for a kiss. And just as their lips lingered again, a heavy knock sounded. Alistair froze, and the pounding sounded again. “Do you hear something?” he asked._

_“Da!” Eleonora called._

_“Me too Da!” Carlyn yelled._

_Tess giggled again. “Besides your children and the door?”_

_“We have a door?” he joked just to summon another giggle from her._

_“Sometimes two,” she joked back. “I will get the door. You...can run the water upstairs, since you are the only adult here capable of running-” she made herself giggle, which made Alistair laugh - and caused the girls and the door to sound again. “I’ll get the door. It’s probably just Po. Tuck the girls in. Again. Please.”_

_“I will most certainly tuck them in. And then I will be back down to tuck you in...” he danced his eyebrows for her, making her giggle again through one last kiss._

_Alistair hurried his errand of water. Largest cup filled, he took the stairs two at a time. Poor Carlyn was nearly asleep when she noticed him and murmured for a drink. “Thank y...Love y...Da...” her eyelids fell even before he could lay her head on her pillow. He softly laughed as he kissed her forehead._

_“And Da loves his princess,” he told her. “And you, young lady...” Alistair moved to the other bed where Eleonora sat patiently waiting, “are up far too late for your own good,” he teased as she gulped drink after drink. “And now you might also be up in an hour to pee.” He laughed quietly as she spit and coughed on the water._

_“Da, it went through my nose!” she coughed and laughed. Alistair took the cup from her and kissed her forehead, giggling with her._

_“Believe it or not, I don’t always make you do that on purpose.” he smiled,  brushing her frizzy curls off her face as she settled in with a last cough._

_“Who’s here, Da?” she whispered._

_“Just the dog. Don’t you worry, sweet cake. Have good dreams for Da, yes?”_

_“Maybe I’ll have a dream where you spit water through your nose instead.”_

_He laughed again. “If I hear you laughing up here, I’ll know what happened then.” he kissed her head once more. “Close your eyes. Da will have fresh milk ready by the time you wake up.”_

_Tess was still at the door when Alistair stepped off the staircase. Wide open, wind blowing outside, so dark. Instantly his pulse quickened, thundering to his heart and gut that something was wrong. His veins hadn’t buzzed in a very long time. He set the cup on a step at arm-level and hurried to his wife._

_“Tess?”_

_“I-it’s fine. I think...” she said uncertainly._

_Alistair heard a strange male voice and practically ran to the door, expecting to have to push his wife out of the way to kill someone. He froze at her side though. A funny little dwarf stood on the other side of their door, limbs bent sharply concave, neck craned to the side, skin graying and eyes nearly completely gray. He wore what looked like armor once black though now it was moldy and dirty and faded, some places more riddled than others. “What...er, can I do for you...friend?” Alistair hoped his gut was just confused._

_“Friend? Yes, nice friend, friend of Ruck, very nice. Nice like dark, dark like here, like out. Big dark, lots of dark. Oh yes, big dark out here. Big dark like down, too!” the troubled dwarf said enthusiastically._

_Alistair’s jaw hung slack for a moment before he was able to turn to his wife. “Er...do you know him?”_

_“I don’t...remember?” she said unsurely, sounding to Alistair like she was trying to be polite but wasn’t sure what was safe to say around such an odd character._

_“Remember? Yes, Ruck remembers, he remembers the dark.”_

_“Yes...it is...rather dark out. New moons and all...” Alistair observed with a nod._

_“New? Moons?” the gimpy dwarf asked. His head lolled as he turned to look at Alistair. “Moons out, yes? Not down. Down is safe, out is scary, yes? Yes, Ruck knows. Ruck has read, though, yes he has. Ruck has read the moons. They gives light but not music. Ruck likes moons darkness.”_

_“Darkness?” Tess echoed._

_“Pretty darkness, moons pretty like shiny things, glowing like pretty metals.” the dwarf nodded._

_“I love shiny things,” Tess replied. “I collect them. Shiny things, round things, shaped things. Reds and blues and greens, amber like rich honey. Very pretty, pretty like the light too. But sometimes the light hurts. The light is not good, but the shiny things are. I don’t have moons, though. Do you have shiny moons?” Alistair stared at his wife. Maker, he must have had more to drink than he realized, she was staring to sound like the crazy dwarf!_

_“Yes! Yes, shiny moons, you see! You come see, yes? You come with Ruck? Ruck show you pretty things, sparkly things. Lots of things! And then you mights hear the music too! Oh yes, nice musics, pretty musics. Pretty moons, pretty things, pretty musics. You will come with Ruck, pretty lady?”_

_Alistair had never seen such a strange person before. He was both appalled and highly intrigued. What in the world changed a person like this so much? He slowly followed the dwarf’s choppy gaze toward Alistair’s left._

_Alistair gasped so hard it pained his chest. “Tess?” he cried out in start. Where in oblivion did she go? “Tess!” She was right there! He knew she was! He just looked at her! He spun around at least three times and raced down the hall to check in the kitchen and bedroom. Alistair whirled on the dwarf, ready to kill. No one touches his wife! “You! If you did-” but he froze._

_It wasn’t the dwarf all crumpled beyond the door, elbows and knees drawn in, head shaking like it was loose from its hinge. Wrists and fingers bent as if stiff from pain, skin ruined in blotches of mold and decay, blue dress in the same mold-stained state, the Grey Warden broach he’d made her scratched and so worn half of it was unrecognizable. A clump of hair fell to the floor as she turned her head, rotted frayed flesh reaching out, sockets grayed and peeling like she was undead. One eye still had green left._

_“Tess?” his voice broke so hard he wasn’t even sure that’s what he’d said. “No. No no no no no nonononono!” Alistair’s eyes watered. Why was this happening?_

_“Tess no? Yes no. Yes? Come back, yes? Come down, below down. Deep down. Down from door. Yes no?” her voice was wet and croaky, and she wheezed each time her head jerked._

_“No, no Tess...” the door failed to hold him up. He stared up at his decaying wife from the cold hardwood floor. “Please no...Tess, why?” he felt rain seep from his eyes and chill from the wind gushing in, throwing scents of rot and wet mold and filth he never wanted to associate his wife with._

_“Yes why? Why please? Please come, yes please. Down from door, down to road. Deep down. Deep road.”_

_"Why, Tess? Why, Maker? Why? She’s my wife!”_

_A sickening crack sounded as she turned in jerks, her torso continuing to twist though her hips stiffened, and she fell into a pillar and its railing instead of catching herself._

_Another wave of tears washed over Alistair’s face, his throat too tight to say her name. No no no no no!!! This is wrong! Why is this happening? This can’t happen! Please don’t do this! Not my wife!_

_She wobbled back up by slithering up the pillar and began hobbling away. “Maker Tess? Yes, make Tess. Make wife, make Tess. Make Yes. Come, make road. Come Tess, Maker Yes. Deep down road. Make deep, make road. Deep road, Maker yes...”_

A loud noise shot Alistair straight out of bed and into the beam he always hit his head on. A woman and a dog yelped in reaction as he screamed for Tess. Hands grabbed him and he swung, yelling to the monster _begone!_ , and when the hands and voices and the barking didn’t stop Alistair did the only thing he could think of. He forced his breath into his fists, crying to the Maker to give him strength, and brought forth the hardest Holy Smite he could muster. Blinding light filled the dark room in a column and blast that exploded as quick as he had summoned it.

 _“Dammit, Alistair!”_ he recognized that voice! _Tess!_ Alistair scrambled over the bed to see Tess - _the real Tess_ \- push herself up from the corner of the room. “I’m _not a mage!_ That _hurt! Shit!_ ” she winced as rolled over.

“Tess! Maker, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” he fell off the bed trying to reach her, ending up in front of her on his hands and knees. “Oh Tess - no, I’m so sorry!” he could barely see her through his tears. “Tess! -” he wiped his palms across his face then forced her face toward him. He nearly laughed through a sob, relief and fear and shame smothering him at once, and he threw his arms around her so tight she squeaked. _Healthy, whole, not rotting, not gone, not Ruck._ “Maker, Tess, please forgive me! Please! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it! I thought you were a monster!”

“So you _Smote_ me?” she hugged him back anyway.

“I’m sorry, Tess! I mean it, I’m so sorry! I had such a bad dream!”

“I know, I’ve been trying to wake you up. You were crying in your sleep.”

He couldn’t tell her what he’d seen. He didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to lose her. He clung to her, hard, tight, as close as he could hold her to his body. He was so grateful she didn’t ask questions, she just let him soak her with his tears. Sobs shook him violently until he was reduced to a gasping rag doll in her arms.

“Alistair, come back to bed,” she urged quietly, tenderly massaging the back of his neck. Fingers tangling their way up the back of his head sent a shiver down his spine.

“I don’t want to sleep, Tess,” he admitted.

She hesitated with sigh. She pressed her lips to his head before pulling backwards. “Then...just come sit with me, please? We’ll read, or something. It won’t do any good to stay on the floor.” Alistair must have looked downright pathetic, for she frowned deep in sympathy and smoothed his hair from his face. “It’s not real, Alistair.” her lips tingled his face, forcing him to close his eyes for each kiss.  

“It feels real though. Every dream since...since the Circle feels real,” he whispered. “Especially down here.”

She was right, of course. He needed something to distract him, he needed to relax, remember _now._ She insisted it would be okay and finally he agreed to move, to _try._ He helped her straighten the crates and gather shattered glass from the broken lantern. She met his eyes when she placed the drawings of their children in his hands. He shuffled through them until he found the one of Carlyn and Eleonora, and Tess reached up to catch a stray tear when he stroked a finger over his tiny daughter’s face.

“She came back,” he croaked out. “It was only for a moment, she was falling asleep. But I got to see her again. I heard her again.” Tess didn’t have words for him. He knew she didn’t, he knew why, he was not offended. Their children could only ever exist in dreams, they both knew that. He pulled her in with one arm and kissed her. “I more than love you,” he whispered. _So much more than love_ , even when he’d mistaken her for Carlyn, even when he couldn’t think straight. She let him have his dreams even when she didn’t have them. That was all he could ask of her.

Alistair was afraid to go back to sleep. Escalating darkness crept into his dreams lately. He didn’t know if he could handle more. Carlyn might have returned, but for how long? Who would be next to dissolve before his eyes? His heart couldn’t take it.

Tess fell asleep sitting upright against him. He gently moved her, laid her down so he could spread the pictures of his children out before him. _Griffon had aged_ , not much but enough for Alistair to see himself in the bald babe beneath his fingers. _So tiny at first, now round with infant chub. Born with bright red hair that had given way to a smooth head._ Alistair could remember the soft spot without trying. The last few dreams, baby Griff had sported a few delicate strands of blond. A small, chubby blond Alistair. Eleonora’s hair had grown, _she always ended up fixing the braids he failed to make but never said a word about his lack of skills._ In the dreams Tess wasn’t part of, Eleonora wore her mother's clothes to bed, on bad days she wore them all the time. When Tess was present, Alistair was so proud of her shape; not because his seed was strong and he could fill her with child, but _the proof they could make such beautiful things together._ They couldn’t do such grand, wondrous things alone, without each other. When she and their three children were in his dreams, it was perfect. Those dreams, he could ask for nothing more.

He traced the outline of Carlyn’s face with one finger. He had heard her voice again, he could hear it now. _Da! Me too! Can I have a drink?_ The rest of that dream was _horrible_ though, heartbreaking, perverse. He wished it would have fared like he’d wanted, he wished he could have just tucked in his children and then stumbled drunkenly between the sheets with his wife. _Why did dreams have to be so cruel?_

But it was just a dream, right? Couldn’t he change it? He was so tired of dreaming of losing everything, he lost enough in real life as it was. He could. He could change it, he _would_ change his dream.

_“Da! I’m thirsty!” Eleonora called from upstairs._

_“Da! Me too!” Carlyn’s little voice chimed in._

_“Oh dear.” Tess muttered into Alistair’s mouth through a locked kiss._

_Alistair sighed with a huff of humor. “Better now than later, when I’m buried to the hilt and can’t stop.”_

_“Da!” two voices called simultaneously. Tess giggled._

_“An indefinite cue. Fine. I’m going.” He gave his wife another kiss, and the door sounded. A heavy thud followed by a dragging scrape. Po. “Maker, didn’t I teach that dog how to open doors? How is it he can get out on his own but not in?”_

_Tess giggled again. “I’ll get the door, you get the girls,” she said, pressing up for one last kiss before stealing away. Po thudded and scraped on the door again then barked, demanding they know he was waiting. Griffon wailed from his crib in the other room._

_“No, scratch that. You get the baby, I’ll get water and the door.” he leaned over for one more quick kiss before striding to the front door. “You know,” he told the dog as he held the wooden portal wide open, “ that shrieking nug sound is your fault.” Po looked up with large, sparkling pouting eyes and gave a whine of apology. “Oh, yes, you’d better be sorry. Tonight is supposed to be a night for the adults.” he paused. “I’m putting you on child duty. As soon as I run up water, you’ll be in charge. No one gets out of bed.” Alistair laughed and let the door swing closed as Po sulked away grumbling in mabari._

_“Da! May I pleeeeease have water?” Eleonora called down._

_“Fold your feathers, I’m coming!” Alistair locked the door - for good measure - and wound himself around Po to fetch the largest cup he could find. Slurping from the cup to keep it from spilling, Alistair took the stairs two at a time to find Po settling on the rug between Carlyn and Eleonora’s beds._

_“You two are up awfully late,” Alistair said, sitting on the edge of Carlyn’s bed._

_“We can’t sleep, Da,” Eleonora insisted._

_“We saw shooter stars,” Carlyn said._

_“Shooting stars, sweet cake,” he gently corrected. He raked his fingers through fine blonde hair shining silver in the peeking moonlight. “Did you make a wish, at least?”_

_“Eleonora says they’re bad luck.” Carlyn slopped her tongue around her mouth to catch the overflow of water._

_“Why would you say that?” Alistair asked._

_“That’s what grandmother says,” Eleonora relayed, “she said shooter stars....no, er...shooting stars! Shooting stars in summer means lots of hot sky, and that doesn’t like the cold seas very much. She said it means lots of waves.”_

_“I see. Well...grandDa also used to sail. What did he say about all this?” Alistair asked._

_“GrandDa says it’s rubbish.” Carlyn answered, her voice echoing inside the cup. Alistair laughed._

_“Well, we don’t live on ships like they used to. We don’t have water problems. So why don’t we wish on the shooting stars instead?” he asked, taking the cup from Carlyn._

_“Wish like what?”_

_Alistair leaned over to kiss his speckled daughter’s face when she wiggled down under the quits. “Like for things you want. Do you want to know what Da would wish for?” he asked, moving to Eleonora’s bed._

_“What, Da?” Eleonora watched him as she held the cup._

_“Da wishes for my beautiful family to always be here with me,” he told them, “To spend the rest of my life with my wonderful daughters, my growing son and amazing Mother.”_

_Eleonora watched him while she gulped noisily. Alistair and Carlyn giggled as she burped with wide eyes. “Oops!” Eleonora giggled._

_“I don’t know what I want,” Carlyn said._

_“Me neither,” Eleonora echoed._

_Alistair took the empty cup from her. “Why don’t you wish for an adventure then? I’ll tell you what, until you fall asleep, why don’t you think up some adventures to wish for? And then you can tell Da all about it during bath tomorrow? But for now, I need to return to Mother, she is waiting for me.” He wished his daughters good dreams, said he’d be up when they awoke. He kissed them once more, pulled their blankets up to their little chins and descended back down stairs._

_Tess had fallen asleep nursing. Leaning against the wall on their bed, her head hung at her shoulder, her arms propped up with pillows to keep the baby in place. Griffon kept suckling, tiny fingers stretching and clenching, tiny chin bobbing up and down to fill his tiny belly. Above Griff’s lanky baby legs, the neglected breast had wet through Tess’ blouse. “My poor love, I’m so sorry,” he whispered. He pressed a kiss to her sleeping face, then braced the baby, moved the pillows, and turned his son to breast in need of relief. With Griffon to his chest, Alistair curled up against his sleeping wife. He heard Tess’ heartbeat, strong, soothing, music that let him know it was okay to keep breathing and look around. Griff squeezed his finger and crushed it into the side of her breast while he clumsily kneaded, though from the milk seeping out from the corners of his tiny lips it seemed he was simply enjoying Mother’s cache._

_Griffon was a funny, clever babe: he’d always start to doze while nursing, then give a forced cry to be allowed to sleep at his mother’s breast; Alistair would joke he was jealous, and Tess would retort with a smirk that he’d need to find a brilliant fib for if the girls ever discovered their father stealing brother’s food. But tonight, there was no joking. Alistair admired his only son until the tiny lad relaxed all grips and breathed through his nose. After moving Griff in his crib, Alistair fed the fire, covered his wife and lay her on her favorite pillows, and settled in next to her with a book. It wasn’t long before a pitter-patter of small feet creaked down the wooden steps Alistair had made with his own hands._

_“What are you two doing up?” Alistair whispered as his daughters climbed into bed on either side of him. “Do you realize how late it is?” The bed fit all four of them, despite the girls were growing quick._

_“We can’t sleep, Da,” Eleonora said._

_“Why not?” he asked. “Bad dreams?”_

_“No, Po is windy.”_

_“Po is windy? You mean he’s whistling?” he wasn’t sure if he should be smiling._

_“No, Da, he’s tootin’!” Carlyn said with a wrinkled nose. Alistair bit his lips and pressed a hand hard over his mouth to keep the noise from waking up mother and son. Both girls giggled at the sight of their mighty father doing so._

_After he’d calmed down Alistair quietly called Po downstairs, then giggled again to his daughters he’d read one story while they waited for stink to go away. Eleonora wanted a story about Grey Wardens, Carlyn wanted a Magister Princess story. Alistair knew just how to blend the two; an old fairy tale he’d heard through the Chantry as a child, stories the Revered Mothers tried to keep them from reading, a tale about a strange sort of hero, a race of powerful men created by the Magisters of old, part man-part beast and stronger than a wyvern. There once was a particularly famous hero, no one knew him by name only by the piercing yellow eyes. Despite having been made by others, he was once a man, a good man devout to the Maker. Common folk feared him, but fate decreed his reputation be changed. Guided by the Maker, he was placed in the path of a beautiful Princess, the daughter of an Archon, the king of Magisters. He was to save this Princess, escort her to a safe haven to unlock a secret power and remind her of her greatness. But the man made a mistake, he -_

_“Ooh! Did he love her, Da? Did they fall in love?” Eleonora interrupted._

_Alistair laughed softly. “They did indeed fall in love,” he nodded, “but you’re skipping ahead. How do you even know this? Did Mother tell you this already?”_

_“No, but you called her beautiful, and_ **_you_ ** _call_ **_Mother_ ** _beautiful and you fell in love with her,” his little ginger girl stated._

_“That I did. Yes, they fell in love. But he wasn’t supposed to,” he continued. He told his eager-eared daughters that the hero’s journey landed him with strange company - Alistair wasn’t sure of the details so he exaggerated the companions he and Tess used to drink and camp with - mages, assassins, dangerous bards who liked to wear Chantry dresses-_

_“Auntie Lil?” Carlyn guessed._

_Damn. Alistair couldn’t believe she’d remembered that. Leliana - Aunt Lil to the girls - had even tried to leave a set of Chantry gowns once, just their size. Alistair kept them in the trunk upstairs under the excuse the gowns were heavy and thus for winter only. “Er...yes, sure, we can say Leli - er, Auntie Lil was in this story.” He told them of the golem, of dwarves, and a sneaky Wild Witch who-_

_“Oh! Auntie Morrigan!” Eleonora exclaimed excitedly._

_Alistair sighed inside. Of all the women his daughter looked up to... “Fine, yes, you can pretend the Witch was Morrigan. Now...where was I?” And Grey Wardens. The hero found his place in the world starting with the trust of two unlikely Grey Wardens who magically survived a terrible Blight and a mean dragon-Archdemon who-_

“Alistair, what are you doing?”

 _“The girls couldn’t sleep, love, I was just telling them a story. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. We’ll be quick.” Alistair leaned around Carlyn to kiss Tess, and he held her hand behind their daughter’s back._ She was colder than he expected her to be.

_“What about the Archer-demon, Da?” Eleonora asked._

_“Archdemon, sweet-cake. He’s the boss of the bad guys, he leads all the Blights. But don’t worry, you will never see one in your life, I promise,” he told her._

“Alistair, have you been up this whole time? It must be late. Lie down, please?” Tess asked.

_“All right, I suppose I can stop here. You heard Mother. Time for bed.”_

“Alistair-”

 _“I’ll be right back,” he told her as he climbed out of bed,_ the floor was cool stone even beneath his socks. He gathered loose pages from the quilt and set them in a stack on a crate by the bed. _“I promise, right back. I’m just going to go tuck the girls back in. Come on, Mother’s orders. Give your kisses and then upstairs.” He watched as his daughters scurried around the bed to press tiny kisses to Tess’ face before walking ahead of him._ Tess didn’t say goodnight to them, she didn’t even look at them. Something was wrong, _he made a note to ask her about it when he got back downstairs. It was probably nothing, she was always grumpy when awakened too soon._ Alistair wove around crates and a barrel, walked between a stone bed and Po on a rug in front of a strange stone fireplace. The floor was colder and harder than he remembered it. _Probably what I get for tucking under so many quilts._

 _“I like these stairs better, Da,” Eleonora said, as Carlyn held Alistair’s hand_ up each stone-block step.

_“Do you? Well, I am glad then. I was worried they’d look funny with Mother’s decorations,” he said._

_“I like them better. There’s no gap between the steps.”_

_“That was the whole plan, as long as my girls feel safe,” he told them, squeezing Carlyn’s tender clutch._

“Alistair?” he looked back to see Tess rising from the stone bed, barely illuminated _though the fire and candles were all still lit._ “What are you doing?” she sounded concerned.

 _“I’m just tucking the girls in, it’s fine. You’re more than welcome to join me, they’re your daughters too.” he smiled at his wife. She was behaving oddly. Hopefully she was sleepwalking. He hadn’t known her to do this, but this was her fourth pregnancy, the books they’d read said each one would be different. Carlyn let go of Alistair’s hand to try to hold Tess’ when Mother followed him to the stairs._ Tess didn’t acknowledge Carlyn at all; didn’t look at her, didn’t speak to her, didn’t even shy away. She acted like Carlyn wasn’t even there. _Alistair just stared at Tess for a moment while Eleonora ascended to the girls’ bedroom. “Tess? She wants to hold your hand, Tess. Are you okay?” he searched his wife,_ and she stared back in the very caution and curiosity he felt.

“Am _I_ okay?” she echoed. “I - what? Alistair?” as if she couldn’t believe he was doing _something_.

 _Maker, did they fight? Did he forget an argument?_ The look on her face validated this speculation, he felt. _Dammit. He could be such a bad husband sometimes, Maker - and Tess - forgive him. “I’ll just be right down. Go back to bed, love, I’m sorry. Carlyn, come on, sweet, take Da’s hand. Mother just needs a moment,” he tried to say as respectfully as possible, holding his hand out with wiggling fingers toward his blond speckled child. “Come on, it’s all well, I promise.”_

“Alistair, talk to me, please.” Tess followed him anyway.

 _“Come on, into bed, sweet cake,” he urged Carlyn gently. “It wouldn’t hurt to help me tuck them in,” he whispered to his wife,_ even darker up here though he could see the girls perfectly from all the lit candles below. Tess searched him in deep concern as he leaned in to kiss her. _He didn’t want to make a scene, especially in front of his daughters._

 _“Da, will you finish the story tomorrow?” Eleonora asked as he sat on the edge of her bed._ It was harder, a sharper edge than he remembered. _That was unsafe, he’d fix that first thing in the morning, and clearly he needed to replace her mattress; the feathers must have stuck together like parchment inside._

_“That I will, my darling,” he promised, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders. Eleonora puckered her lips, and he leaned down to meet his firstborn’s kiss._

“Alistair, _what are you doing?”_ Tess demanded. She almost sounded afraid.

_Alistair sighed quietly. “Sweet dreams, sweet cake. Da loves you very much.” he stood and looked at Tess. “Can this please wait? Does whatever this is about have to be said in front of our children?” he asked softly._

“Children?” Tess looked taken aback.

_“Yes, Eleonora and Carlyn,” he gestured to each one, and sighed again. “Love, I think you’re a bit sleepy still. Why don’t you go lie down? I will be there very soon, I promise.” he held her shoulders while pushing his lips to her cheek._

“Sleepy? Alistair, I don’t think I’m the one who’s-”

_“Not here, Tess. Wait, please. It’s not fair to argue in front of them.” he momentarily touched her face before turning to tuck Carlyn in._

“Alistair, stop! _No!_ Look at what you’re doing!” Tess cried softly. _Pregnancy hormones, it had to be. Maker, this was trying on his nerves._

_“Tess-”_

“No! Don’t _Tess_ me, Alistair, wake up!” she cried. She stepped in front of him and snapped her fingers repeatedly, right in front of his eyes even.

_“Maker help me, Tess! What is wrong with you?” he pushed her hands down. He tried to step around her to sit on the bed but she moved again, blocking him._

“Alistair, look at me, whatever you’re seeing isn’t real. It’s not there!” she insisted. “Please look at me!” she took his face in her hands in a swift, firm move. “You’re awake. You’re bloody awake. Aren't you?”

 _“Of course I’m awake, Tess, you’re the one who fell asleep. Now please, go downstairs, let me tuck Carlyn in before-”_ right below his gesture, Tess shoved something -

Carlyn’s bed disappeared. Just like that, right before his eyes.

“No...” Alistair looked around. _Eleonora in her bed, watching them with wide eyes, two narrow wardrobes one for each girl, two bureaus, the rug in the middle of the room, the wooden doll house he’d built -_ but Carlyn’s bed was suddenly gone, vanished. Two barrels and a crate were in her place; it was the crate Tess had shoved, the cracking scrape it made was an unwelcome visitor at their door. “No, no, this is- this is not right, this is -what just happened?”

“Wake up, Alistair, _please!_ ” Tess begged him. She was not mad, she looked worried, intense concern splashed all over her face. “Whatever you think is here is not. It’s not real, this is a -”

She didn’t need to say it for him to understand. Dream. _“No, that’s impossible. Eleonora is right there - sweetheart, I’m so sorry, Da’s not trying to scare you -”_

“Alistair, there _is no Eleonora!”_ Tess whispered. _“No Carlyn, no anybody_! They were a _dream_ , that’s _all!_ _That’s all they’ll ever be!”_

_“That’s impossible, Tess, they’re - she’s right here! Look for yourself! Po is downstairs with Griffon.”_

Tess wiped her wrists across her eyes. “ _Shit_ , Alistair, if I’d have known...” she winced and wiped her eyes again as she left him.

_Alistair turned to Eleonora. “I’m so sorry, sweet cake, it’ll be okay, I promise,” he told her. He knelt down by her bed and kissed her forehead, tried to soothe her to sleep. He would figure out what happened to Carlyn as soon as Eleonora was passed out. His fingers tangled in her frizzy curls, and she nodded with a brave smile._

A blinding light invaded his sight with a _whoosh. “Maker,_ Tess! What’s -” he froze as soon as he opened his eyes. His hand was out in front of him about a head’s-height above a crate, but there was no child. Just the crate. _Where is Eleonora?_

Alistair stood and looked around. A metal trough wound around the wall of the round room he was in, aflame and exposing everything. Crates, mostly barrels, a couple branded with strange insignias. A stack of empty bottles. No beds. No daughters. No wardrobes, no toy house. No Eleonora. No Carlyn.

“What is going on here?” he could barely hear his own voice.

“There’s _nothing_ , Alistair.” Tess was scared, worried, anxious, every sort of troubled there could be. “ _Nothing_. Don’t you see?”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge Thank You to [Eravalefantasy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eravalefantasy/works) for allowing me to reference her [Witcher Cullen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5359280/chapters/12376934) story (the Grey Warden/Magister Princess tale Alistair tells to his kids).
> 
> Desire Demon dream dialogue is quoted word for word until the scene switches to Alistair and Tess at the words "dearest Eleonora." The quest and this dialogue are courtesy of/belong to Bioware and their Dragon Age quest [Broken Circle](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Broken_Circle) regarding [Templar Drass ](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Drass) and a Desire Demon.


	48. Stimulus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair's inability to decipher dreams from reality jeopardizes the Wardens' marriage on top of their current suffering; Zevran takes initiative to help Alistair overcome his demons before it's too late. As the party discovers the Archdemon and the Darkspawn horde in the Dead Trenches, Alistair is shown just how strong a hold the Taint has over Tess. A tough decision to continue the journey despite the likelihood of running out of supplies must be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood music:  
> [ Aratta by Two Steps From Hell ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EO_ZvZWLV3M)  
> [ Spirits on Earth by Really Slow Motion ](https://youtu.be/LRFD_Car99c)  
> [ Uprising by Audiomachine ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r7NAgcgxzTo)

The entire night was a failure. As if getting lost in the attempt to change his nightmare into a good dream wasn't bad enough, Alistair yelled at Tess. _WHY would you DO that to me?! You’re ALWAYS trying to take things away from me! Just let me have ONE THING!_ They _screamed_ at each other, Po joining in to defend his mistress. Tess spilled tears left and right as she tried to yell back but Alistair’s pulse was thundering too loud to hear anything but her tone. Po intervened by biting him, ultimately ending the argument. Alistair told her to go, he didn’t care where, _just go!_ He remained on the storage loft with their barrels and crates, kicked and punched the walls around him, yelled downstairs for her to _put out the damn lights!;_ the oil trough continued to flame on. When his toes went numb and a steady sting ran from his knuckles clear to his elbows, Alistair finally sat. His hands bled, fingers raw and seeping red from scuffing against stone, the side of his right hand marked with red indents where Po had bitten; just hard enough to make Alistair step away from Tess.

 _Tess._ Alistair sat in the loft alone listening to sobs turns into scant mumbles before he realized what he’d done to his wife. He had _let_ himself get _lost_ in a daydream, he’d let a daydream become his reality, and when she confronted him out of concern he turned her into his enemy. He couldn’t remember anything she’d said during the fight, only his own voice. She had been worried at first and he’d turned it around to justify letting himself fall prey to dreams. He had accused her of horrible things, yelled at her until she cringed and held her hands to her ears to keep him out. His _wife_. The only reason he’d wanted to wake up each morning since Ostagar, the only reason for setting up his tent each night, for keeping the fire going, for keeping enough food and water around, for keeping his weapons sharps and his shield sturdy...and she was the reason he ever tried to fall asleep lately. He craved the world they shared in the Fade more than he desired her in reality. _Addiction._ He was addicted to his dreams. He had made her _enemy_ to justify his addiction.

Alistair had dropped the world upon himself. He had cut his own ties, dug his own grave, tied the noose around his neck; he had all but fallen from the plank or onto his sword. He felt the sting from every word of his rant as if he had, though. So very suddenly the shame of having been caught enacting a fantasy hit him. It was like barbs and daggers twisting inside of him, grinding his guts, a hammer smashing his heart that had dropped down and tangled with his mangled insides. He remembered curling up in sobs that moved the crate below him, and nothing else the rest of that night.

Alistair woke from a throbbing hand. Po’s bite, though shallow, was swelling. He wasn’t aware how long he’d been out, but for the first time in months he didn’t remember dreaming. He dug out a bottle of rum, pulled at skin around the fresh-scabbing sores and doused his hand. The harsh burn caused him to draw blood from his lip in attempt to quell a screech, and again with a spill of Quick Heal, but after that... _Tess._ He teared up again recalling his actions and how she’d looked while he’d screamed. When he went down to try to apologize, Po had taken guard right in front of Tess, who was curled up in a dark corner _pawing and muttering at the wall._ The war dog growled a clear warning: _One more step, I dare you._ Alistair turned around to cry all over again on the crates in the storage loft. As if he didn’t feel bad enough, it appeared he had yelled her right back into submission to her Taint. Alistair slept another dreamless night.

Tess was sleeping when he woke up. Po growled low when Alistair came off the last step, raising to let out a warning bark as Alistair neared the sleeping woman. Still furious with himself and with Po for biting him, Alistair grabbed the mabari by the snout before he could be bitten again. With Po’s jaw clamping shut in his palm, Alistair warned that he’d rip Po’s teeth out if he tried that again. _He didn't mean that;_ did he? He just wanted to make things right with Tess. _It was an accident, I didn't mean to, Po! I want to move my wife to the bed. She deserves that at least._ Po growled and barked in irritation as Alistair released him, but Alistair did not care. He shoved past Po to pick up Tess; like a snoring doll in his arms.

Alistair didn’t stay. His eyes watered as he covered her up and touched her face, but he was so tired of crying, of _hurting._ He opened the door as quietly as he could and slipped outside.

No one was outside save for Shale, who stomped around across the further bridge. The bonfire between the houses glowed strong, crackling and sparking as if someone had just fed it healthy meal. Alistair wasn’t sure what he wanted to do; he wasn’t actually sure he _wanted_ to do anything. There was nothing _to_ do anyhow, except re-wind time, but... Alistair shook his head at himself. He sat at the stone base of the stone house he and his wife - with their rocky relationship - were borrowing... deep down below more rocks and stony passages.

This was not a good place to be. Alistair wanted to go back to the surface. He wanted to go back to Teagan’s and sleep in a wooden bed he could fit in, on a mattress so comfortable it adjusted to his every curve. He wanted to see flowers again, and grass. Birds. Trees. He wanted colors and light... _anything_ but everything down here, the place where his mind stopped working.

“You must be the new neighbor everyone keeps telling me about,” a familiar voice said. Alistair looked over to see Zevran limping around the bonfire. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Zevran, formerly of the Antivan Crows-”

“Zevran? What are you doing up? You’re supposed to be off your feet. Your legs!” Alistair remembered.

“You already know who I am? It seems my new reputation is preceding me. I’m not sure if this is good or bad.” despite the jests, he was not his usual jovial, promiscuous type.

“Zevran,” Alistair said flatly. Why wasn’t he taking his healing more serious?

“Very well.” there was no smile in Zevran’s eyes; it seemed humor was more to break ice, not an act of fun. Alistair saw this much. The elf stopped walking to stretch, wincing with every major reach. “It has been almost a month since the water tried to eat me. Nineteen days in fact.” Zevran paused.

“What?” Alistair whispered. “Nine-nineteen?” _No. That was impossible, it only felt like a few days, a week at most._

“I’ve been walking four days. _Forced_ myself to walk, in fact. There was a rather disturbing ruckus coming from your choice of residence and no one was acting on it.” Zevran didn’t look at him though Alistair stared hard. “I was stopped before I reached your door, and because of my condition at the time I did not press the matter. All the same, it made me aware I could not afford to lie around all day. Two people I have come to know as friends needed me quite fervently that day, and had I been able to run, I might have been able to intervene before the noises worsened.”

Alistair had no words. No, rather they were caught in his throat. It had been nearly a month, _and_ a _cripple_ had tried to stop Alistair from yelling at his wife.

“ _Indulge_ me, Alistair, if you will. I assumed you and I were friends? No?” Zevran met his eyes with less compassion than Alistair had ever seen from him. “Forgetting our first encounter, I think I have proven myself a loyal ally. I have attended to wounds and bloodied myself to heal the both of you without needing to be asked, I have tested for traps to spare you both from heartbreak, I let you order me onto a floating magic bridge that kept disappearing beneath my feet over a black pit of death, I took off my clothes to walk through fire before I knew I would not burn, and since all of that I have taken two arrows, numerous cuts, or all the times I have thrown myself in front of Tesslyn down here so she would not be injured. Not to mention keeping myself between her and the others when she turned on us in battle those two times.”

“What?” Alistair searched him. “Why do you say that? When did that happen? That _never_ happened.”

“Oh, it happened. For certain it did, a few days and a week before you called her _Carlyn._ She had been muttering about _finding the Master_.” Zevran was firm. “Considering all we have endured and all the jokes we have shared _despite_ the unpleasant conditions you’ve led me into, does that not make us friends?” he sounded bitter, something Alistair never imagined from him. As if Alistair had failed to live up to his expectations.

“I...guess so. I think so.”

“So why did you not come to me?” the elf - _this_ elf who turned every little aspect of life into a sexual joke - wore a constant frown as he lectured. “Why not come to your friend if you are having problems? Why let it get so bad, hm? You hole yourself up like a timid rabbit, do not come out for weeks, and then yelling? That is not normal, Alistair.”

Alistair slumped between his knees. “I don’t expect anyone to understand. This is _my problem._ ”

“Not when it affects others. You are our leader, we are supposed to be following your lead. Are we _all_ supposed to lock ourselves away and scream like mad men? Is that how Grey Wardens in the past have ended Blights?”

“Maker, I wasn’t that bad.” he winced. “Was I?” he was afraid to see the look on Zevran’s face.

“You were very unkind to her. I heard it from inside the house I share with a crazy dwarf, a drunk dwarf, a royal ass dwarf, a grumbling Qunari who is constantly hitting his head on the ceiling, and over the horses and cow who are just as fed up with each other as you are with Tesslyn. She sounded very concerned, you were very rude, and now she is not coming out. So tell me again: why did you not come to me? Was _that_ really better than asking for someone to talk to?” he gestured to the couple's house.

“How can I hope for anyone here to understand what I’m going through when _none_ of you have ever had children suddenly _disappear?”_ Alistair’s eyes blurred as he whipped his head. “It’s like they _died_ , Zevran! They were _real_ and Tess was _healthy_ and it was _all perfect!_ And then everything was _gone!_ _None of you_ know what it’s like to lose your children! Tess and Carlyn _actually died_ in some dreams! _None of you know!”_ he said angrily.

“You might be surprised,” Zevran offered, more benign than he'd been so far. Alistair wiped his eyes with his palms to find Zevran hobbling over. “Wynne has a son somewhere,” he leaned against the stone house to brace himself as he sat. “He was taken from her soon after birth, some obnoxious Chantry regulation I’m sure. That could not have been easy, I imagine. And I...” Zevran took a deep breath, looking out over the bridge in front of them. “I cut the throat of the only person I have ever loved.”

“What?” Alistair croaked.

Zevran gave a slow nod. He spun a depressing tale of a woman named Rinna, a fellow assassin whom Zevran had _melted like a block of gooey caramel_ for. He described the woman similar to Alistair first memories of Tess: bold, brave, like her own ray of light when she smiled and laughed, made life’s struggles seems like children’s puzzles, she made the world _perfect._ Fate decreed his life would change, however. Rinna was accused of treachery against the Crows. By that time, Zevran believed himself to be the most talented assassin and out of mistaken trust, Zevran sided with his guild and decided to kill Rinna before she could destroy their operations. He lied about ever loving her and cut her throat as she pleaded for life and love. The woman stared at him while she gasped and choked on her own blood, and Zevran watched her bleed to death. He later learned Rinna’s death had been conducted: there had been a contract on her head - as she was a bastard heir, and Zevran’s master had gotten wind the two were romantically involved - sliding Zevran into the spotlight. He was assumed involved in a plot to put Rinna on the Antivan throne, and his masters refused to risk Zevran inheriting control of Crow cells by helping Rinna succeed. It was not true, but the Crows took no chances. Zevran had been tricked to kill the woman he loved as punishment for their combined arrogance, the Crows’ way of saying the two were expendable tools that meant and deserved nothing.

“Zevran, that’s _horrible._ _How_ could you _do_ that?” Alistair could never imagine cutting Tess’ throat; the very notion horrified him.

“Same way you yelled at dear Tesslyn, no?” Zevran finally looked over.

“I... _no._ That’s not the same, Zev.”

“Isn’t it? So your marriage is perfect again and you are a perfect husband and she is a perfect wife?”

Alistair hesitated with a frown. “When I dream, it’s perfect...” he admitted.

“You have already killed something, Alistair. If all that yelling was over a pretend family, then you have already killed something. How can she measure up to a woman who never fails in your dreams, hm?” the elf shrugged.

“I-” Alistair sighed. “I don’t know.” he did not want to talk about this. He knew Zevran was right, but how could he fix it? Tess couldn’t give him the children he dreamed of, and Alistair couldn’t provide a perfect home like she deserved. “Well...why did you tell me that story?”

“To show you that you could be living with much worse, and to find your friends before something irreversible happens. Do you remember when we met? I posed magnificently with my daggers and we both watched Tesslyn fly over our heads, and then you tied me up and took me prisoner with no lubrication.”

Alistair grimaced. “I don’t remember it quite like that...”

Zevran briefly smiled, hollow and impersonal, followed by a long pause. “I was hoping to die. There have been multiple attempts over the years to kill off Wardens, but we are not daft. The Grey Wardens are a necessary force, the Crows know this. Wardens are trained in more ways than assassins; it is assumed they can overpower even the best of us. When the request arrived, I immediately made the bid. I was hoping to be killed; no better way to be rid of overbearing guilt and pain, yes? I did not expect to be spared. More importantly I did not expect to be given a second chance and to be treated as an equal. It is rather nice to have friends and be trusted, yes?”

“I suppose.”

“So why did you not come to your friends when you were feeling blue? You are lucky she is not _dead_ in there, Alistair-” Zevran paused abruptly, and when Alistair turned to see what was wrong, the elf’s glare practically stabbed him. “She _is alive, right? Alistair?”_ Zevran demanded.

“ _Yes! Yes_ she’s alive! Maker! I would _never hurt-”_ Alistair cut himself off, eyes darting as he realized what Zevran had been trying to tell him the whole time: _seek help before it’s too late._

“Hm?” Zevran pressed expectantly.

“I would _never_ kill her,” Alistair whispered.

“You may not have a choice if you let dreams control your mind.” Zevran was right. The fact Alistair had not killed Tess made no difference. Alistair had vowed never to hurt her, but he hurt her worse than he'd imagined he could - worse than he knew he was capable of. Right now his actions did not seem different from Zevran being able to kill a woman _he_ loved.

Zevran pressed again for details; fears big and small, what the dreams consisted of, why the dreams were so important, why Alistair never told Tess how overwhelming it was all becoming. Alistair vaguely explained: starting way back at the Circle Tower, dreams were the only place he and Tess could have a family, where they could be _healthy and whole_ together, no worries, no pressure, no scares. At first it had been an icon of hope, a reward to look forward to, but the longer they traveled the more that beacon dimmed. He didn’t bother hiding tears by the time he told of the nightmares where Tess and Carlyn had died. He admitted he was terrified of sleeping but at the same time _what if it was perfect?_ A solution did not seem viable to Alistair, unthinkable at best, unobtainable at worst. _To have it hang over my head just barely out of reach, teasing me with What Could Be is already worse than never knowing about it._ Alistair also finally understood why the Chantry taught him _Ignorance is bliss_ ; he couldn’t help but wonder if they’d already be done with all these Deep Roads and with Paragons if he’d never known about Carlyn and Eleonora.

As Alistair predicted, there were no answers. Zevran had advice though. He said _Life forces people to get up and move on even when they think they’re not ready,_ and _They were free to mourn but they were also free to try again, to find a new way to succeed_ \- Tess and Alistair sparing his life showed Zevran that. For the first time, Alistair admitted out loud that he and Tess _could not_ try again, an impossibility he’d been denying from the start. They were both Tainted and she was scarred inside, and that’s exactly what made reality so scary and the dreams so ideal. In dreams, Alistair could have what he always wanted: his very own family. Zevran said Alistair needed to turn his attention elsewhere before the dreams became _too good_ and turned the real Tess unbearable. If dreams hindered his ability to remember why he loved Tess in the first place, Alistair would lose her forever; it would not matter whether _forever_ was determined by a blade or broken neck, or merely the worst form of disrespect. _Maker, hadn’t Teagan tried to warn him about this very same thing?_

Zevran wished to train. Since Alistair needed a distraction, it was decided _by Zevran_ they would work together. The elf would teach him new moves, and Alistair would build up Zevran’s resistance. Training would be before bedtime - not in place of sleep - as Zevran still favored it, _and it would do good to wear yourself out Alistair_ , not simply rest because there was nothing else for his body to do.

Zevran said training may even rekindle Alistair’s marriage. Alistair severely doubted this. He knew he had gone too far this time and didn’t have the words to express his regret nor admit his mistake...but he was willing to try. Alistair missed his best friend. He missed his wife.

Training wasn’t what Alistair expected. He’d been trained to use daggers as a last resort, for when the enemy got too close or he was disarmed of his sword. Zevran tested him in ways he hadn’t even known possible, forcing the build of muscles Alistair was unaware he hosted. At first when he couldn’t match Zevran’s speed and kept stumbling, Alistair complained he was simply _too big_ to be a rogue, but the tiny assassin did not allow that excuse. Zevran had seen Alistair move _quicker than a blink_ when it came to protecting Tess in fierce battle; the fire and ability was there. There were no excuses. Zevran built his own strength back up in his legs first; squatting to fight also allowed for low strikes, causing Alistair to treat combat like a dance. Alistair was forced to grow comfortable with his own body again to know how and where and when to jump, to dodge, to strike back. Zevran _urged_ Alistair to forget he could only use his left arm for a shield, constantly attacked Alistair’s sword arm to inspire the shield arm to strike. The elf had him interchange shield and dagger, explaining there was no difference - Alistair used the shield offensively anyway, so using a blade was nothing more than changing weapons. When Zevran trained his arms against the shield, the firm stance repaired Alistair’s own resistance; the elf was stronger than he looked and hit with the force of a hurricane. Alistair felt his back strain and harden as Zevran pushed his resolve.

Rogue training was so different than practicing with Sten, whose methods only showed Alistair how much weight he could hold back. Zevran was teaching him to exert the same force _or stronger_ than Alistair could block, to be his own storm of destruction, a Grey Warden worth fearing - a _man_ worth fearing, not only an ex-Templar _recruit_. And in place of Wynne’s potions which no longer worked on Alistair, Zevran’s training helped him sleep: in dreams, Alistair was still only _Da,_ building up his own home with his bare hands as a _terrible sneak_ in between domestic activities - but Alistair awoke from each mirage remembering he _was_ a rogue now. There had never been a mark of physical distinction until now. Alistair was unsure if Zevran knew this would happen, but it was working and was a huge step he could not have taken alone. Alistair was humbled before the elf who had once tried to kill him. Humbled before his _friend_.

Training did not _rekindle_ Alistair’s marriage with Tess the way Zevran had meant it. As training wore on, tensions failed to lift; shifted, but not lifted. Alistair slept on the floor to give Tess space because she seemed _scared_ of him, timid at best. Until the fifth night: Alistair ducked under the door from a training session to find her gathering her headrest and blanket; she said it might be better if she slept with the women. She said she felt _disgusting_ and a _hindrance_ and _unwanted_ because he couldn’t stand to sleep with her anymore, because he wouldn’t even hold her hand. _Incompetent_ and _unworthy_ because she couldn’t give him the children he clearly desired. Alistair stumbled over words, taken aback as if he’d caught her hurting herself right in front of him. He couldn’t believe she was saying this stuff - those were _his_ thoughts from Haven when he’d almost lost his leg, the words of a warrior wounded in battle and shunned. He couldn’t speak; she asked if he still loved her. Alistair didn’t make it another step before his knees gave out under tears he’d tried the past week to pretend he didn’t have.

Alistair couldn’t make out the words _I’m sorry._ He choked on his own voice every time he tried. He _did_ say he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t meant to hurt her or replace her, but his dreams were so much better than trying to survive in the Deep Roads and it was _just easier to give in._ Even when he dreamed of death there was always _life_ he couldn’t access _out here._ Their children were so beautiful, more than he ever knew he could ask for in life - he _thanked_ her for them. He never knew he was dreaming until he woke up, but it was still the best place he had ever been; _perfect_ children, _perfect_ home, _perfect Tess -_ he hated watching her suffer _here_ in the _real world_ and not be able to help her - dreams were the only place he could ever see her not appalled by how her skin looked or what parts of her didn’t work. When Alistair could finally see clear enough, she had dropped her bedding with a solemn stare. _I never meant to replace you,_ he insisted. He just wanted them both whole and happy in a place where he never had to worry about her or the children. He didn’t want to be stuck _down here_ where things just kept getting worse. _I think us landing here, having to stop at this place...I think the Maker is punishing me,_ Alistair admitted. He hadn’t trained for this; Alistair had trained to subdue mages and to kill darkspawn, but _never_ for falling in love and making a family and then _losing_ his children. Real or not, he still lost them. He had wanted to believe Zevran about training making things all better; he _felt_ better when he trained, he couldn’t understand why _he and Tess_ weren’t better.

“I thought it would be better, too. I thought you would at least talk to me,” she forced out between streams of tears. “You’ve been sleeping quieter. You even laughed once.” _She_ didn’t understand why he had yelled in the first place, and then why he had completely stopped talking. She said it was like Haven all over again, only she was the one in bed and he _just left_ her; Alistair felt his wet cheeks cool from the draft inside the stone house. Tess wanted him back. She felt alone and uncared for, she didn’t feel like he even wanted her as a friend. Tess needed his circles - her hand shook on her lap as she flexed her fingers, she needed him to comfort her, sing to her, hold her, order her to crawl on her hands and knees with her mouth wide open chasing him while he walked backwards - _anything_ just to show he still needed - no, _wanted_ her. _You_ **_left_ ** _me, Alistair. You left me to fend for myself when I can’t even think half the time. This is the second time! It’s like you took the axe from your own leg and shoved it in mine, but instead of sticking around to help me you just left!_ **_You left me_ ** _go chase an idea that can never be made!_ **_You left me!!!_ ** She screamed the last words out, her face distorted from pain and tears, but her voice was so wrought with despair it was hardly more than a whisper. Frailty, devastation. Desperation.

 _You left me._ The words rung around him like his own funeral bell. No. _No_ , it wasn’t like that. “But I _didn’t_ leave. I’ve been right here the whole time, Tess.”

She shook her head a deep breath and turned her head to wipe her eyes as she dropped to the bed. “Not for me. You left _me_.”

Her words cut Alistair to the bone. “I didn’t...” he felt his eyeballs dash about while he tried to remember. He swallowed, wiped away more tears, blinked to focus on her eyes through tears. “Can I fix this? Are we fixable, Tess?” _he_ sounded weak now.

“I don’t know,” she sniffed. “Half of me wants to run. This never happened to me when it was just me and Po.”

That was not the answer he wanted to hear. “And the other half?”

She winced and wiped her leaking face all over again. “That part of me is scared to leave. I’ve never had anyone like you, I’ve never _met_ anyone like you. That me part of me would rather die down here with you than do anything alone on the surface.”

“I _don’t_ want to die down here with you. I want to go to the surface and _live_ with you.” he searched her face. Slowly she met his eyes again. When she nodded, he risked rejection and opened his arms.

She shook her head. “I have _been_ coming to you, Alistair. I keep getting pushed away. I _need you_ come to _me_ right now.”

Alistair hesitated. Another thing he didn’t want to admit, because admitting meant facing what he’d been trying to pretend never happened. He remembered vowing to never hurt her. All those times he’d meant physically he would never raise his hand, never strike her; he had kept good on that part of the promise. She was right to be cautious, he could see that now. Between Zevran’s lectures and Tess’ words, Alistair silently agreed what he’d done had been no better than hitting. If he wanted to be _husband_ again, _he_ had to fix them.

Alistair rose to his feet. Three swift strides, and Tess met him. He nearly cried when he held her; she was _warm_ in his arms, _soft_ , tears slid down the inside of his collar as she hugged him back, flexing arms and grabbing fingers keeping a firm hold on each other. A tremble shook breath from both of them, two _mighty_ Grey Wardens melting into each other’s arms as if it had been years of a forced divide. Her hair smelled like elfroot and Arbor blessing, her skin cool and dry with a hint of roses; he’d forgotten she had a scent. He’d forgotten how comfortable he felt in her embrace, the internal buzzing of their Taint reunited, a puzzle locking together, like a hearth in winter. _Comforting_. He’d forgotten how perfectly she fit against him, her hot breath on his skin, her head resting just right at the crook of his neck. Alistair had forgotten the feel of her arms around him. Tess _was_ real, she was _here_ , and she _was perfect_. His heart surged stronger. It was like feeling the emotions all over again for the first time. Sudden rushing, _best friend, lover, my heart._ Alistair cried.

There was no lovemaking like Zevran always insisted marital fights ended in, rather a short-lived night of more tears and a pleading brainstorm on ways to keep Tess appearing like herself when they continued their journey engulfed in heat. Alistair felt he was annoying her with every promise to try harder though she never told him to stop. Alistair just wanted to make it up to her, every fragment of every moment he had forgotten her since they’d accepted this mission. Husband and wife woke up a tangled mess, and for a long time only stared. Alistair wanting nothing to do but reconnect himself with the eyes and soul of his _wife_.

As elating and delusive as it felt to have a _real, solid, warm_ Tess back in his arms, veins pulsing in her bare arms right up against his, the entire idea that they should be underground more worried about losing their minds than dying seemed even more illusory. Whether this was the Maker letting Alistair shovel his own grave for submitting to dreams, or for foolishly wanting adventure so glorious simply to prove to Ferelden that _the unwanted stable boy_ was capable of greatness, Alistair knew this was punishment. They had seen too much hardship for the little amount of ground they had covered, but he was getting used to the pattern of complications getting a little better before cracking harder. There were worse times ahead. At the very least, he had to prepare for it to be so.

The party left the Ortan thaig riverside residences exactly one month after they’d arrived. Wynne wanted to leave food for Ruck, and though Alistair disliked the idea given the remainder of the journey was an extreme unknown, it was also Tess’ desire not to leave Ruck hungry. Alistair sighed deep, more perturbed by the fact that his wife took favor to such an impacting concentration of the Taint than he was helping a hungry man. He would go; Alistair delivered a bundle of food himself, a mix of salted meat, dried foods, a bottle of wine and bread. Ruck was weary of him at first, even threatened to attack if Alistair came closer. Alistair couldn’t stand the dwarf, not because he was a ghoul but because it felt like he was competition; Tess should not favor any Taint but Alistair’s, that was the _only_ way it should be. In disgust, Alistair threw the sack of food down, and would have thrown the bottle of wine had Ruck not perked up when the bread spilled out. Instantly Ruck apologized, a new apology for each new piece of food he discovered. Alistair was dumbstruck by this; the dwarf completely put aside all combativeness at the first glimpse of hope, hesitation and resentment cast away as if dispute had never mattered. As if Alistair had never kicked him.

Alistair saw himself in Ruck for the first time - _he_ was Ruck, lost and out of his mind, and fighting with the person in front of him; only unlike Ruck, Alistair still hadn’t apologized, and it had been two weeks since Tess had tried to help him out of the dream. Alistair - strong, able, coherent - could not bring himself to forget his own pride against his wife, but this mad deranged ghoul could do it for a stranger. Ruck was still pouring out thanks as Alistair turned to leave. He tugged on Alistair’s arm, insisted Alistair pick out _shinies_ and _helping things,_ and brought him to a hoard of armor and weapons, potions, ingredients, piles of things hidden behind a makeshift room of rusted metal, everything neatly sorted for a person with such a chaotic mind. Alistair returned to the wagons and his party with almost more than he could carry, all on the account of the strange dwarf who proved to Alistair that it was possible to dislike someone’s actions but still appreciate them all the same.

As soon as Alistair dropped the new stash in a wagon, he went straight to Tess, and in between kisses humbled himself in repeated apologies, gratitude for her love and for all she’d done to try to help him _even though I was a nightmare._ The others pretended not to notice as Alistair and his wife stood locked in arms and lips as if no one was waiting for a journey to continue.

The distance beyond Caridin’s Cross was vacant. The dwarves reminded Alistair the Deep Roads were always safest during a Blight.

 _A Blight. Right._ Alistair had forgotten that too. But he was grateful for this now as well. Aside from a few random scouts, they had little obstacle. A week back to the Cross from the exiting tunnel, almost two weeks through the Cross just trying to navigate over the dead darkspawn from first entering that fungus didn’t even want to touch - _Alistair was counting days now_ \- the smooth ride now was a welcome change. The wagons rolled easier without constant battle, comfortable walking room, safe enough to camp without too much worry. The heat was the worst, significantly increasing as they headed deeper down, but as long as they remembered to stop to water the animals it was bearable. While Alistair had lost himself in dreams, the others went through the rest of Bodahn’s mead and refilled the vat with water from the river, also all the empty alcohol bottles which they drank from now because Wynne could frost the bottles. Each drink of icy water gave them all a boost to accomplish another stretch of Deep Roads highway. They were all so drenched with sweat that the need for armor was negated, traveling in under clothes only. Too much sweat for Tess to be anyone else; no more tiny beads glistening like copper freckles, only Tess.

Tess still wore green silk around her left wrist...despite all that had happened, despite it now bore stains of sweat. It moved Alistair to tears all over again when they all stopped to remove armor. She was still his, even in his darkest hours.

The maps stated they were about to enter a place called the Dead Trenches. On top of the extreme heat, Darkspawn Taint buzzed in Alistair’s veins again. When Alistair turned to check how Tess was dealing with it when they hadn’t felt darkspawn for days, she was frantically redressing in her armor. She trembled and stuttered to herself, raising enough concern for the rest of the party to stop for re-arming. Alistair postponed his own armor to take over for Tess, who shook so hard she almost ripped straps off. Worried at first that she was on the verge of slipping away again, her stare rose concern in Alistair as he secured her armor. Not slipping, too scared to slip, not the usual distant dreamy gaze she normally wore for her conversations with her Taint.

“T-too much!” her teeth chattered.

“It will be okay,” Alistair tried to soothe. “We’ve run into hordes before. Remember Ostagar? All the ones you took out by yourself?”

“Not-n- _not groups._ ” her eyes were large, pupils blown as they darted side to side, _alert._ She was listening to something Alistair couldn’t hear. “He’s-he’s- _him. Him._ ” She met his eyes again. “The dragon,” she whispered as if she didn’t know how else to make him understand. It worked; Alistair’s insides chilled unnaturally despite the sweat trickling down his face. _The Archdemon._

“He’s here?” Alistair searched her eyes, otherwise frozen on the spot.

“All of th- _most_ of them. M-m-” she frowned in frustration as she tried to find the word. “S-stride? Walk?” two fingers moved like legs in an even rhythm. “Knife- _swords._ Walking swords.” Alistair watched her fingers continue to move. A strict pattern, never straying. Where had he seen that before?

“Do you mean walking _with_ swords?” Bhelen asked.

“Marching!” Alistair declared.

“Yes! Yes! March! Marching swords!” Tess exclaimed eagerly.

“The Darkspawn are marching?” Sten spoke up.

 _“Shit._ ” Alistair said loudly. “Okay, okay!” he huffed. He took a deep breath. Another instance where Tess’ inner madness proved useful. He wiped the sweat from his face and hurried to finish her armor. “They’re coming this way? All of them?” he asked.

Even the shakes of her head stuttered. “No. Going-going away. Ev-ever- _all_ with arms have-go away.” she cowered like someone was screaming in her face. “Can’t-I can’t think. He’s t-trying to take m-m-my words. Wants _me_ to g-go too.”

Alistair held her face to force her eyes to him. _“No_. You are _not going_. You are _not_ one of them, Tess.”

She took huge breaths through each choppy nod. “Some are fighting. Hurting. B- _bleeding_.”

“They’re fighting each other?”

“No. No, no, fighting...not-not Tainted.”

“What’s not Tainted? People? You’re tellin’ me there are living people down here?” Oghren readied his large axe.

“The Legion of the Dead!” Bhelen laughed in potent relief. “The last I heard from them, they went down with their entire platoon.” _Platoon;_ Duncan once said two dwarven platoons roughly equaled a Ferelden regiment. Even unspecified in number, this sounded better than all they presently had.

Dark times when no more than possibly three-dozen extra warriors meant good news. Alistair didn’t like the idea of heading straight into the path of the Archdemon, a marching Darkspawn army and side battles, but with Tess able to _hear_ the Archdemon, they were already exposed. Alistair ordered the wagons stay behind and everyone else with him. He urged Tess to stay behind with Bodahn and Sandal, this expanse of the deep highway was safe enough for now. But she gripped Alistair’s arm and stammered,  _You promised-you promised me! No leaving!_ Sten suggest she join though take up the rear - they could use her connection to the Archdemon and the horde if they needed to. Alistair didn’t like this idea at all, however, he couldn’t deny Sten was right. But he would _not_ make his wife trail behind. Muttering apologies, Alistair held Tess’ hand tight and led the others towards what the map showed as squiggly lines.

It took them two hours to reach the winding tunnel. Alistair hoped sending Po back to guard the merchant dwarves was the right thing, for as they pressed on Alistair grew rickety like Tess. He caught himself trying to hide involuntary jerks of his head and joints as voices hissing language he didn’t fully understand filled his head. Mumbling in his brain as if he was trying to sleep and bodies hovered over him, prodding, testing for breath and if his body moved in ways they sought, seeing if he measured up. He vaguely told voices physically around him he was fine, but knowing something was not right with his body, Alistair knew they weren’t convinced. Eventually Alistair had to run. His body was not satisfied with walking and the sounds of armor clanking around him against the old stone road sounded no better than Shrieks. If anyone asked why he ran, he didn’t hear them, he only knew that Tess kept up with him, and Zevran on the other side of her, heavier metallic banging behind him said the dwarves and Sten were close. The longer he ran, Alistair realized that he was doing so in part because a voice in his mind told him he would be late if he didn’t catch up. The darkspawn were so close, so thick a horde that _Alistair understood them._ Alistair worried for the first time what the extent of his Taint could do to him.

They spilled out of a twisting tunnel and Tess suddenly dropped. Bodies crashed into the Wardens as Alistair tried to help Tess to her feet. The Taint burned so harsh in Alistair’s veins that it vibrated his body again, too many Darkspawn, too many sounds, too much _anger_ \- he couldn't learn the source of her debilitation. Tess was like rock, her entire weight focused on covering her ears and rooting down, Alistair couldn’t lift her. He didn’t get long to try though. A screech louder than any Shriek resonated from everywhere - pressingly like invisible hands from all around - forcing Alistair to crumble to his knees. His brain throbbed, words burned his skull like melting iron, a dark language swelling every fiber, ready to explode him from the inside. It commanded _brethren_ to _go, march, devour, reclaim._ Alistair couldn’t scratch it out, he couldn’t block it. He was certain he was dying; there was no other explanation for the chaos unbinding his core.

Alistair froze. It was huge, _larger_ than huge. Horrifying, not magnificent like the dragon before Andraste’s Ashes. A sickly blackened purple and reddish-green like bruised meat gone old yet still bleeding. A black fog clung to every cleft, scale and vein, shimmering from some source of light below. It perched on a crumbling bridge and screeched again, fire so hot it was blue and violet spraying from its mouth. A tail whipped behind like the namesake of its mannerism, barbed from the spine, a menacing arrowhead like blades all their own. Half of Alistair was kneeling to hide from the noise and the pressure, desperately wishing to go unseen. The other half was submitting, sticking to the stone floor in the deepest bow to the One who’s Taint burned so bright it branded words inside Alistair’s veins.

_The Archdemon._

Existence paused around Alistair as he watched the great Tainted dragon flap heavy wings, rising and falling in gusts that dried Alistair’s skin. The world did not breathe again until the dragon was out of sight.

“Fight. Fight, fight, fight...”

Alistair looked over to find Tess scrambling from her knees. She pushed off in a run, pulling her daggers from her waist still chanting _fight, fight, fight,_ leaving Alistair no time to get reacquainted with his own thoughts and pulse. “Tess?” she did not answer his call, and when Alistair rose to join her, she was locked in frantic battle. Darkspawn and short men in dark heavy armor, with Tess whipping about like the tornado he had met at Ostagar. Zevran tried to speak to Alistair as the party ran but the shouts of the warriors behind them plus the clamoring battle ahead set a constant ring in Alistair’s ears. Darkspawn poured off the ancient bridge like blood from an open wound. Crashing, clanking, yelling, grunting, blades glistening in torchlight, bouncing reflections onto other blades, using shadows from height to overpower visibility when light suddenly returned. Bright lights in the form of lightning and ice swirled and jumped, stabbed around swords. Glittering diamond flashing and sparkling in torrents around them told Alistair where Tess was at all times. Constant moving, constant swinging, no time for rest among metal clashing. Alistair no longer heard sound but his own breath, own heartbeat.

A dazzling light flashed too close from the corner of his eye and Alistair spun to block the blade, dropped his sword and shield to hold off two daggers before recognizing the face in front of him.

“Tess?” Alistair searched her eyes for only a moment, she swung her arms to try to slice again. He stopped these too; _Maker, he was so grateful for Zevran’s lessons right now!_ It wasn’t Tess staring back though. Distant gaze, unaware she had the wrong target, swimming in oblivion. The same look on her face as when Ruck talked to her. _Shit_ , and Alistair had seen her dagger flash all over the place. Had she killed them? _Them? Their team?_ He had to allow a slip of her arm to turn his hands to grab her, keep a better defense. The tip of her lightning-rune dagger pressed into his neck above the collar. “Tess, it’s me. Alistair,” he said, painfully aware of the battle going on around them. “I am not your enemy.”

“Enemy? _Fight. Dead._ Not allowed here.” she pushed her arms. Alistair recognized her pose and direction of force from Zevran’s lessons and tried to keep pressure on the _weak points_ the elf had showed him.

“ _Husband,_ Tess!” he insisted. “I’m Alistair, I’m your husband. Remember? You are not darkspawn, you’re a Warden. You’re a Grey Warden.”

“Grey?” she echoed.

Zevran’s voice sounded nearby. Alistair ignored it. He moved his hands up Tess' arms one finger at a time. “Yes. Grey Warden. Gryphons?” a body shoved into Alistair from behind and he felt his wife’s blade break skin. He took a deep breath to hide his wince.

“Grey like the stone. Guardians against the darkness.” those were Ruck’s words, not hers.

“Yes, guardians! I was at your Joining. I watched you become a Grey Warden.” he watched her eyes dart. “That was a long night. Remember?” he gave a slight shake of his head to Zevran without making eye contact as the elf slid behind Tess. “Ostagar? We fought against darkspawn, just like now. Just like here.”

“Here? Darksp...Dark?” her face hardened, her arms pressed to close in on him, like she was trying to fight what she was hearing; so Alistair hoped.

“Yes. Darkspawn. But _you’re not_ a darkspawn. You’re _Tess_. Tess Cousland, remember? You’re my _wife_. You’re the _Queen_.”

“Queen? Of the dark?” she frowned like she always did when she tried to remember things, squinting, wincing.

“No. _My_ Queen. Queen of _Alistair_ ,” he told her.

“Quee...Alistair?”

“Yes! Alistair! Your husband!” he ran through every line of comfort he could remember using on her. _I more than love you. I’m here, I have you, it’s okay_. _I’ll protect you, I promise, I will never leave you._ He tried to sing a Chantry hymn but amidst battle it was useless.

Or so he thought. Tess blinked repeatedly, shook her head, muttered to herself in between saying _Alistair_ and _Grey Warden._ The second she yanked her daggers away Alistair retrieved his sword and shield and bashed a hurlock. He drove his foot in to stagger it before following with his sword. When he turned, a genlock rogue slid from a sparking rose dagger.

“Tess?”

“I’m so-I’m so sorry!” she whispered. She backed away from him as he blocked a genlock’s axe.

“Tess! Get back here!” Alistair yelled over the noise.

“No! I can’t fight here! He’s watching!” Alistair lost track of her through the fray that just kept pouring in.

“You can thank me later for watching your asses, yes?” Zevran hollered.

“You’re not supposed to watch my ass in battle, Zev!” Alistair retorted, eyes flying everywhere as he fought his way through the bridge where he’d suspected Tess had gone.

“Maybe if you weren’t so tall, it wouldn’t be the first thing I see when you turn around!” the elf actually laughed back.

“Shut up and sodding kill something!” Oghren yelled to both of them.

Alistair purposely got caught in Morrigan’s frost spells for a cooling reprieve. Fighting this hard in this heat was ridiculous, but the darkspawn didn’t seem to care. Alistair pressed ahead, the mages and Leliana firing from behind the rest of their party and what he assumed was the Legion of the Dead. A roar up ahead caught Alistair’s attention; an ogre. _Shit shit and shit again._ He really hated those things. Alistair caught up to Tess as she was about to fire an arrow from a shaded block. _Not this time!_ He carried her over his shoulder a portion of the bridge until she stopped trying to use her bow.

“Dammit, Alistair!” she winced.

“They’re not moving, Tess, and we need a break. _You_ need a break - _shit!_ Tess! You’re bleeding!” Alistair stopped her and nearly ripped her straps off to expose her wound. Shallow hole to the ribs, thicker and shorter than a dagger. “You let yourself get shot? _Tess._ ”

She winced when he touched around it, feeling for broken bone. “It could have been worse,” she hissed from pain as he covered her back up. “I could have been stabbed by the person I married.”

Alistair met her eyes. _Her dagger at his neck._ He’d already forgotten about that, there had been too much action. “Don’t worry about that,” he insisted. “Come on, let's go get water and heal you up.” She didn’t need help walking but he braced her anyway.

“This is not a good place for me,” she told him.

“For both of us. I promise, when we get out of here, we are never coming back.”

“When?” she met his eyes. Gravity of the Archdemon's power over her seemed to have sunk in.

“Yes. _When,_ " Alistair promised his wife.

“Atrast vala, Grey Wardens,” a male Legionnaire cautiously greeted them at the safe end of the bridge.

“You know who we are?” Tess winced as Alistair released her arm. He motioned for the mages to come take Tess.

“No one else comes this far in the Deep Roads. It’s not your arrival that surprises me, but that you’re here in so few a number,” the Legionnaire said.

“We don’t exactly have spare Wardens up top,” Tess said, peeking over as Wynne numbed her wound. “Thought we’d try our luck down here.” Alistair wanted to smile, but he knew her sarcasm was to mask her moment of obscurity during battle.

“So you’re recruiting from the front lines? An odd tactic.”

“Oh, we’re not here for you. Blights can only be ended by someone with the Taint, right?” she gestured toward the living darkspawn across the bridge.

“Right. Don’t need to worry about trying to find a recipe for that Joining potion with Darkspawn do we?” Alistair held his waterskin up for Tess to drink.

“Let me know if that works out. I want to be there to see a genlock kill its Master. Eh, speaking of which, are you going to be a problem, Warden?” the Legion speaker asked.

Alistair turned his head to see the Legionnaire staring at Tess. “She’s _fine,_ ” Alistair spoke for his wife.

“She turned on a few of us for a while there.”

“It is not easy living with the Taint. I would like to see you try and then complain.” Alistair kept the waterskin to Tess’ mouth so she wouldn’t have to worry about answering. “Do members of your order have names, or are you just dead men?” Alistair changed the subject.

“Kardol. Lieutenant of what is left our platoon. We’re _all_ that’s left.”

“What do you mean _all that’s left?”_ Bhelen called over from near where they’d entered.

“ _Ah, tits._ Bhelen. _Thought_ that was you. I’m more surprised to see _you_ down here than I am to see only two Grey Wardens. I guess there’s only so much luck the Stone grants, eh?” Kardol grimaced. “Yes, Bhelen, while you’ve been sitting pretty in your dad’s fancy chair, we’ve been down here holding back the darkspawn.”

“I’ve been down here for three months, you nug-humper. I’m looking for my brother.”

“You lose track of him in that big shiny home?”

“Pashara!” Sten barked. “ _This_ is the behavior of Orzammar’s finest warriors and its leader? You should be ashamed!!” the Qunari met Alistair’s gaze. “If our mission was to end here, I feel I must speak my mind. I am _appalled_ I let you convince me this was wise.”

Tess spit and choked on her drink, and Alistair looked down to see his armor dripping clean in only one spot. “You volunteered service, Sten!”

“I did not wish to come down here. I am too tall already to be here.”

“I agree. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of your kind down here.” Kordal agreed.

“Do the ogres count?” Tess asked.

“Hardly.” Sten glared.

Like every other time they had reprieve, this diversion of humor didn’t last long. “ _Hold still_ , Alistair,” Morrigan said in suspicious cordiality.

Before Alistair could turn his head to see what she was up to, the witch splashed something upon the trivial scratch on his neck - something that burned as if she’d thrown a mix of flame and acid. _Quick Heal._ Alistair’s voice echoed around them before he could quell it, and Morrigan snickered despite Tess and Wynne scolding her. “ _Dammit Morrigan!”_ Alistair fought to keep from scratching it. “I was fine a sodding second ago!” he growled at her, turning away to face the other end of the bridge. If he could trade Morrigan’s life for Tess’ entire safety down here, Alistair would do it in a heartbeat. “Just how bad is it beyond this bridge?” Alistair glanced back at Kardol. The Legion of the Dead lieutenant stepped up.

“Do you want the pretty version?” Kardol asked.

“Save me the glamorous tales of old, Harrowmont kept enough from us already.”

“Explains why you’re with Bhelen.”

“Bhelen was not an intended passenger, but he has been of more use than all the excess weapons and dwarven armor Harrowmont supplied me with.”

“Excess weapons and armor?” Kardol perked in interest.

Alistair sighed. “First tell me what I need to know, then we can talk. What’s beyond those gates?”

Kardol explained the gates led to Bownammar; Alistair remembered Oghren mentioning this name. Formerly the City of the Dead, the headquarters of the Legion of the Dead, lost and won back and lost again to the darkspawn more times than the Shaperate could keep track of. As far as Kardol knew, only a small few sections remained uncontaminated due to traps that still functioned. It was not a place to stop for lunch. Desecrated beyond recognition - _worse the further in you trek_ , humid with the smells of raw rotting flesh, _in some places so thick you have to watch where you step or you’ll sink to your knees. Well, maybe you and the big guy won’t, but everyone else will. Either way you’ll come out smelling like you cooked yourself in someone’s carcass._ It sounded more disastrous the longer Kardol went on, and when Alistair asked about wagons the dwarf just laughed.

 _Great. Just fucking great._ They _needed_ the supplies on the wagons. They’d tried to predict how many days all the winding tunnels through the Dead Trenches would take based on how many days it had taken them to get through similar tunnels, there was at least a month left _if_ luck was on their side. There was simply no way they could go without them. Just thinking about going without - _forcing Tess to go hungry, having to tell her there was no more water_ \- Alistair couldn’t handle such thoughts. The more he tried to organize in his mind, the more Alistair’s head throbbed.

He shot off into the next round of battle without telling anyone, causing cries and protests from the rest of his party, particularly Zevran, Tess and Sten. Alistair’s mind was so clouded he barely remembered the second battle. Combat was nothing more than a way to scream and beat down fears, more specifically doubts on his own ability to get his wife back to the surface with him in one piece.

Alistair didn’t remember getting shot, nor did he know he’d been scratched by the ogre, but after the battle he sat hunched over while Zevran dug a broken claw out of his back, then had to have his shoulder and thigh also stitched up. Kardol called Alistair a _Beard the Ancestors would be proud of,_ he was impressed with Alistair’s odd method of getting results; Zevran said Kardol should have heard Alistair shout at Harrowmont in front of the whole city. Alistair tried to ignore them, told Oghren and Sten and Leliana to scout ahead, see how far the wagons could go. Alistair then slumped against Tess and let Zevran tug string through his wounds, still without a clue what they’d do if they couldn’t take the wagons.

The trio came back almost as soon as Alistair sent them off. He watched the three of them each use different words to say the same thing: the tunnel was too small; Shale would be lucky to get through. When Alistair reminded them Shale was as wide as each wagon, Leliana explained the tunnels were curved and lumpy as if they were made in a hurry, an emergency entrance of sorts. Shale could move its arms and turn sideways to pass through, but there was no way large inflexible wooden crates on wheels would get past the first bend. Alistair almost cried right there; he buried his face in Tess’ neck, already picturing himself crying over her body when she was too weak to stand, sobbing to him how she hurt inside for being so thirsty, not being able to do a thing for her but sit and wither away with her.

Alistair wanted time alone with Tess for a while. They sat where they couldn’t see anyone else, their waterskins nearly frozen but melting quickly. He allowed himself to cry as he went over the only option they had if there was a chance to finish the mission; he couldn’t show this fear in front of the others. They couldn’t take a horse with them even to carry necessities for it would need more water than the lot of them together. Alistair would save every portion of food and drink for Tess, he swore to her right there he would; if they were desperate enough he would cut off his own leg to feed her - she crinkled her nose at such a promise but Alistair was serious, _anything_ to get her back to the surface with him, he could walk on one leg if he had help. But this would leave him unable to protect her, and that was just as bad as not being able to give her food or water. She made a good point: if this Paragon they sought made it past the darkspawn lair then Tess could get them there easy. She had not formerly confessed, but it was easier to give in and listen to the voices, and _very hard_ to fight the Archdemon’s call; _as if Alistair wasn’t worried enough_. Tess also wondered if the Paragon was dead and they went the extra distance, would they have enough strength left to find their way out? Alistair asked her if they _absolutely needed_ the dwarven army - either Ferelden would be already be destroyed _if_ they ever broke surface again or the forces they’d already gathered _might_ suffice. But - here was Legion of the Dead, whom the _weaker_ darkspawn left behind were too much for. Alistair said they probably would have had more success trying to smuggle the entire Orlesian army in, or even crossing the frozen wastes without a source of heat.

Alistair asked if Tess wanted to go back, if she wanted to leave the Deep Roads _for good._ It was her call. He would do his best to protect her either way but he couldn’t think rationally right now, he was too scared. If she wanted to leave, he would run her back to the horses and they could be gone before anyone ever knew they left. He cried again when she said they should stay and try. Trying to fight her Taint showed her just how powerful it was - what would happen to the rest of the world if they ignored it? _What good is the world,_ she said, _if it burns around us before our time? I want more than a year, Alistair._

 _So do I,_ he agreed, burying himself in her neck to be held while he cried as quietly as he could. _So do I._

If it looked like the Wardens had been crying, no one mentioned it. There was considerable protest when Alistair announced they were turning around to take the wagons back to Ortan thaig. He dismissed all arguments regarding the month it had taken them to walk the stretch of road that brought them here. They needed the rest of their supplies to remain safe while they made the remainder of the journey without the wagons. The livestock would only hinder their progress by using up water. They would stay long enough in Ortan to sew the tent furs into sturdy bags, as many as they each could carry, refill water, carefully plan their route. Proper preparation was essential. Alistair bribed the six remaining Legion members: whatever they wanted from the wagons as long as they helped Alistair’s party get to the Anvil of the Void, where Oghren insisted Branka would be. Kardol said the end of the Trenches was where the Legion stopped; Alistair hoped that would be enough. Alistair led his party and the Legion sextet back through the twisting caves in which they arrived, gripping Tess’ hand so tight his fingers went numb, silently praying his wife would change her mind and ask him to take her far away from this underground nightmare.

 


	49. Psychosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Deep Roads are not meant for man...delusions, disorientation, other deficiencies...the effects can be sudden, extreme and if not removed in time, permanent..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood music:  
> [ Dimension by James Everingham](https://youtu.be/RIXWBL3QYBc)  
> [ Uprising by Audiomachine](https://youtu.be/r7NAgcgxzTo)  
> [ A Feast for Crows by Audiomachine](https://youtu.be/R-cYr_nvDq8)

_Another month._ Kardol and his remaining Legion of the Dead were surprised it took Alistair’s party so long to reach the Dead Trenches. The wagons were the reason for the slow journey, and they were the same reason the party had to return to Ortan thaig. They could not take the wagons further into the Deep Roads; it was hard enough to steer around Darkspawn rubbish without narrowing tunnels. They had to respect the contract for having Bodahn’s supplies readily available: protect him and his trade on their travels. At this point, there was no discerning Bodahn’s goods from what they communally shared, and the warriors _needed_ supplies - _food and water_ \- to return to; protecting their cache was non-negotiable.

They all agreed it was a necessary burden, however it didn’t stop tensions from rising. Even as the overwhelming heat waned every few days, limits for tolerating each other thinned. Upon dropping their items in front of the same houses they’d used in Ortan thaig before, groans of disapproval rang out like the hum from an entire beehive: _Ugh, here we go again,_ and _I wonder what shall come next? Domestic murder?_ Alistair shoved open the door to the house he and Tess had used, threatening to practice _Domestic Murder_ on the next person who brought it up.

The Legion called the party _disrespectful_ for using old dwarven homes. Surprisingly Oghren stood up: the owners died knowing their homes would out-live them; that was half the _sodding_ point for constructing such sturdy buildings - something for future generations to use. Someone new was already living in Oghren’s old house, he was certain of it. Oghren greatly disagreed with _sodding_ having to come all the _sodding_ way back to this _sodding_ place, but _by the tits of the Ancestors you never go against your commander’s sodding orders!_ Just as Alistair was about to question whether _sodding orders_ was an insult, Oghren added _Without the Wardens, we’d never have made it to Caridin’s Cross to begin with. Sleep on the sodding ground if you want, but with those sodding Shrieks able to pop up out of nowhere, I’m goin’ inside!_

Pleasantries continued to diminish despite the Legion agreeing it was better to be safe than end up dead over superstitions. Those who could sew were tasked with stitching tent leathers into backpacks. Morrigan and Wynne were both quality seamstresses but they were needed for potions, so while they alternated alchemy practices, Alistair took up slack with Zevran _who taught Alistair to stitch_ , Leliana and Bodahn. Tess helped when she was in her mind, and thankfully back in Ortan with so much distance between her and the main Darkspawn horde, Tess was _Tess_ more than she was in oblivion. Sten slaughtered a horse and a goat, taking upon himself the smoking of meat, drying thoroughly so it would survive the journey to the Anvil and back. They tripled up fabric and leather, as durable as they could make each bag, and after Alistair made two sacks he made a third to fit Shale - larger and sturdier than all the rest. Anyone who wasn’t stitching or cooking was to help refit Injury Kits and make potions, including Morrigan’s stamina potions.

Alistair was adamant about it all - rations would be a handful of food enough for two meals a day, with a spare bag on Shale for an extra month’s worth. Water was more important than food if they expected to sweat like rain clouds, plus two waterskins on each person's belt. They’d take bottles, wrap them in leather to keep them from breaking against each other; Shale would carry these. Each person store their own food and potions, two backpacks each and as many packs as they could carry by hand; bags could be dropped for combat, _having enough_ was the important thing. Half of them grumbled at Alistair like this - the other half got after the others for grumbling, but Alistair didn’t care who favored this side of him or not. _All_ he could think about was _having enough._ He could not - _would never_ \- leave for the surface without Tess, so without question there _had to be enough;_ whether she walked out on her own or he carried her, Tess was getting out of there with him. Alistair drove them hard: if their eyes were open, they had better be working.

Shale would carry a set of heavy armor for each of them - a heavy breastplate for the rogues - otherwise they would travel light. The Legion would lead them to the end of Bownammar with surplus and wait for the Wardens party to return, or wait for a sign of emergency. By the time the meat dried according to Sten’s strict Qunari standards, they were all agitated with each other. Even Po was upset; to the dismay of Tess and Po, Alistair said they could not carry enough water for them and the hound together, Po would guard the merchant dwarves while he waited for his mistress. No one spoke nor met eyes the last full meal together.

Alistair had a hard time sleeping. He drank strong sleeping potions despite knowing they wouldn’t work. He watched Tess sleep for what felt like hours, trying to memorize every tiny detail in her face, the way her hair smelled and felt between his fingers. They had talked before bed, decided to make love _just in case_...it might be the last chance. But Alistair was so worried about losing her - _what if his preparations weren’t enough, what if they got caved in, what if she fell into lava, what if the Archdemon was there, what if Tess fully lost her mind?_ \- that nothing excited him. Tess was so nervous about the Archdemon closing in on her mind _while we’re doing this_ that she couldn’t stop shaking. They were comforted by each other’s touch and nothing more. As if Alistair hadn’t cried enough, he cried again. He had never been scared of anything - scared of _losing_ anything until her; every _fear_ he thought he’d felt before could never compare to the weight this new dread held. It was his duty as husband to make her forget her fears,  moreover make her feel desired _,_ but how was that possible with death so close? Alistair had never had such a high expectation of himself and simultaneously felt like less of a man. Tess tried to assure him it was okay, and though they calmed enough to spend the night holding each other, _lame attempts at making her laugh which she did anyway,_ Alistair felt tears seep out again when she fell asleep.

The start of the return journey eased nothing. The warriors carried so much that travel was no faster even without the wagons. Lack of sleep made up for lagging, but not much. After two days Shale complained it would be winter again up top when they resurfaced at the rate they were walking, insisting it hold their handbags to ease burdens and increase speed while they had the luxury of clear roads. Alistair tried to keep track of days but by the time they reached Caridin’s Cross again even the dwarves were losing count. With Shale carrying the bulk, they knew they were traveling faster, however, no sleep interfered with the ability to discern how long an hour was to multiple hours. They had no way to tell time...and thus no way to tell when they last ate. Alistair had to govern eating only when hunger pains took over; they could not afford to run out of food so quickly.  

Tensions refused to lift though, and this bothered Alistair just as much as worrying over portions. Lack of belly-fills, lack of strong drink, lack of cool air, lack of time to sit gave way to arguments behind Alistair and Tess. Bhelen, Wonus, Oghren and Kardol bickered back and forth pathetically, Morrigan bickered with Zevran and Wynne and then whined to Tess and Alistair, Sten complained they were wasting energy best saved for combat. No one found humor in Zevran’s attempts to lighten the mood with dirty jokes. When Leliana and Sten both recited their own religious chants to drown out the others, more complaints ensued. Maker knew how many days it all went on, but when Alistair’s voice shook dust from the walls of the highway with threats of beheading, everyone drowned in an ocean of silence. The following exchange of dialogue was crisp gratitude that dripped like bucketfuls of excess honey during Wynne’s next blizzard.

Zevran took lead with Alistair and Tess when they neared the Dead Trenches. At first Alistair thought nothing of the elf’s occasional glances behind, but when they all stopped for another snow storm he noticed the glances weren’t just random. Though it seemed Zevran attempted to hide his true expression, Alistair read brows and eyes well enough to see suspicion aimed at the dwarves. Quick peeks to the rear became sharp turns that flung Zevran’s blond hair out around him like a twirling dress. After a final stop for a blizzard before heading to the side entrance of ruined Bownammar - the tunnel Shale may not fit through - Alistair pulled Zevran aside.

“Why do I feel like a child about to lectured by an adult?” Zevran craned his neck to look up.

“Because you look like a child,” Alistair joked with a straight face.

“Oh? Am I in trouble? Are you going to bed me over your knee and spank me?” Zevran said without hesitation.

This broke Alistair’s stern glare. “ _Only you_ can come up with sex jokes so fast.”

Zevran grinned. “That is my _other_ natural talent, my friend.”

“I’m still waiting to see the first talent,” he quipped.

“You two are suspiciously happy for all the grumbling lately,” Tess said from Alistair’s side.

“Speaking of suspicion, Zevran-”

“Ah! My first talent, no? Being suspicious!” the elf declared jovially.

“Well...we’ll talk about that later,” Alistair teased. “Those _looks_ you’ve been tossing back to the dwarves. Did something happen that I’m not aware of?”

Zevran hesitated, fixing his eyes beyond Alistair. “You know of the Crows, correct? I told you they would likely send assassins after me?”

Alistair readjusted the tie to keep his hair out of his eyes. “Yes. And?”

Zevran met his eyes. “Okay, if I tell you, you must promise not to call me crazy?” he bargained.

“And now you are definitely acting suspicious. No promises on that ever, Zev, you’re always a bit mad.”

“Fair enough.” he paused again, this time his golden brows furrowing deep enough to show obvious concern. “I think the dwarves are out to get me.”

“You mean like Oghren always trying to best you on kill counts in battle?” Tess asked, delicately placing a small shred of dried meat past her teeth. Alistair had been more lenient with her eating, and though the others complained, Alistair let her do it anyway. If small bites here and there opposed to _meals_ allowed her to return to the surface alive, Alistair would listen to as many complaints as needed.

“Ah - _no._ ” Zevran glanced from her to Alistair, beyond Alistair and back. “I think they were sent to kill me.”

Alistair froze. A glance to Tess expressed exactly what Alistair felt. He turned to look back at the others; Wynne was frosting bottles of water, Sten seemed to be meditating, Morrigan and Leliana stood off the side far apart wiping away sweat with scowls aimed at the dwarves, who were...bickering like they always did.

“Zevran, Bhelen’s a prince. He’s always been a prince,” Alistair reminded.

“But the first time we arrived he did not care for our presence much. This time he arranged to wait. _In the shadows_ ,” Zevran reminded.

Words escaped Alistair and he sighed instead. “Eat something, Zev. I’ll send Wynne over to frost your water.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“They haven’t tried to kill anyone yet,” Alistair said.

Zevran’s face fell. “ _Yet_ does not mean they _won’t_. Wouldn’t _I_ know an assassin if I saw one?”

Alistair stopped again. Zevran had a good point, and thinking back, Tess had been suspicious as well; she’d been the first to approach Bhelen and his guards, patted them down for hidden weapons. “All right,” he sighed. “We’ll keep an eye out. But _don’t do anything,_ Zev. If they’re _not_ and we _accuse_ them, he might withhold troops.”

“If you say so...but _I_ am walking with _you_ from now on.”

“As long as you don’t try to hold his hand,” Tess spoke up, more suspicious of this than the assassin accusation.

“Not even for a little while?” Zevran joked back.

As hard as Alistair tried to enjoy the only humor, no attempt to lighten the mood stuck. Kardol confirmed the tunnel off to the side was carved for emergency use, but not from their side; the darkspawn had made it when they couldn’t breach Bownammar’s main gate even from the inside. Upon first entering the darkspawn’s makeshift _front door,_ Alistair was livid - _there was room for the wagons!_ His chest tightened around his lungs in regards to walking the entire supply guaranteeing their survival - Tess’ survival - all the way back to Ortan thaig and returning this way nearly as slow just to find out they wagons _would_ fit. Alistair walked through with his arms stretched out from his sides to measure; the ground was crude and the tunnel so far a twisting maze but with precise steering _the wagons would fit!_ He was infuriated at himself for accepting the judgments of others instead of estimating himself. Then, as Alistair was about to veer around to yell at Leliana, Oghren and Sten for making such a stupid and inaccurate guess, the top of the tunnel at a second sharp turn narrowed near their heads. Dread sank deep in Alistair’s heart as Tess walked behind him because there was no room for her head next to his shoulders; though it was a mere three strides through this sect, the wagons would be stuck regardless. Beyond that point no matter what, they would be forced to survive on what they carried. It felt like another downward spiral even though he’d known - had planned - on surviving on what they could carry; that one moment of hope it would be worth another month-long trip back had been too strong and pure for this time and place. Too good of a hope to be true in this place where the Maker’s light could not reach.

Another turn found them nearly face-to-face with a squad of Darkspawn. With Shale still wedging through the tight squeeze, the rest of the party dropped their bags and threw themselves into battle. Oghren and Sten went chasing after three fleeing genlocks despite the Legion’s yells to stop, _It’s an ambush!_ The others followed to save their hides, only to find themselves in the midst of another squad of Darkspawn, this time complete with a charging bronto and Blight magic. Shale joined the fight with a boulder straight into the bronto’s face before it could ram Alistair. Though Alistair dodged the rock that killed the beast, Tess screamed and beat against Shale; in the middle of combat Alistair heard things like _You could have killed him! You tried to flatten him! What’s wrong with you?!_ When the last genlock fell, Alistair found Tess crying and holding her hand. Part of him wanted to scold her for forcing them to use an injury kit so soon on something so easily avoided, but the tears in Tess’ eyes as Wynne set the broken bones were too real. Alistair stood holding his wife, doubtful she heard his assurances of well-being over her cries of almost losing him.

Either the pain potions weren’t working on her or the heat was finally too much, but Tess became impatient with everyone. When she was coherent, she didn’t want Alistair out of her reach, clung to him every time they stopped for Wynne’s blizzards and iced water. Her eyes darted around them, just like Zevran continued to do. All Alistair could get out of her was she felt like the others were staring at her, _judging_ her for hitting Shale...and for slipping from her mind every day. If it was true, Alistair hadn’t noticed, although there were times he truly had no idea how long they’d left Ortan thaig, so on the other hand he couldn’t be sure she _wasn’t_ being judged behind their backs. Walking with Tess either short-fused or lost in oblivion to his right, and with Zevran twitching his head around every few steps to his left, Alistair wondered if he _should_ worry about their party.

Alistair kept track of everyone during stops and right after battles. As time - days? Weeks? - went on, he noticed bizarre conduct increasing. Sten began _listening for the enemy_ he told Alistair, Leliana tried to pretend she wasn’t staring at Tess every time they stopped. Morrigan asked a few times if anyone had _seen that;_ had she not also called Wynne _Mother_ during an argument, Alistair wouldn’t have been concerned. Alistair found his eyes playing tricks on him again, not with Tess this time but perhaps worse: rock was closing in on him, or at least that’s what it felt like; between battles in crude tunnels, Alistair walked with his hand out ahead of him. He couldn’t tell the seams apart, he saw nothing but rock painted in a dizzying mix of darkspawn filth and age lines. The heat, it seemed, did not agree with the stamina potions they consumed.

Stretches of long-forgotten city blocks were never accessible for long, but Alistair preferred the most broken of these over tunnels by far. The party walked quieter on the open streets, no echoes, plenty room to sit down for water and jerky breaks, and more importantly no walls closing in on Alistair. Not enough cool air, not enough cold water, unable to stop for deep breaths as often as he wanted. He had no choice but to suck it all in like a case of standing up too soon; they had no ingredients with them except for healing herbs.

The entire structure around them held a steady hum now. It differed from feeling Tess’ Taint even when she was unstrung, it was stronger, _rigid_ as if the Taint itself were wary of them approaching. It made Alistair nervous, wondering if his Taint burned like rubbing thorns because the Archdemon might be near; so nervous, in fact, that when Zevran stumbled into him, Alistair jumped, accidentally smashing Tess into the tunnel wall hard enough to make her nose and brow bleed and knock her out of her oblivion tree. Alistair made them all turn back to the last ruined city street so he could tend to Tess better in better light. After Wynne stopped the bleeding, Alistair sat in a dark corner with his wife. Too horrified with himself to explain, he clung to Tess and gasped apologies while trying not to cry. She kept a grip with her good hand and eventually stopped asking him how she’d bloodied her face.

Alistair panicked when he realized he’d fallen asleep. The bags were all off and he and Tess were in the dark little corner he remembered trying to hide in. Everyone else was asleep though, including Tess. A blond head rested on bags just past Alistair and Tess’ shaded corner, and the others slept leaning on each other against the walls or curled up against their sacks like Zevran was. Shale kept watch in the entrance to the same tunnel they’d been in when…

Alistair bit back a tremble of his bottom lip as he looked at Tess. The same side of her face as her broken cheek. Even in the shadows he could see the bridge of her nose and her eyebrow swollen.

He wiped stray tears from his cheeks with quiet breath, shaking in effort to keep the rest in. This journey would kill them; dark fears, but he saw no other future for any of them at this point. Between him and Tess and their Taint, they were bound to perish; fitting then, that they were Grey Wardens in the Deep Roads. Morrigan walked beside Zevran because she did not trust Wynne, Zevran walked with Alistair because he didn’t trust the dwarves, Leliana stayed behind with the dwarves to stare at Tess, Sten had trouble focusing - he didn’t outright say it, but Alistair knew the signs from personal experience. The heat did not agree well with Wynne either, and the dwarves kept getting lost even with the maps. Shale was the only one unaffected but without the Wardens or the maps the golem was nothing but stone wandering when stone should not be able to. Seeing Tess’ latest injuries scared Alistair more than anything, though. He couldn’t keep her safe down here. His gut had screamed at him not to go without the wagons and he had done so anyway, and now Tess was hurt _again_ \- because of _him._ He could not protect her _and_ he was the source of her pain. Alistair pressed his hand hard over his mouth to muffle the sob that barked up his throat.

Alistair left Tess’ side only to heed nature’s call. He was surprised he even needed to piss at all after reserving most of his water for Tess. The initial stand left him light-headed for a moment but thankfully no one was awake to see it.

 _What were they doing down here?_ Alistair looked out beyond the broken bridge as he laced himself back up. Bridges they couldn’t cross, air they could barely breathe, rocks everyone but Tess and Alistair had to avoid touching lest they risk Taint infection with no way to help it adapt. Unable to step too close to the edge even to piss because every ledge looked ready to crumble into the river of lava below.

His stomach hurt; Alistair had barely eaten - _as if any of them had done more than_ **_barely_ ** _eat_ \- in fact, he’d forgone his previous two rations altogether because Tess had broken down in tears at discovering her pack was devoid of jerky. He’d cradled her, kissed her and convinced her he wasn’t even hungry, and settled for a stamina potion and ice-cold water instead as she ate his share.

“I’m glad you are awake and not she,” a soft-spoken Orlesian accent sounded with a muffled scuffle of leather boots.

Alistair groaned and turned around to find Leliana standing with her fingertips clasped at her middle. “I know we don’t exactly have the luxury of walls and doors, but you could at least give me privacy when nature calls.”

“I apologize, I assumed you were finished. I need to speak to you though, while _she_ is not awake.”

A scoff left his mouth. Trying to catch him off-guard with his manhood out while his wife slept out of earshot? Alistair was disgusted at Leliana’s carefree disrespect. “I am not remotely interested, _Lil-_ ”

“Lil?” the bard echoed in surprise.

“If you touch me, I will not hesitate to throw you over this ledge,” he warned, reaching up to re-tie his hair away from his face.

“I- _no,_ you misunderstand...I hope...”

“Out with it then, I have more important things I can do right now.”

“Like protecting a well-known spy?”

Alistair froze with a frown. Still turned to Leliana, he shot his eyes aside to check on Tess; presently alone how Alistair had left her. “Why do you bring up my wife’s past? _And_ I want to add it’s not fair to oversimplify _her_ when _her_ reasons were actually honorable.”

Leliana shook her head. “She was a spy; there is nothing honorable about that sort of trade. Innocent people are always wronged. Why do you think I stayed with the Chantry so long? The Maker has shown me the error of my old ways.”

“ _Please_ , Lil, cut the innocent act. You wore daggers under your Chantry gown.”

“My original query must be postponed, I’m afraid I’m suddenly curious to know where you learned that nickname?”

He shrugged with a final knot in the hair tie. “In a dream once. I got the impression it annoyed you other than coming from...” _from my daughters._

“From whom?” large round eyes rolled over his face.

“It was a _dream_ , it doesn’t concern you. _Why_ did you feel the need to corner me while I was trying to piss?” he sighed. Alistair had a feeling this conversation was worse than bad. Or worse than crazy.

“Marjolaine used to call me _Lilli_ when we were in bed. In notes, she would spell it _Lelli_ but her accent was so thick it resembled _Lil._ ” slender fingers plucked at their own nails nervously.

Alistair shook his head, unable to find words other than _I don’t care._ “That’s...great. Good for Marjolaine.”

“She is working for her, you know. Tesslyn. _If_ that is even her true name.”

Alistair couldn’t help his laugh. “That is absolutely ridiculous, Leliana. What in the world makes you think that? And if you really thought that, why comes with us at all, huh? Why wait until we’re months down in the Blighted Deep Roads trying to keep each other alive so we each have a chance to survive?”

“She is a magnificent actress. She has proven herself to be so since Lothering, I know you have not forgotten. You are not a stupid man, Alistair-”

“I’m still not interested,” he said flatly.

“I’m surprised you believe she is really talking to the Archdemon.”

This caught his attention. “You’re pushing it.”

“Am I? You’ve hardly known her longer than I have. I would recognize another spy when I see one.”

 _Maker, not another one._ First Zevran, now Leliana? “Do you realize this is the first time you’ve admitted anything about yourself? My wife’s past is no secret. _You’re_ the one with secrets.” he turned to walk away.

“She knows about me, about my past. Don’t you see? That is why she never bothered to ask. She worked for the Empress, you know.”

Alistair spun right back around with a rough grab to her face. “I repeat, _you’re pushing it._ Don’t forget you’re expendable, _Lil._ You are _not needed_ to kill an Archdemon, _you chose_ to be here. Don’t give me a reason to take your weapons. I will not hesitate to throw you over the edge if I think you will harm my wife.” he ripped his hand from her chin with a jerk. “It actually makes it easier on us if you die anyway. Maker knows we could use the food and water.”

As soon as Tess woke, Alistair roused the rest. It suddenly didn’t matter he hadn’t eaten in whenever; he still remembered how quick Leliana had uncovered daggers back in Lothering’s tavern. The bard’s words now imposed strong enough fear to keep Alistair on his toes. He insisted Leliana walk ahead of the group and ignored all inquiries on the matter; if Leliana was truly delusional, she could be a danger to them all from behind. Between her and Zevran and Morrigan, Alistair was even less sure of their success. They _had_ been a team once; clearly no longer.

Bhelen returned Zevran’s suspicions with strong enough common sense that Kardol and Oghren teamed up with him. _Great._ If the elf couldn’t contain himself, Alistair would lose an important ally _or more_ for his kingship - and more importantly lose numbers for the war. If Morrigan and Wynne got any worse - which was likely, considering the others - both healers would be compromised. If Leliana didn’t snap out of it...well, Alistair didn’t want to think about that; he would just make sure she stayed within sight and be ready at all times. It helped Alistair even less to hear Sten, who was slowly losing his own sense, warn against Leliana - in rhymes, no less: _Shadows creeping high and low, Removing strength and means to go, Look away swift hands relieve, Beware your eyes do not deceive._ The only reason Alistair even knew it was about Leliana was because _The Bard_ was the clearest answer he could get out of Sten.

Shale had no clue how long they’d traveled. _What am I, its sundial now? I think not! Besides, I see no sun. It can hardly expect_ **_me_ ** _to tell time without moving stars if it cannot._ Had their supplies held out longer, Alistair wouldn’t have tried to press for an answer, but Alistair’s personal stash of jerky was mysteriously disappearing. It felt too soon for food stores to run low, but Tess was completely out and any Alistair held for her vanished quicker than he knew Tess was going through it. The longer they journeyed, the hotter it grew and the more appetites decreased - if anything, they should be surprised the food held out so long. The others seemed to have enough of their own stock; Zevran and Wynne, and even Morrigan offered to share. Sten also handed over wrapped meat, with an ominous poetic warning that gave Alistair goosebumps: _A Trickster’s reach strays vaster still, In spite the omens of your will, When your treasures feel most safe, The Trickster knows you’ve much at stake._

Between the disappearing food and Sten’s rhyming, Alistair was reluctant to let anyone sleep. He preferred they continue on under Morrigan’s stamina potions, but the dwarves stopped taking them. Reminders that the potions didn’t exactly work in Alistair’s favor, with new notice of sleep overtaking the potions in Tess, Alistair was forced to stop. He had forgotten Tess worked through potions faster than all of them. The Legion told them it was for the better anyway, _Sleep while you can, what’s ahead doesn’t allow for rest._

_As if that was good news._

Alistair _needed_ to stay on good terms with the level-headed people down here. Even though the Legion would soon stay behind, he had a feeling the dwarves would be the ones to lead them out one way or the other. The entire trip was more of an unknown than Alistair could have ever prepared for already; they still had at least a month left to go until the trail stopped on the map. With Tess fast asleep snoring softly against him, Alistair tried to study the map Harrowmont had given him

 _Shit. Harrowmont._ He looked toward Bhelen; he and his two guards propped against their bags of rations, two of them snoring as if trying to compete with Oghren. Alistair had no idea how he would explain returning to Orzammar with Prince Bhelen after Harrowmont had endorsed the Grey Wardens.

 _If,_ he reminded himself. _If_ they returned to Orzammar.

He looked down at Tess. Lying against him curled up, his arm resting on bags beneath her to keep her from dirtying more than she already was. She didn’t move as he wiped her face, tried to clear the dirt away; they were both filthy though, from head to toe, saturated with dirty sweat from armor to skin. Alistair wet her hair and face whenever they stopped. She never once complained about the dirt; precious little noble girl, used to being doted on with hot baths and a new clean gown every day. Soft beds, open windows. He brushed his lips on her open mouth, squeezing his eyes shut to keep the tears in.

 _When,_ he silently renewed his vow to her. _When_ they returned to Orzammar. They _had_ to make it back. He promised her they would.

_“Sodding elf! Warden! Get your man off me!”_

Alistair shot up so fast he hit his head. He winced out a curse as he tried to get his bearings, holding his head with his eyes closed tight to pass dizziness of standing so fast right into solid rock.

_“Warden! Stone take you, you talking nug!”_

_“Do not threaten me, dwarf! Did you think I wouldn’t find out? I know exactly who hired you!”_

Alistair’s eyes finally focused, realizing only now he had been asleep. He stumbled around Tess to get a better view, and he froze. His gut flipped in regret before he even recognized the shiny object against Bhelen’s neck. _“Shit._ Zevran, what the fuck are you doing?” Alistair wasn’t sure if it was safe to step closer. Zevran sat behind Bhelen with the dwarf’s limbs bound and a dagger blade against his neck.

“ _I tried to tell you_ , Alistair, _you_ did not _believe_ me!” Zevran’s face distorted harder with a jerk on the ropes that bound the dwarven prince.

“Zevran, he’s not out to get you -”

“You don’t know that!” Alistair had never seen Zevran so inflamed before. “ _I_ took a job that would _certainly_ ruin the Crows if I failed, _which I did on purpose!_ And _magically_ after we declare we are returning to Orzammar there is a _desperate prince waiting in the shadows!_ And only _six_ members of the _great Legion of the Dead?”_

“Zev, the darkspawn took _all_ of Ferelden’s Grey Wardens _and_ the King’s army at Ostagar, and that was a _lot of people_. We’re in _their home,_ Zevran. I’d kill anyone who invaded my home too.” Alistair wasn’t awake enough for this. He could practically feel his very breath making it worse. “ _Not_ that I’m _defending_ the darkspawn but-”

“ _The Crows are not idiots_ , Alistair! Killing me in public with the Wardens still living would only shame them more - _more_ proof they failed a task only a Crow can manage! _Why were they waiting in the shadows, eh?_ A famous prince sneaking out of his home unnoticed? Not likely even in Antiva! If they kill me here, the Crows own no shame! We are already dying, _yes_ ? Half our rations are missing, they do not promise to help us past the last gates, they do not keep watch - Do _not tell me_ you are _falling_ for this! You are supposed to be my _friend,_ Alistair! You are my _brother!”_ Long fingers clamped over Bhelen’s mouth to stop the noise as a thin stream of red slowly appeared.

“ _Fuck!”_ Alistair groaned.

“Whoa...hey now,” Oghren stepped in.

“Okay, listen to me, Zev - _I need him! I need his army._ You can’t kill him!” Alistair tried to plead as calmly as he could. His mind was spinning. _Why did he have to wake up to_ **_this?_ ** He’d gladly take darkspawn over this.

“We _do not_ _need_ his army, Alistair! You and me - we are _stronger_ than these dwarves! I _cannot_ let them follow knowing they will _torture_ me and _leave me for dead!_ ”

“Zevran, he’s a _prince,_ he’s always been a prince,” Alistair knew he wasn’t helping. Maker, how could he stop this? Risk killing Bhelen by shooting Zevran? Risk killing Zevran by shooting him to make him release Bhelen? Zevran had proved invaluable to Alistair, he could heal and train.

“Hey there,” Oghren said, stepping up with his hands in the air. “You remember me, right? We drank together at that pushover Teagan’s up top? It was snowing out?”

“Oghren, don’t make this worse, please,” Alistair hissed.

Oghren gave a slight gesture to Alistair. “I don’t care for Bhelen myself,” he continued to Zevran.

“ _Another_ reason I should end him here!” Zevran said through clenched teeth.

“But you won’t do that. Orzammar’s the only way back to the surface, remember? We can’t exactly walk through the halls with his blood on our hands, or his body. And believe it or not, the mud-licker’s always been a spoiled little noble. That’s just how he is, it’s in his blood. He’s a bit of an idiot but I guarantee you he wouldn’t know a crow from a chicken,” Oghren said.

Shale scoffed. “Hardly a difference.”

“Don’t - _just don’t_ ,” Alistair warned.

“Speaking of flighty-”

_“Shale, I said don’t!”_

“Fine. Don’t come whining to me when it wants to eat again.” the golem turned to stand guard once more.

Alistair had no idea how they managed, but between himself and Oghren’s impressive calming tactics, the madness evaporated. Zevran’s face expressed swelling pain and concern until finally he stepped back from Bhelen with shaking hands. Alistair stopped Wonus from lunging at the elf; _He stopped, leave him_ ; and he went to comfort the small man suffering inside his own mind. Zevran looked ashamed to be seen, even more taken back when Alistair pulled his _brother_ in for a hug. He felt the tremble of deep breath rattling ribs in attempt to quell rising tears in the elf who clearly felt unworthy.

Zevran tried to laugh it off, though. “I guess it is _me_ going crazy now, yes?”

Alistair glanced to Tess while he pulled back; she was off in her own little world, mumbling and tracing nothing along the ancient wall. “Ah, well,” he smiled for his short friend, “you’re part of the club, right? It was bound to happen. We might even have enough members for official matching uniforms now.”

“You know,” Zevran gave a sniffle, “the last rogue who went crazy apparently was rewarded with many wondrous nights with you-”

Alistair couldn’t help but laugh, and Zevran dared to return a meek smile. “Didn’t you just say we were brothers? Is that _common_ in Antiva - two brothers?”

“Oh. _Dammit_. Can I take that back, then?” the elf still joked.

“The King of Ferelden, caught in a love triangle with two assassins?”

“You’re right, better we keep this to ourselves.”

Alistair laughed again and flung his arm over Zevran’s shoulders. “Take a break. I’ll have the witch ice some water for you.”

“Alistair-” Zevran began, as Alistair released him to return to Tess. “If I jeopardized your war-”

“Don’t worry about it, Zev. I mean it. _I’m_ King, _I’m_ the Grey Warden. This Treaty isn’t dependent upon who my family is.” For the first time since they left Teagan’s, Alistair was reminded of his Kingship. He heard Teagan’s voice in his head: _As King, you must convince your people what offends them offends you._ He hadn’t quite understood when Teagan had told him. But now, with his elven charge possibly endangering a foreign peace treaty, Alistair _felt_ the part of the King. Valid or not, he needed Zevran to remain loyal and calm, so Alistair would treat his concerns as legitimate; the glimmer of relief in Zevran’s face said it was already working. Alistair would also negotiate whatever Bhelen desired to remain a trusted ally; he would convince the keeper of Orzammar his charges were worth fighting alongside.

_You are already King, Alistair._

_Yes, uncle, I see that now,_ Alistair silently answered his own memory.

 _King_ Alistair turned to face the others with a deep breath. _Official practice resumes now,_ he thought in Teagan’s voice. He told his party to pack up, ordered the mages to ice waters and set a blizzard, _last chance to piss or you hold it until I say so._

No one argued Alistair’s decision to brush off discord and move on. With a twinkle in her eyes Wynne said she spoke to Bhelen, but wouldn’t say what about; Alistair assumed she procured forgiveness of surfacer reactions underground. The dwarves left Zevran alone, minus Oghren, Kardol and two other Legionnaires who tried to lighten the mood with jokes. Zevran pushed himself, offered to help carry things, share burdens, clearly trying to prove he wasn’t a dangerous killer. Alistair curiously watched the elf offer to carry Leliana’s bulging pack.

“Oh, no. I do appreciate the offer, Zevran, and I don’t mean to coddle, but you have had a trying morning, yes?” Leliana said in her usual amiable tone. “Besides, my pack is stocked with bottles and they are very clunky. You needn’t burden yourself with my share. I think you are allowed to rest.” Had she not accused Tess of spying against her, Alistair would never have found this kindness out of place. The bard’s eyes crinkled with her smile, warm and becoming; Leliana was truly a good pretender.

“Bottles?” the hope for a strong drink wasn’t missed in Zevran’s voice.

Leliana giggled with a girlish lift of her tiny shoulders. “You are hoping for something smooth and strong, yes? Say, twenty years or so straight from Antiva?”

“Smooth and strong and twenty years or so? Well, I’m not exactly Antivan, but _Lil_ ,” Alistair felt power surge inside at the speed Leliana’s eyes flew to his. He smiled just for her, refusing to bulge the muscles beyond his cheeks. “Don’t you suppose we should ask my _wife_ before you try to give me away?” A small reminder to let Leliana know he hadn’t forgotten about her own idle accusation.

Zevran didn’t catch the chill between Alistair and the bard. “I thought we agreed to keep what we have between us, yes?” he joked, motioning back and forth from Alistair to himself. Alistair grinned for his friend’s sake.

Tess didn’t catch the tension either: “Do you know how strange it is to come-to and find your husband and friends all being promiscuous together?” she mumbled. Alistair was truthfully more grateful he didn’t have to explain to _her._ However, with a final icy glare from Leliana before she turned her nose away, Alistair felt it wouldn’t be long before anyone found out about _Lil._

The bridges of ruined Bownammar took forever to cross. They’d crossed two already; rather, they’d crossed the first and then had to wind around through dizzying tunnels just to get to the third. Each bridge looked like it had connected as a crossroad back in the city’s prime, providing an easy straightway from gate to gate and district to district. Bhelen said he couldn’t tell which district was supposed to be which, now. A few places remained unspoiled by the darkspawn, but anywhere that had remnants of Avvar influence - which was almost everywhere - were defiled and turned into a sort of nest. As if the rest of the journey so far hadn’t been unnerving enough, Bhelen answered _Blood Magic traps_ when Tess asked why dwarves would stow Avvar artifacts. Such news greatly disturbed the Wardens, the mages, Zevran and even Shale - they all remembered Kinloch Hold. Blood Magic always meant demons, _abominations,_ and while spells end when the caster dies, a trap retains harnessed magic cast upon it until the apparatus is destroyed. Dwarves were crafty enough as it was; Alistair shuddered to think what lengths the ancients dwarves had gone through to protect their precious city and secrets.

Making time for sleep meant the dwarves could determine how long they were awake each _day_ \- still no idea how many days they’d been down there, but they had some sort of measure now. It took two days just to cross the bridge; Oghren recalled reading the ancestors had used chariots pulled by brontos to cross in less than a day. After an ambush of Shrieks, they stepped into a dual-corridor oddly clean for the foul decay hovering near the doorway. None went past the door except Tess. Stealthed in combination of her own skill and magic, she crept in just far enough to determine the stench - only to zip back out to the bridge to vomit over the side.

Alistair did not need to see what Tess saw to know what lie waiting for them: festering boils of raw meat grafted onto walls and in corners; he glimpsed a pillar covered at the base with the putrid sores, just like at the Circle tower. The next hall, presumably once a handsome, grand hall now housed a stagnant must, reminiscent of piss, raw flesh and open wounds dried over time and forgotten because the smells never changed. A miasma long-turned sour, so thick it might as well have been fog that stopped at the door. It reminded Alistair of sleeping in the Arl’s barn in summer, various livestock wastes that had cooked together during the day; replacing bales of hay with rotting diseased flesh was worse. _Blood magic and barn smells;_ a sure thing to send a shiver. He joined Tess back on the bridge, surprisingly able to keep from retching up bile and adding to the sour taste in his mouth.  

They all agreed to camp an hour back across the bridge. Alistair feared demons in addition to darkspawn, so there was no chance they would camp so close. They designated their own little spaces and did nothing but sit for awhile, not even wanting to eat. The stale stench from the prior tunnels already stayed with them because only the temperature changed during Wynne’s blizzards. Rancid odors that seeped through every fiber and clung to strands of hair because there was no breeze to pass it away. It was in their armor, leather and so saturated with polluted sweat it rubbed against his skin like grime. Every time someone had complained about needing a bath, Alistair pictured a solid layer of filth just melting off into the tub like mud. A dry-heat fetor that already made thinking of food nearly unbearable. These new smells were far worse though; even Tess, the mighty She Who Likes the Smell of Blood was too sickened to step much farther than the door.

Tess refused to eat each time Alistair offered. There were pains, but she felt rather her stomach bunched up to purposely keep food out. Alistair was glad he wasn’t the only one feeling it, but he also knew if they hoped to continue they could not ignore hunger pains for long, lest their bodies cannibalize from the inside to make up for not eating. After iced water and a spell through Wynne’s blizzard, Alistair finally called for rations to be served. In light of his and Tess’ rations disappearing so quickly, Alistair personally went around to make sure everyone ate only one exact portion. He had no idea whom to suspect, or if they hadn’t simply been down there long enough to go through their own portions already, but it was better to monitor than take chances. He knew from experience as a child in Eamon’s stables that when one is deprived of food, they binge at the next meal; they could not afford that now. Tess wasn’t eating when he returned to her though, instead sitting hunched over with a look dispirited. He knew that face, the same expression she made when she first discovered her rations were missing.

Alistair immediately dropped to his knees and emptied their bags. _Fuck._ Bottles big and small, mostly vials and tiny jars of potions, four injury kits between them both, but no food. _Again_. She’d only eaten once since some others had generously shared their rations. Alistair’s blood steamed, overpowering panic inside. This was not happening, _shuffling around the potions just to be sure,_ not when they were only halfway there, _it couldn’t be her, he’d seen every bite she’d ever taken,_ checking all the pockets and even his belt purses just to be sure. She stammered a fear of ripping the bag during battle and somewhere there might be a trail of jerky, but neither of their bags had holes. _No no no! This is not happening! Tess has to eat, she has to stay strong, she has to walk out with me!_

Alistair felt on fire when he stood and whipped around. With a roar that shook even his insides, Alistair demanded everyone stop eating and overturn every backpack and sack. Velren and Bhelen protested, but Alistair cut them off. “No! Everyone gets searched! _No_ one gets out of this! Me and Tess are the only ones running out of food when I haven’t been eating and she’s not mindful enough to eat half the time! _Everyone gets searched! Dump out your bags! NOW!”_

“Alistair, you must keep your voice down. Your voice carries, you are drawing attention to us,” Leliana hushed.

“Don’t even try that on me, _Lil,_ the darkspawn have known for months we’re here! In fact, they know _you’re_ here _as well!_ Or have you not been paying attention? These _dreams_ we keep having that no one else has, that’s the _Archdemon_ , and _he knows_ we have people with us who _aren’t_ Grey Wardens, he _sees through_ us - _don’t you dare_ use my Taint against me!” Alistair’s breath came hard; it was bad enough this woman accused his wife.

Sten’s constant chanting tend to pass as a natural undertone these days, but now it rang to Alistair like Chantry bells chiming for mass: _“Flighty nimble fingers creep, Grasping what they should not reach. Feathered plights sustain diversion, Trickster yearns to cast aspersions.”_ Not the usual Qunlat Sten mumbled. Far too cryptic for Alistair to ignore.

Thieves and _feathered plights?_ Bird problems? Shale? No, _Crows. Zevran._ Someone stealing something, Zevran causing a distraction and _Trickster_ slandering someone? Sten had once referred to Leliana as _The Trickster..._ and Leliana believed Tess faked incoherency, had tried to convince Alistair to believe it was so. _Flighty..._ Alistair sighed; Shale had tried to warn Alistair about something _Flighty_ during Zevran’s moment of hysteria.

Sten was already staring when Alistair glanced over. The Qunari gave a single nod; it was enough for Alistair. His face hardened as his eyes fixed on the bard. “Dump out your bags,” Alistair ordered Leliana, “ _Now._ Do it _now_ , dump it all out. _Right now_ , with everybody watching.”

Leliana stammered and postponed until Alistair opened his mouth again. “I-well-a woman has very personal things in her private bags, Alistair. Surely you do not expect me to expose myself to all these males?”

“Don’t, _just don’t._ You’ve done a lot of shady things lately. Your bags bulge while everyone’s thin out, you refused Zevran’s offer to carry, you don’t let Shale carry anything. You are _running_ out of _chances_ here, now _dump out your bags!”_ Alistair took a heavy step toward her.

“No! Alistair, I would like to keep my personal womanly potions to myself! That is not asking too much! We already lack privacy and means for hygiene down here!”

“The bard has a valid point, Alistair,” Morrigan quipped.

“Shut up, Morrigan! You’re next on my list!” Alistair snapped at Tess’ witch.

“Morrigan, mind your manners. This quarrel isn’t your business,” Wynne’s tone suggested arguing for the sake of so.

“Do not lecture _me_ on manners after your _parade_ in Rainesfere!” Morrigan spat back.

“Not helping, Wynne, _both_ of you just stay out-”

“Truly the bard is _reasonable_ , though,” Morrigan interrupted Alistair.

Sten sounded in the background like the witch’s musical counterpoint, “ _Attempts to justify false claim-”_

“A woman requires-” Morrigan’s voice a bitter lecture; the cawing of a crow pushed from roost.

 _“Slanders self to further shame.”_ Sten’s profound bass enunciating his otherworldly locution.

“-privacy out of _necessity_ ,” Morrigan continued as if unaware of their eerie duet, “not out of privilege!”

“ _I said Shut up, Morrigan!_ ” Alistair yelled. _Shit,_ his mind was already spinning. Could this really get worse? But if Morrigan was defending Leliana, something was sorely wrong. _“What_ is it you have to _hide_ , _Lil?”_ Alistair reached to yank her bags away but the bard held on tight.

“No!” Leliana yelped. “This is embarrassing enough, don’t you see? And how many times do I have to ask you to stop calling me that?”

“We have no privacy,” Alistair reminded shortly, “ _nothing_ is embarrassing. We men wake up stiff as a board for all to see, and everybody farts in their sleep including you. We all have the same problems down here-”

“I beg your pardon! We do _not_ have the same problems! _Fine,_ if you must know! _I_ am a _woman_ , and women have _private monthly occurrences._ These _occurrences_ require me to take potions to keep from -”

Oghren grimaced with a noise. “Ergh, ancestors! Is _that_ what we’re arguing about? Women bleeding all over the sodding place? Sodding nug cakes, lady! Have you been leavin’ a trail?”

“What?” Leliana looked horrified. “ _Uck!_ _Disgusting!_ _No_ I have _not_ been _leaving a trail!_ What kind of gentleman asks a question like that?”

Sten continued in the backdrop, _“A bootless stir to hide what’s known-”_

“I ain’t a gentleman, lady,” Oghren informed the bard as he muffled Sten’s attempt to intervene.

Alistair jerked the bags again, petite Leliana stumbling along with them. “No! Alistair, _please!_ I do not want everyone to see what I carry! They are considered _unmentionables_ , you know!”

“There is no such thing as privacy down here! Dump it out or I will.” Alistair glared at her. The cherry-haired bard stared back with equal determination. “ _Prove_ to me you’re innocent, Leliana! Do you have our food in your bag?” Alistair thought he heard Tess from off behind, but Leliana quickly drowned her out.

“I have _potions_ to stop my _monthly blood!_ _There!_ Are you quite satisfied now? Now please let go, I don’t want them to break, otherwise I _will_ bleed all over the place.”

“We planned for four months of supplies each. Not a single female Templar I’ve met ever spoke of needing that many potions.”

“The female Templars probably never spoke of it because it was _not_ your business,” Leliana retorted. “I take one a day during those particular weeks. That is a lot of potions _if_ you can count that high. I’ll give you a hint: I made enough for twenty-eight days.”

“ _Twenty-eight?”_ Morrigan called her out this time with legible suspicion. “I do not recall you asking for _twenty-eight_ potions. Between the two of us, I only concocted _ten_ \- the only necessary dose being _one_ bottle per cycle.”

Dirty blonde strands whirled to a stop near Leliana with a quick glint from a torch. “She is _lying_ , Alistair! What will you have me do? _Cut_ her? We need her supplies to _return_ from this forsaken quest.” an ache to dance his blade deep between cloves of skin gleamed in Zevran’s eyes as bright as the firelight bouncing off each dramatic twist of his dagger.

“Oh, are we openly killing each other now? Great, let me know when it’s _my_ turn, I have an elf to pay back!” Bhelen called over.

“ _Perfect_ ,” Oghren drawled. “While you’re hunched over, my axe will _widen that crack_ in your backside, Your Royal _Who-Needs-A-Paragon_ Prince _Shame-To-The-Aeducan-Line_. I’ll send you back to the palace on a bronto with a note that says _Oghren was right.”_

 _“Mistrust in each face abound. Wisdom murdered, buried, drowned...”_ more direful input from Sten.

“ _Oghren_ \- dammit - _Zev_ -!” Alistair shouted back. He didn’t know who to get after.

“No, the elf is correct, Alistair, the bard is a liar,” Morrigan said.

“If you let him kill me, Alistair, I will not be there to save your necks from whatever made that foul smell ahead,” Leliana tried to take a step back, but with Alistair holding firm to her bags she had no room to escape. “Maybe for _you_ it is only one bottle, Morrigan, but for _me_ it is _every day_.”

“I hate to agree with Morrigan,” Wynne piped in, sounding just as strained as she looked, “but I do _agree_ with her. Even when _I_ was blossoming into fertility, we only used one bottle per month.”

Morrigan scoffed. “Do _not agree with me_ simply to take the _winning side_ , you old hag! Nobody here desires to know of your _whoring_ days of _youthful lust!”_

“Oh _please!”_ Wynne scoffed a retort. “But I suppose _you would_ be one to recognize whoring, wouldn’t you?”

 _Maker’s fucking breath, he couldn’t handle this!_ Alistair’s discernment was shredding. _What the fuck were they even talking about anymore?_

“ _I’ll_ tell you who’s a _whore_ ,” Oghren growled.

“All of you stop it!” Tess was clear this time. “ _Please_ -” clear, but weak compared to pent-up agitation scratching its way free amongst the group. Sten’s mumbled poetry was washed over again, his constant undertones against the women the only clue he was even present.

“Sodding Tits! When did this turn to whoring? Here - behold my beautifully stolen goods, straight from the Wardens’ caravan.” Kardol emptied his bags, leather-wrapped bottles clanking to stone as his small supply tumbled free; first glance proved no extras.

Velren huffed. “You’re not pinning this on me, Kardol, you sodding son of a-”

“This isn’t the time to discuss your failure at self-recruitment into the Legion, Velren,” Kardol immediately shot back. Bhelen joined in to defend his guard, and two Legionnaires argued Kardol’s riposte.

Dwarves arguing back and forth so fast their voices blended, Morrigan and Wynne spitting taunts on immorality, Zevran snapping between the dwarves and Leliana, Morrigan throwing up her arms in random shouts to Leliana, Wynne’s arms signaling briskly from Leliana to Morrigan and at times Tess or Alistair, Oghren uninterestedly yelling he would slaughter the lot of them if they all didn’t shut up. Alistair could feel his throat vibrating but couldn’t hear his own words, nor could he hear Sten’s rhythmic bass or Tess’ broken desperation. There was no use trying to shout everyone down in this racket, but Alistair tried anyway.

At this rate, the entire darkspawn army would hear them.

Glass crashed loud enough to freeze them all a hair of a moment before thick, dark smoke billowed up like an angry wave. Fine charcoal threw Alistair and the others in a fit of coughing and sneezing. He tried to call for Tess but only inhaled more dust, couldn’t even curse for wheezing so hard, powder burning his lungs as if he stood downwind of a bonfire strictly to breathe in poison. Bodies crashed and rubbed along each other - some rubbing a bit too long, yet Alistair could not open his eyes to see for the life of him. _Maker, if the darkspawn came upon them now..._

Someone performed a cleansing spell that swept the fine ash away. Only after they stopped inhaling burnt powder did anyone dare open their eyes. Immediately they were in an uproar - _everyone had been disarmed!_ Alistair whirled around, expecting Leliana to have disappeared as well, though the bard stood there just as insulted and unprotected as the rest of them. Names and fingers shot out into sooty faces; Alistair frankly had a hard time telling most of the dwarves apart with everyone blackened. Voices rose again, but a shrill noise made them cower in start with a cry of _Shrieks!_

 _“STOP IT!!!”_ a voice Alistair knew too well screeched louder than all of them. _“STOP IT ALL OF YOU!!!”_ Tess screamed. Alistair turned to find her next to Shale, the rock golem holding all a pile of weapons over its arms.

“Tess?” Alistair coughed out remaining ash.

 _“No!”_ she cried out. She looked damn near to tears, and very Avvar with smoke-stained sweat smeared across her face. “Maker, _what is wrong with you all?_ You’re _fucking arguing on a bridge_ between a _fucking hole and a pile of darkspawn and rotting flesh!!_ _None of this matters down here!_ Don’t you fucking get it? Whores and bards and princes and mages, _none of you matter!!! I’M_ the one doing all the f _ucking work!_ _I’m_ the one leading us everywhere! And you’re all fucking _fighting_ like we have _time_ and _resources_ to fucking _stand and fight_ over!” tears splashed out around her eyes when she blinked. “You all think I’ve _fucking lost_ it because I’m _hearing_ things, but _I’M THE ONE WHO GOT US THIS FAR!!”_ she screamed so hard her voice cracked. Alistair called out her name and took a step toward her but she stopped him cold. “No! _NO!_ You’re _part_ of it right now, Alistair!”

Her words pinched his heart; it was the last thing Alistair wanted to hear after he’d tried so hard to keep his head straight. _He couldn’t_ be the problem down here, he had promised to take care of his wife. He'd  _promised._

 _“If_ we ever get back to the surface at this fucking rate,” Tess continued, “the _darkspawn_ will have taken over the land and _I’m_ the only one who can move us from town to town through fucking _slave tunnels_ and _secret escape routes_ so we can get to safety! _ME!!_ Not a _single_ fucking one of you but _ME!! And you’re taking my fucking food!_ _I just disarmed you all_ - _I just proved_ that I’m not the _weak little mental girl_ you’ve all been treating me as! I don’t even _care_ who took it, but _how could you?_ _None_ of you would be here _right now_ without _me!_ I hear _everything_ \- _the fucking Archdemon_ hears everything you say _through_ me! Do you know what he _fucking tells_ me - what the _Maker forsaken Archdemon_ tells me? _HE TELLS ME I CAN DO BETTER!!”_ she screamed again; Alistair watched her tears fall and remembered Ostagar, remembered her saying she cried when she was truly angry. “ _My fucking Blighted enemy_ keeps offering me _food and safe shelter_ if I _go_ to him! _I_ _fucking believe_ _him too!_ I wouldn’t have to worry about _never waking up_ like I do with you _stupid shits!_ Or waking up to my _husband_ dead!” she gestured to Alistair. “We _don’t belong_ here, _none_ of us do, not even dwarves. You’re so used to Orzammar you can’t adapt like your ancestors could, and the rest of us need sunlight and fresh air, fruit - I _fucking miss fruit!”_ she hissed, blinking out more tears as she looked around. “Did you know we missed _cherry_ season? _I may never see cherries again! None of us may ever see anything again!_ _Why_ does it make sense to all you _sane, normal, healthy_ people to _try to turn_ on each other where we have no _FUCKING CHOICE BUT DEPEND ON EACH OTHER TO FUCKING SURVIVE?!”_ she gasped a deep breath and turned away as another set of tears took over her face.

Alistair expected her to march off; he wasn’t sure whether she’d join the darkspawn or try to let them do the rest of the work, but Alistair _waited_ for her to leave. He did not want her to leave, but he wouldn’t blame her, he _couldn’t_ blame her. They were all such a mess, a tangle of nails rusted together. Alistair glanced around. Morrigan hung her head with a dark frown, Wynne refused to look at anyone. Zevran met Alistair’s eyes with a frown of concern, and half of the dwarves shifted uncomfortably. Sten’s eyes darted in watch for sudden movements, often returning to the bard. Leliana continued to hold her bags tight with a few dragging coughs.

 _Leliana,_ still clutching overstuffed packs when Tess was crying about just wanting to be safe. Vanity of being right stirred inside and Alistair embraced it; calling out a thief won over the urge to console his wife and ask how he could help fix things. While Leliana kept wary eyes on Tess, Alistair ripped the bags from her hand, pulling one so hard a strap tore off. Alistair untied each bag as he put distance between them, ignoring the bards protests. He dumped each of her bags out on to the long-standing stone bridge. There were indeed potions, cushioned in their fall by more packages of wrapped meat than Alistair knew each person had been rationed for; one backpack was filled with nothing but rations.

One dwarf muttered _Crazy lady’s in trouble._

 _Yes she is._ Alistair met Tess’ eyes over their strange herd. Her reaction stalled his own; exhausted and sniffling, Tess staggered over and began filling a sack with food. At first Alistair assumed she was trying to correct a spill he caused, but when she ignored all potions he realized she was reclaiming their cache. As he knelt to help his wife gather food, Alistair was reminded of another lesson from Teagan: the Queen would only be addressed in court if a crime affected her, either directly or through a personal charge; Leliana’s thievery affected the Queen in both ways. He wondered how Tess would respond when she was on the verge of rejecting everyone.

Sten resumed: _“Discipline the unjust trespassing. Prove your repute, regain sovereignty.”_

It seemed Sten was the adviser Tess needed right now. Alistair followed the profile of his wife’s body as she stood to address Leliana. Arms and back straight, deep breaths, nose in the air; this was Tess’ court all right.

“You don’t get to cross us, Leliana,” Tess shuddered with breath but her voice remained strong. Alistair stood when her lip quivered again. “We let you in, we _took_ you in, we’ve been keeping you safe, feeding you - you may not cross us. You volunteered free service, but our acceptance made it a contract. _Betrayal is forbidden._ ”

“And _what_ do _I_ get down here where no one can find my body?” Leliana asked suspiciously.

Tess frowned and took another deep breath. “If you think the _Empress_ allows _servants_ to touch royal suspicions, you are in _dire_ need of training. Celene herself never sees most issues; her advisers discuss matters amongst themselves and only bring it to her attention if they deem it important enough. I was her _servant_ , Leliana - I washed her _pantaloons_ and _chemises_ and _stockings_ , and later when I _moved up_ , I was a _toy_. My duties were _pleasure_ , often putting on a show with _others_ summoned only for pleasure; Celene would recline with her private stocks of drink and _indulge_ herself while she watched me bring beautiful men and women to tears with over-stimulation, or... _reversed_.” Tess paused, slowly blinking tears away. “She said she liked the sound of my voice when I was flogged. Celene liked to set a rune of lighting in the handle for a little _kick_ ; on good days _I_ got to wield it. I have a _scar_ on the back of my thigh from that damnable thing,” she said with a twinge of irritation. “When I _wasn’t_ entertaining, I was _washing._  I did what was _necessary_ to gain her trust and promise of support for _Alistair._ I needed Alistair - I _need_ Alistair on Ferelden’s throne, _nothing more_. I could _truly_ care less about your history or this _Marjorie-”_

“Marjolaine,” Leliana automatically corrected.

“You can _keep_ your memories, Leliana.” Tess’ tone expressed the cold ire her jaw quivered to hold back. “Right now I need your bow because I need my husband to stay alive. If I _didn’t_ need your bow, the smoke would have settled upon your dead body.” Tess looked down at the bag of food in her hand. “You will eat when my husband says you can eat. Do not talk to me.” The Queen’s court undoubtedly.

Alistair gathered up the rest of Leliana’s belongings and hurried after his wife. Tess said nothing more when she sat with her water, worn out from screaming, weak from hunger. Alistair told Wynne to set another blizzard and Morrigan to ice waters, then he sat with his wife. Chatter, _polite and brief,_ and metallic clanking slowly took over after the old woman’s storm of snow settled down. It was as if Tess had slapped them all, and even though Alistair had been verbally slapped as well, he was glad for it. He had no idea how to control his own maddening mind, but he was tired of the tension and spying eyes and whispers.  

Tess slowly met his gaze as Alistair pulled out the cleanest rag he had and sat in front of her. She closed her eyes when soaking cloth dripped water down her forehead. “I suppose this is practice?” he asked softly, repeating tender strokes down her skin to bring back the face of his wife. "I swear Teagan tried to teach me something like this." He barely heard the huff that tossed her head.

“I just want out of this place, Alistair,” she whispered.

“I know you do. So do I. _Hey,_ _look_ at me.” he searched her eyes when she met his request. Her eyes brilliantly stood out amongst all the soot; it was almost strange to see green down here where everything was filthy rock or scorching lava. “I love you. _More_ than love you,” he corrected himself, “I _more_ than love you, Tess. _I will get you out of here_ , _I_ _promise_.” _Maker, please help me keep this promise!_

Tears took Tess again, adding to her over-exertions from screaming and crying moments prior. Shortly after Alistair finished cleaning her face, she fell asleep, before she could even eat. Alistair told the others to rest up where they were, but he could not sleep himself. Tensions still remained as others cautiously drifted into sleep, each taking his and her time, some clearly pretending to while peeking with one eye every so often. Alistair knew too well pretenses never lasted long, but for Tess’ sake and his, he hoped they could all pull together when it counted most.     

_There is beauty in darkness so black you can't see your hand before your eyes, a beauty that comes in the form of vulnerability from having your breath and heartbeat just loud enough for others to find you in such darkness, forcing them to trust you because you're alive - or try to kill you, because you are when you shouldn’t be._

Alistair couldn’t remember where he’d read the words, but they fit the present like a carefully tailored glove. He kept a tight hold on his slumbering wife and careful eyes on Leliana, who was ever wary of the Warden who condemned her to the mercy of a man who was quickly losing patience for such a thing.   

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	50. It Can't Get Any Worse, Can It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hespith's disturbing echoes throw Tess into a fit of PTSD and Alistair is reminded of his nightmares. The party splits from the Legion of the Dead only to discover how baby genlocks are made...
> 
>  
> 
> _Broodmother..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING*** Reminiscing of former abuse; physical reactions to remembering former abuse/torture.***
> 
>    
> *General Warning* Graphic detail of rotting flesh described. May not be suitable for those with weak stomachs.*
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [ The Corruption, by Jesper Kyd, Darskiders 2 soundtrack](https://youtu.be/eGocG8qwYEo)

_First day, they come and catch everyone._

The first sound came like a whisper of death. No one saw the source but it echoed all around, beckoning like a demon bartering the comfort of a pyre’s flame. A woman's eerie voice possibly in the rock itself; Alistair suspected his Taint until the dwarves worried they'd angered _The Stone_. Tess froze wide-eyed, an iron clamp on Alistair, holding her breath out of fear not stench. Even Morrigan was spooked.     

As if nerves weren’t already tormented by paranoia, torrid tunnels and scant stomachs.

_Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat._

Ancient dwarven halls broke out in swells of raw, oozing carrion. A fetid stench wet the air like a wall they had no choice walking through. Drenched armor and clothes dripped with rank humidity festering in its own decay. Bitter vomit filled the hall with no warning every few steps.

_Third day, the men are all gnawed on again._

Tunnels insulated abominable mist. Sweat smelled like rot and infection. _Like you cooked yourself in someone’s carcass,_ Kardol had said. There had been no way to imagine that until now. Potions for nausea were not tolerated past the tongue. There was no need for something to keep them awake.

_Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate._

Mutters of foreboding from those not vomiting. Tess gripped Alistair so hard bruises formed down to the bone. _Bad girl,_ she scolded herself, _messed up, did it wrong, bad girl._   

_Fifth day, they return and it’s another girl’s turn._

Tess tripped over her feet. Alistair tumbled after her when she didn’t let go. Wife shook and hyperventilated still attached to him; Alistair had no clue how they returned to their feet. Thank the Maker the darkspawn abandoned these tunnels.

_Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams._

Tess collapsed with a cry, finally releasing Alistair to cover her ears. Rocking, spitting names Alistair had only heard from Arl Eamon lips. _Bad girl! Bad pet! Sophie, Audra, Roslyn, Dinea, Lorna, Sima! Only eyes, suffocation! Not neck, not wrists! Quiet, be quiet! Someone’s knocking, pounding pounding pounding POUNDING! Mothers scream, fathers yell! HE yells! Bad Tess! Bad girl!_

The noble daughters she had killed.

_Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew._

Tess gave a blood-curdling scream. It rattled through stone, vibrating beneath their feet, piercing ears, sweat-matted hair unstuck and stood on end over gooseflesh. _NO! NO! NO, PLEASE NO! I’LL DO BETTER! NOT THAT! PLEASE NO!_

_Eighth day, we hated as she is violated._

Tess stopped moving, stopped standing, stopped screaming. Distant, unresponsive, all but dead. Armor slimy with sweat and damp air made Alistair’s fingers slip. It was hard to carry her.   

_Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin. Now she does feast, as she’s become the beast._

A living creature picked at rotting bleeding bulbs of flesh. Too much decay, too much oozing dead meat. Discovering it was something’s diet pushed stomachs to the brink. It took all of Alistair’s strength not to vomit on Tess; he was appalled and afraid to set her down in the mire of ichor and sewage.

Oghren knew the creature. _Hespith;_ only when it responded to Oghren’s attention did Alistair recognize cloth and hair among sludge, blood and mold. It muttered as it rose on gangly legs - the haunting voice through the tunnels. But that was not what struck Alistair.

A dwarven female, or what was left of one. Jerking, hobbling, withering limbs drawn in, head swinging on loose hinges, clouded eyes. Deteriorating under severe Taint. A bone cracked when she stopped turning.

Alistair’s heart paused and gut lumped.

_Tess. Dead Tess from his nightmare._

Alistair shot backwards from the ghoul. His feet snagged; Tess flew out of his arms and hard ground jolted his hips after flailing imbalance. Tess howled and held her arm, but Alistair wasn’t concerned with the fall right now. He dragged Tess out to the hall they’d come from, kicked the door shut and pressed against the wall. She spoke but Alistair couldn’t make out words with his flurrying prayers. _Don’t let go, don’t let go, please don’t go!_ He squeezed her tight, cradling her as she cradled her arm, hiding her head as if hiding the ghoul from sight might keep her from becoming one. He couldn’t breathe, Alistair’s chest cinched around his lungs and heart, gasping, crying, bolting pulse, _pain, fear,_ a whirlwind in his mind threatening the survival of his wife. _Can’t let go, don’t you leave me, please don’t leave!_ Alistair screamed when the door opened.

Kardol and Sten; _not_ the ghoul. They deduced the fall had dislocated and sprained Tess’ arm from elbow to hand. Tess buried her scream in Alistair’s dirty armor when Sten reset her elbow and fingers; she would be fine, just a bruise. Alistair apologized for yelling, desperately grateful he wasn’t asked to recall _dead Tess_ again.  

Anxiety trembled him to the bone. He felt his pulse roll through the veins in his face as he sought breath. This wasn’t happening, this _couldn’t_ happen. His nightmare was too close to being reality.

They were led to an open walk; Alistair was too focused on _keeping Tess,_ he did not know who helped them. The last stretch of Bownammar before the other gate; where the main bridge had once led in its glory days. It was easier to breathe here; _Maker thank You!_ \- no more rotting flesh, though by the stench of them one could not tell. Someone suggested it was time to change armor, but they would have to throw the old; _if_ they were salvageable after bearing so much sweat, they would mold in Shale’s sack and waste the sack as well. Wynne suggested stripping and standing in a blizzard, she even offered bottles of lyrium and sage grass to remove the stench on skin. Alistair was about to agree when a growl echoed from across the way.

 _Ogres,_ two of them. Alistair hated them almost more than Shrieks. He anticipated the day where they were out of darkspawn filth strictly so he would be warned of their proximity again.

What a difference _cleaner_ air made though. The dwarves did most the damage, but Alistair felt invigorated anyway. The Deep Roads certainly had a way of making humans appreciate - and miss - fresh breeze; anything fresher than _death_ , anyway.

This was as far as the Legion strayed; if the bulk of the darkspawn horde breached Bownammar’s ruins, Orzammar would fall. It was up to the Legion to secure the gates. The Legion had slept among the spotless Bownammar sepulcher before, _the only district that still reflected its prime;_ the darkspawn avoided the spirits that still guarded the ancient Legion of the Dead tombs. Kardol and his Legionnaires promised to wait for the Warden’s party to return, and their supplies would be safe among the Ancestors. The entire party shared one last blizzard together before departing for the leg of a journey no one believed they’d survive.

Potent moist decay hit them like a barrage as soon as they opened the gates. The Legion locked them out, heavy locks clicking in succession after a metal bar thudded into place. Alistair hoped they wouldn’t need to rely on instant retreat.

 _Broodmother._ Hespith’s haunting voice gave an ominous warning that none understood until avoiding smashed vines of rotting flesh left them with no more clear ground.

The swamp of meaty sludge produced a low hovering pink mist, reminiscent of profuse hemorrhage. A lumpy, disproportionate female; Alistair remembered Duncan’s lessons - this was where genlocks came from. A mutated female dwarf - _but not just a female:_ scaled back, tentacles, spitting, stinging, screeching like it called for reinforcement; darkspawn charged from blackened chambers to heed its war cry. The degree of Taint within the broodmother burned Alistair’s blood almost as the Archdemon had, only this thing was raw, feral, a primitive queen protecting its hive, bred only for creating monsters. Slurping, wet raw flesh thrusting up from below the mire in sucking sounds, sloppy skin sloshing around; noises Alistair felt should be associated with love and intimacy, not death and monsters and decay. Tentacles rushing, whipping, violent _wooshing_ through the bloody fog. A trilling roar. Slimy saucers like rotting lily-pads lined the underside of tentacles; one of them stuck to Velren’s head and ripped his helmet clean off. Stomachs tried desperately to keep up with nerves so they could move on, but between the grotesque body, _wrong sounds,_ and nauseating smells, nearly every blow was followed by vomiting.

None of them knew how they ended up in the next tunnel a conquering band. Minor wounds were more surprising; not because they’d overestimated their skill but for managing to dodge the tentacles while retching. A quick blizzard with a spray of bottled water to wash their surfaces clean, a round of potions for nausea while they were out of range of abominable death, and onward; they no longer had reason or excuse to linger.

Oghren discovered another wall carving of Branka’s; they were getting close it seemed. For the first time since they arrived, there was an end in sight.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes from [Hespith](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Hespith) taken directly from in-game dialogue. Hespith and her poem is property of Bioware/Dragon Age.


	51. The Singing Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Archdemon influences Tess to relapse with lyrium to stop Branka for selfish gain. Alistair is not only in no position to stop her without resources to cleanse, but finds himself falling under lyrium's song along with her...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING*** addiction -- substance abuse -- relapsing on an addictive substance. 
> 
>    
> Archaic translations in end notes.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [The Corruption, by Jesper Kyd, Darskiders 2 soundtrack](https://youtu.be/eGocG8qwYEo)

**_Tess:_ **

_Dwarves argue. Oghren barks, like Po but people words. Woman dwarf, cheeky tongue. Doesn’t hear buzzing; they’re here, not far, they buzz in me. But not her._

“How -” _the bad smells aren’t so strong but words are still hard,_ “how...where is it? You...don’t Taint.”

_Other voices in me. Hissing and singing. And ringing. Smothering words._

_She-dwarf despises me._ “And you look at _me_ like _I’m_ mad!”  _Strange word. Don't know what_ Branka  _means._

“No, she’s right.” _Alistair, my Alistair._ “You’re not Tainted. How have you survived down here?”

_Ringing. Do you hear that? Ringing like glass bells, the pretty ones Celene has, the window bells. The rainbow bells. Ringing like bells that make sun rainbows._

_“Taintling...”_

_Oh no. No no! Not you! Stay out! Dark master go away! GO AWAY!_

_“Taintling, doest thou defy me still?”_

“There is no end to the sacrifice that _must_ be made!” _she-dwarf rants._

_“Taintling, go. I knowest what thou needs. Thou hearkens to the music. It calls, thine bones answer.”_

_Lyrium. Yes. I hear it. And bad buzzing, burning buzz!_

_“Yes, Taintling. Thine brethren await escape. The mad she-dwarf abuses thine kin, Taintling. Thou hearkens the lyrium song; go to it.”_

_No. Husband says NO! None of it, no blue!_

_“Taintling...” dark master reaches, comforts. Feel large hands on my hair, smoothing, soothing. Trying to touch but nothing here. Not real, fake hands. Husband watches me. “She-dwarf is wooded. She breeds to abuse thine brethren. Her purpose is the Anvil, she will haveth us all slain. She-dwarf will slay thee as well, I want this nowise. Stop her, Taintling.”_

_Stop? Stop the she-dwarf?_

“The Anvil of the Void! The means by which the ancients forged their army of golems and held off the first Archdemon himself!” 

_“Yes, Taintling. Stop her.”_

_How?_

_“The singing rock. It sings to thee, Taintling. Twill push thine brethren from thy mind. Twill numb their whispers.”_

_Lyrium? Blue rock makes it leave? But they hurt, they try to kill._

_“Ah, aye,” dark master nods inside me. “Thou must end them. Tis unfortunate to asketh thee, natheless required. They will be replaced. Make haste, Taintling. Thou must reacheth the Anvil before her.”_

_Singing doesn’t stop. Husband says no, NO! Can’t have blue rock! Why? Why do this?_

“Tess?” _husband grabs arms. Elbow still hurts._

 _“There will be no_ husband _if thou doest nothing, Taintling. Mad dwarf will make them, they will slay ye. Follow thy bones, Taintling, taketh the lyrium stone. Tis mine behest!”_

_Husband won't like this, husband will yell. Feet move anyway. More steps, move away, through the tunnel._

“Tess! Tess, stop! Where are you going?” _husband grabs my hand. I am soaked, slimy - hand slips away._

_Have to go, this way. This is where the bones hear. Dark tunnel, turning walls. Dead body, sour smells - stomach does not like this either. Boils, blood, oozing, gore. Stomach definitely hates this._

_Gasp loud; THERE IT IS. Glowing blue, fogging blue. Blue stone, living stone poking up, scabbing over hurt ground. Stone trying to heal itself._

_Feet move faster. Anxious buzzing, brethren, angry kin. Loud sounds, yells, clamor. Husband joins the battle. Brethren make my blood scream. Blood screams all over._

_Chest tightens, feet tumble, bones hurt already. Fog like a blanket, singing sweet songs. Singing life songs, hoping songs. Head hurts, brains hurt. Dark master please no! I don’t want to! Blue hurts! Blue stings! Sounds sweet but burns me!_

_“Taintling, doeth mine -”_

“TESS NO!!” _husband yells._

_Hands close; too late._

_Burning! NO! STOP! MAKE IT STOP! Someone screaming,_ me _screaming. BURNING STINGING BLEEDING! HANDS ARE BLEEDING! Maker HELP! My hands are bleeding! No no no! I can’t stop shaking - what have I done? It’s been years since I shook this hard. Pores and creases I didn’t know I had expel tiny dots of shiny red blood. Something falls with a splash and I look down - blood drops. Another droplet, and more. Wiping my shaking hand under my nose paints my finger bright red. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no._

“Tess! Shit, Tess!”

 _I turn to see Alistair crashing to his knees beside me. He turns my whole body and holds my wrists to examine my hands; my hands have stopped shaking. His eyes scour my face._ He _shakes now, running a finger down my cheek; blood clings to his finger when he pulls away. Maker, he looks scared._

 _Is that from me? My_ face _is bleeding?_ “Alistair?” _Shit, I sound so whiny. Pathetic, scared Tess. How many months without and now a fucking song brings me back? A stupid voice? The voice of my Taint? I thought I was doing better than this!_

 _It’s quiet now, though. My blood is still boiling from the darkspawn beyond Alistair but I can’t hear their thoughts. I can’t...FUCK. The Archdemon was right. Lyrium made them go away. It made_ all _of them go away, including the Archdemon._

_I feel the liquid dripping from my nose; fuck, this is embarrassing. Alistair tries to dab it away with a damp cloth that reeks like the filth around us, but I still feel it bleeding. He tilts my head back and pinches where my nose turns soft. If he wasn’t here, I might actually bleed to death through my nostrils. Fucking wonderful, Tesslyn._

“Tess, what have you done?”

 

**Alistair:**

“No, _no_ , Tess, _leave_ them. You’re _bleeding everywhere._ ” Alistair tried to hold back tears as he wiped her face. Blood continually pooled in tiny beads around her face. The fact it diluted in color after each wipe meant nothing. _She bled from her pores,_ as if it was sweat. All Alistair could think of was Lothering and Redcliffe, the struggles of traveling with her withdrawing on the road, _tying her down so she wouldn’t scratch._ “Maker’s _fucking_ breath, Tess! Why did you do this?” he hissed. He hurt everywhere.

“Alistair, they need help. I have to help,” she said. 

“Tess, what were you thinking?”

“Alistair! I _have_ to _kill_ them!”

“No, Tess. We made - _you **promised** _ -!” he huffed. “ _You could have killed yourself, Tess! I told you **no**! You **knew** that!” _ he didn’t mean to sound so rough, but _DAMMIT!_

“I had to!” she kept looking around him.

“ _Tesslyn_ -”

An arrow whizzed by and clanked against stone; Tess scrambled away while Alistair flinched. He yelled after her as she drew her daggers and ran into combat with a cry. _Dammit, what was wrong with her?_ He called her name and ran, but she ignored him still. The rose dagger sparkled and shone in lava reflecting from pillar to pillar, glittering to the rock above like stars in the sky. Alistair kept his eyes on her as he fought, and after repeated reflections from her dagger to his shield Alistair realized _she reflected light on purpose._ Tess manipulated her diamond-coated dagger’s natural tendency to reflect light, pausing between swings and jabs to tilt her dagger and catch reflections from other weapons and armor, blinding the darkspawn to dominate the field of battle. Darkspawn catching on posed no problem for her, she redirected the glares she cast to blind other opponents. Before most set of eyes readjusted, she had made another kill.

 _Maker, she had not been this clear in battle for months._ The lyrium did this to her, he knew it. It was hard for Alistair to fight like this - and the smell was not the problem for once. The last time Tess had given in to her addiction, basic recovery had been too long; considering she regularly woke from nightmares about _burning_ and _bones hurting_ , she was still recovering. Her last relapse had given her surprising clarity before chaos erupted between them. The last withdrawal woke her with distorted speech and lowered resistances, he remembered she hurt for _weeks. Maker help him, he couldn’t do that again! He couldn’t go through it all again! Especially not down here._

 

**_Tess:_ **

_This is strange. This is new and unfamiliar for me down here - how long have we been down here? That doesn't matter. I only know I haven’t been so aware as I am now since we left Orzammar. It almost feel like I’m back on the surface._

_Alistair is unhappy with me. He does not want me touching the lyrium. I can’t help it, but the fact I’m holding it with a rag this time makes no difference to him. I think I understand his point well enough; the scars I gave myself in Lothering still litter my body. Though I’m in no hurry to burn myself again, and hate bloody noses, I miss being able to hear ME. I am trying to convince myself this present clarity will be worth whatever withdrawal will hit me in the end._

_The lyrium is beautiful though. The chunk I broke off is a narrow stalagmite wrapped in ribbons of brilliant pale blue. I can hear it inside my bones: like when blood pumps so fast from action it practically hums throughout the veins. Lyrium is a sweet tune - a robin, compared to an annoying jay or woodpecker I liken adrenaline to. A robin singing to flawless crystal bells chimed by the wind itself. It is the pulse of the rock, the sound of its blood; the blue sap oozing from the broken end is the blood itself._

_I can’t help but stare at it. It’s almost like a torch; a few of these tucked around me and I reckon I can lead us back without Zevran’s clever eyes. The glow it emits is comforting, like the lamp my mother used to leave lit at bedtime in my childhood. Mother didn’t use lyrium of course, but this blue vein glows with the same gentle aura. Part of me feels terrible for picking it - it had grown, the lifeforce of stone itself had reached up between cracks in rubble worn long ago. It had tried to heal itself, scab of the wounds the darkspawn made._

_The rest of me does not want to be pushed to the back of my mind anymore._

_I rip a dagger sheath from a dead genlock and fasten it to myself with the lyrium in place of the blade; the she-dwarf scoffs. I have no problem returning her glare._

“An addict. How fortunate for me. Your order is renown for greatness, but I see wit no longer matches brawn. Standards for killing Archdemons must be slipping on the surface. You’re _useless,_ Warden. At this rate you’ll bleed out from your pores before you reach the first trap. If I cared for humans I might pity the lives depending on you to stop the Blight.” _she mocks without end. She honestly thinks she’s better than me?_

“Would you like to know something?” _I ask._

 _A smirk of preparation tugs at her mouth._ “Go ahead, _Grey Warden_. Enlighten me.”

“You’d sound better with your voice box on the floor.” _I don’t bother waiting for her expression to change. My feet move, I don’t even care where, I just walk. Alistair is right; I can’t trust the Archdemon - I should not trust him, but if the Archdemon is wary of a single person who’s mysteriously survived for years when Grey Wardens are barely scraping by, that is concern enough for me._

“Believe me when I say the feeling is mutual. But there’s only one way out now. You may prove useful after all. You will have to solve the traps in order to leave, and I need people to test them.”

_Oghren steps in to argue. He’s disgusted at the disregard for life she’s acclimated to - Paragons don’t act like this. Branka retorts everything Oghren says, demeaning him - and Grey Wardens - every time her mouth opens. Bickering married couple despising each other simply by breathing._

_Maker, can I just kill them both now?_

“They all tried to leave me, even my Hespith! She had pledged herself to me, swore to go any length to find the Anvil! They all turned on me, begging me to kill them! _Me!_ They had no right! They were sworn to me, I owned them! And where were you, Oghren? When the others turned on me, their duties fell to you. You and your _friends_ will have to pick up where my house failed-” _Branka whines - Maker!!! This mad woman is actually whining!_

“SHUT UP!” _my voice travels along the walls as I whirl around._ “We’ve been through too much to listen to your shit! You don’t get to _cry_ to us, you don’t get to order us to play out your fantasies! Grey Wardens don’t listen to you! _FUCK!_ ” _I turn and kick the first thing in front of me; drenched leather doesn’t doesn’t do a damn thing to protect my toes against the stone column. The bones in my feet rattle my ankle._ “Maker, I just want to get out of here!” _Alistair is there when I turn around again. I thought he'd be mad at me for using lyrium, but he looks hurt for me; he’s clearly disappointed as well, and I don’t believe he’s trying to hide it. He takes my arm and braces my waist to help me walk._

 _I hear Branka continue her tangent as if I had not interrupted. Alistair shoves his mouth to mine to stop me before I finish what I want to say:_ “Oghren, muzzle your bitch.”

 

**Alistair:**

If monsters and lyrium and paranoia didn’t kill the party, traps would. Alistair planned to talk Tess into throwing out the lyrium vein she’d carried, but the tunnel away from Oghren’s deluded wife led right into the first trap. _Golems and poison._ Zevran and Tess ventured in looking for something to disarm the poisonous fog, but as soon as metal gears ground together, golems sprung to life. Four golems in a row, each activating as the prior dropped, nearly depleted Wynne and Morrigan of their mana with little time to supplement with lyrium. Blades and arrows did nothing against them.  

As if four golems and poison weren't rough, trying to disarm traps in the next chambers caused larger golems to awaken. Two at a time, though larger than Shale, were manageable. Two more awoke; barrages and poundings left the party scraped, bruised and dizzied by the time they managed to get out. A broken arm had to be set, another dislocation fixed, someone needed stitches over an eye.  

 _And Tess._ Tess burned through potions faster than all of them; she had been this way since Alistair met her. Lyrium persisting in her bones normally caused this, but down here where they sweat nonstop she burned through the lyrium even faster. The fact raw lyrium was stronger than powder or potions immeasurably concerned Alistair. Most people would have died after grabbing a raw stalk like she had; he still thanked the Maker that she had survived it. She kept poking her bare finger in the drying sap of the lyrium stalagmite at her belt; though her nose bled with each dose she dabbled in, she continued - often. Battling these traps Branka had said the old Paragon Caridin left behind caused Tess to burn through each dip of lyrium sap even faster yet; high adrenaline. _Alistair couldn’t believe she’d given in to this so quickly, and down here of all places._ There was no where to tie her up to keep her from scratching and their rope was in Ortan thaig. The need to return her to the surface was even more urgent now.

Though he passionately disapproved of Tess using lyrium, Alistair marveled over it with her; perhaps more than her. Between traps, lyrium grew in vast _garden_ patches on the tunnel ceilings, so concentrated it completely covered stalactites it grew around. Bright, illuminating, _magical._ Alistair heard it _sing_ for the first time. It was _utterly beautiful._ He spent most of his time through each tunnel with this head tipped up, and Tess stopped him from reaching up to touch it more than once. Like a living painting; the first part of this nightmarish journey that didn’t seem like somewhere darkspawn lived, or even part of the Deep Roads. It was like seeing the Dalish for the first time, seeing Rainesfere for the first time, it was like...a fairytale, like a world that ought to have a happy ending. It brought tears to his eyes. Alistair’s heart beat faster in wonder and _envy;_ his heart _ached_ for a happy fairytale ending more than anything. It felt like the Maker had put all this here _just for him,_ to give Alistair _hope_ after so long.

 _Blood magic._ That was next trap. Bhelen reminded them the ancient dwarves had openly worked with the Avvar to create blood magic traps. None of them were immune; the giant trap of rotating stone heads that leeched blood from pores of exposed skin with every turn. The normal resistances from lyrium exposure - the lyrium inside of Tess, the dwarves growing up with it,  Alistair’s Templar training, not even Wynne or Morrigan’s mana - helped avoid it. Battling this trap exhausted them all. It took half a dozen turns of the bloodthirsty trap - battling ancient spirits and hitting ornamental anvils when they emanated pearly magic - for the dwarves to suggest hitting the anvils at the same time. Magic had little effect on the spirits. Tess lost her lyrium shard and kept crawling to twisting veins on the ground; she’d jump back into battle bleeding from her nose only to bleed into the trap. Wynne kept a healing and regeneration spell around the party but it made little difference. Shale could not break the trap by force, pounding only made it rotate and leech quicker. Most of the party ran back and forth to help others, forgetting and remembering and forgetting again they’d agreed to strike each anvil at once. By the time they actually achieved this, half of them were in tears, splattered and smeared with their own blood, some too weak to stand.

They took rest there. The blood magic trap seemed disarmed and safe enough. No longer fighting for his life, Alistair had time to look around. Small lyrium veins littered the ground here and there; the chamber ceiling was another lyrium garden. Wynne said a few hours rest beneath the glowing blue horns _shouldn’t_ addle them. After food, water and another blizzard, everyone dropped into sleep. Shale kept watch; they were more concerned with Branka than darkspawn. Alistair fought sleep to gaze at the wonderland above him; Tess asleep against him, Alistair marveled at the gentle humming and serene glow. He couldn’t believe there were such dark things as _blood magic_ and then in the same world, natural art _so beautiful._ Alistair honestly meant to pray - thankful they were alive, thankful they had food and water and blizzards, thankful the stench of rot had disappeared, thankful for his wife and for the beautiful lyrium scene - but sleep took him before wonderment waned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hearkens: listens
> 
> Wood(ed): mad, insane
> 
> Nowise: not at all
> 
> Natheless: however
> 
> Behest: demand
> 
> Aye: yes
> 
>  
> 
> ***In regards to Lyrium as an addictive substance, from how the effects are described in-game, it sounds like cocaine - or has similar properties to cocaine. I have done research on cocaine (and other hard substance) addictions, and I'm trying my best to keep the symptoms/reactions of the user and others comparative to real-life users and ACOA/ACO-addictions. If you have experienced any of these and feel I have misrepresented this in anyway in the previous, current or upcoming chapters, please let me know. The last thing I want to do is make these behaviors come across as a joke.***
> 
>  
> 
> Lyrium Aesthetics by me, courtesy of in-game screenshots (taken by me) from [Dragon Age Origins](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Dragon_Age:_Origins) [Deep Roads](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Deep_Roads), quest: [A Paragon of Her Kind](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/A_Paragon_of_Her_Kind), location:[ Anvil of the Void ](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Anvil_of_the_Void_\(location\)), [ Spirit Apparatus (blood magic trap)](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Spirit_Apparatus), object: [lyrium](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Lyrium)
> 
> Tess wears:  
> [Underworld Armory Mod](http://www.nexusmods.com/dragonage/mods/1533/?)  
> [Hairstyle Day, Starlet hair](http://www.nexusmods.com/dragonage/mods/3552/?)


	52. In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What defines the Grey Warden motto? Who determines which side is vigilant? Does sacrifice truly ensure victory? What if we follow this code and peace never comes?_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> The party discovers the ancient dwarven Paragon Caridin - and the truth behind his golems. A deadly battle ensues when Branka interrupts, forcing Tess and Alistair to extremes to save their party from being slaughtered. But changing the tides of warfare doesn't heal injuries, and while Tess battles another hard withdrawal, Alistair learns they've run out of supplies. 
> 
>  
> 
> Will prayer be enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING: SUBSTANCE ABUSE WITHDRAWAL***
> 
> ***GENERAL WARNING: Gore, Graphic Violence, starving to death, infections***
> 
>  NSFW art at end of chapter.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [The Corruption, by Jesper Kyd, Darskiders 2 soundtrack](https://youtu.be/eGocG8qwYEo)  
> Branka/Golem fight: [Flameheart, by Two Steps From Hell](https://youtu.be/4vYO78KHZPI)  
> [The Gravity of Love, by Really Slow Motion](https://youtu.be/PrY9a7lQZVQ) _specifically 1:48-2:30 minutes_

Alistair thought he had seen it all: dragons, a talking golem, the city of dwarves, ancient dwarven cities, an Archdemon, the ashes of the Holy Prophet, lyrium gardens, magic, the Fade, blood magic traps, friends turning on friends, _love._ But walking through the doors of the next chamber proved this wrong.

 _Golems._ Not just golems or ones that weren’t trying to attack them, but six _enormous_ stone golems twice the size of Shale, standing three to a side as if announcing the way for a king; _ironic_ , Alistair felt, as he was the one to lead his party through. The whole party stared, none able to take their eyes off the brilliant creatures around them. _Like overgrown toys,_ Alistair silently assessed, _that could crush you with a single step._ Each golem glowed, tattoos of resplendent runes and ancient dwarvish script. Like Shale, the stones that made up these golems were carefully sculpted, perfectly round or smooth or flat. The pride and dedication put into each rock body was evident and awe-inspiring, and just plain _inspiring;_ Alistair was humbled with respect for ancient dwarves for the first time.   

Between the falling lava beyond the chamber floor, thick vines of glowing lyrium climbed and twisted around supports, piles of lyrium veins dazzling around the golems themselves. This was the definition of glory if Alistair ever saw one.

“Shale,” Tess tried to overcome breathlessness, “you are very short...”

“As if it towers over me,” Shale retorted. Alistair knew Shale was as mesmerized as the rest of them, though.  

Faint crackles of lightning illuminated something huge just ahead of their feet. Another golem, this one metal and even larger than the rest. Alistair froze; he’d been so enraptured by the monumental stone golems he’d not noticed the most magnificent golem of all - Tess actually walked into it. Metal welded with precision, mastery he’d not witnessed even on King Cailan’s armor. Massive plates over shoulders, chest, _everywhere._ Power and great control had gone into this creation. Traces of ancient scratches had been primed and polished, coated with a dull shine; Alistair guessed it had been inactive since its last use. Runes and dwarvish script didn’t glow like the on the stone golems, but this one held a steady charge of lightning, crackling purple bolts dancing all around the body and seams of this majestic creature. As if the stone golems weren’t impressive enough...

“No,” Alistair breathed; he could practically feel sparkles of wonder emanating from his eyes. “Shale you are _definitely_ short.”

Shale sighed. “There’s no point arguing with it, is there? Does it know, I think I used to be this tall once.”

“Ah, a voice I have not heard in ages,” the metal golem spoke; _if the party wasn’t in shock and awe already._ “Shayle of House Cadash, it is good to see you again, old friend,” it did not have a moving mouth like Shale possessed, but a distinct male voice resounded from hollow metal. Thin bolts of lightning and purple fog lit up around the head with each word.

“Eh...friend of yours, golem?” Oghren asked.

“You...you _know_ me?” Shale expressed emotion for the first time - astonishment - the same time Bhelen echoed in equal surprise: “ _Of House Cadash?”_

“Ancestors!” Bhelen stared at Shale in awe. “You’re a _dwarf?”_

“I am _not_ a dwarf!” Shale protested.

The colossal metal golem sighed. “Allow me to explain. I am Caridin, formerly a Paragon to the dwarven race, once the finest smith in Orzammar.”

“ _You’re_ Caridin?” Tess asked; two emeralds gleamed tri-colored with all the lyrium and lava around. “Caridin was a golem?”

“Records state Caridin was a dwarf,” Bhelen informed.

The massive golem sighed again. “It is true. Once I was a dwarf, as were you Shayle. Most golems were once dwarves. I crafted you myself, Shayle. My memories recall you as...considerably taller, but before this body of stone you were indeed Shayle, finest warrior of the House of Cadash in generations. You were the only woman to volunteer.”

“A _woman?”_ Shale, Tess, Zevran, Leliana and two dwarves repeated in disbelief.

“This should be interesting,” Morrigan mused aloud.

“If only _interesting_ was the better of it.” Caridin spun a woeful tale of an ancient urge to create a reusable harness of magic for personal dwarven use. The Darkspawn, a new enemy then, were conquering the Deep Roads and the dwarves became desperate to save their cities, people - their existence. Talented from birth, Caridin quickly rose to the personal trust of King Valtor, his duties diverting from arming the King with _only the best_ to creating the perfect weapon. Curiosity and research led to a dangerous obsession, one King Valtor not only approved of but helped disguise for the sake of the Assembly. Thirst to harness power itself, the greater good of the his people pushed aside by a quest for glory. The Assembly was led to believe an anvil enchanted with lyrium could create powerful warriors to challenge the Darkspawn - stone or metal beings crafted on the new anvil and enhanced with interchangeable runes, providing the way for Caridin’s lifelong dream: _allowing dwarves the daily use of magic_.

But Caridin and King Valtor withheld the secrets of this new craft: unless inhabited by living essence - _blood_ \- what they decided to call _golems_ would remain nothing more than pretty statues. With consent from the Assembly, King Valtor spun false tales of _approved_ progress while Caridin sought forbidden resources. Aiding Caridin were his own most trusted friends, and together they carved an anvil made from the base of a potent lyrium tree. A mage from the surface was smuggled in; many, in fact, before they found one willing to perform such extreme blood magic; the unwilling never left the location of the anvil. An outcast Avvar shaman set a self-recharging _trap_ within the lyrium anvil itself - _Caridin suspected a demon but he was ordered not to question_ ; every time a life was taken, a bit of that blood would seep down to retain the enchantment. The lifeforce of each being would work its way into the forging itself, allowing golems to preserve their knowledge and personal integrity.

At first, only volunteers were allowed - _Shale proudly among them, personally driven to be the greatest warrior in Orzammar._ When the theory of the Anvil of the Void proved successful, the volunteers were ordered to silence in the presence of the Assembly with _control rods_ to prove each golem was contained - Caridin was declared a Living Paragon of Orzammar, given his own noble House, revered in all the best ways. But while Caridin intended the control rods to be a safety gauge, King Valtor fell prey to lust for even more domination. Caridin ignored his conscience when the King ordered casteless dwarves, criminals and political enemies into golems; not all put to the Anvil were dwarves, and when surface emissaries _got lost_ underground, the King used accusations of murder to keep Orzammar cut off from the surface _to preserve the dwarven way of life;_ a believable excuse. 

Eventually, Caridin himself was ordered to the Anvil; King Valtor wanted his brilliance to survive the ages, _A little reminder for the Shaperate of_ **_my_ ** _part in this creation,_ Caridin recalled his King’s words. The immaculate steel golem before Alistair’s party now admitted he did not consider the weight of his crimes - the bodies thrown to lava to cover up murder - until he felt himself shatter atop his own invention.

“A pain I wish on no one and have regretted since.”

It was conviction enough; the party agreed amongst themselves helping Branka just to bring back a Paragon might not be the wisest thing.

“Sentimental regret. How precious.” Branka stood in the entryway when Alistair spun around. “You’re forgetting one thing: Sacrifice for the greater good amounts to honorable death.” Branka took a calculated step forward. “Caridin’s golems were created in light of a Blight, an invention that allowed dwarves with no honor to fight back against the first Archdemon and reclaim our homelands. Lives were lost, yes, but no war has never gone without death and those who die do so for glory. Turning the casteless into golems _isn’t actually murder_ \- or have you not heard of _diverting power?_ Replacing the bodies of the starving homeless with indestructible giants which need no food? I’m almost jealous _I_ didn’t think of that! What’s that human phrase? _Two birds with one stone._ ”

As much as Alistair loathed the idea of blood magic, Branka had a damn good point: magnify firepower and end poverty all while keeping numbers. The Shaper had said one golem was stronger than fifty excelling dwarven warriors, and using the very method Branka planned made a significant difference in the war against the First Blight. This was Alistair’s exact predicament - _he needed magnified firepower because he had very few bodies to impact the Blight._ Shit, Teagan had tried to teach him about _diverting resources._

But...Caridin was proof that the best of the best would be made into golems to preserve greatness. Alistair looked at Bhelen; the dwarven prince liked him well enough, but would that end if Alistair proved too valuable an asset to leave Orzammar? _Maker, a Tainted Golem_ \- Alistair didn’t even want to think about that. And then Tess...what if _she_ proved too valuable? Caridin said golems were also made from surfacers, not only dwarves. Fear swelled and twisted his heart as Alistair looked at his wife; to wake up one day and find her gone, to learn a _friend_ ordered the genius of her mind be preserved, to find a stone giant with her voice while bits of her hair or an eye - her _blood_ stuck to an anvil....He loathed this idea even more.

“ _No_ ,” Alistair denied Branka, shaking his head. But Tess had already taken over the conversation.   

“How far do you think you’ll get? A few zaps of magic and Shale no longer needs a control rod. How long do you expect loyalty from people you force into pain and death, only to resurrect them to slave away while they remember what you did?” Tess made a damn good argument. “What reason do they have to fight for a home you’ve decided they no longer need?”

 _“Bah!_ You’re a surfacer, you’ll never understand our way of life. We’re here for the Anvil, just keep it at that. This is not a matter for politics or compassion. Paragons exist for a reason - we’re the only ones who see the need for extreme measures to produce results that make a difference, and in doing so we inspire and breed more paramount thinkers. I once assumed _your_ order was just as practical, though considering the Deep Roads have thinned but you’re down here, it seems you’ve dismissed your own methods. Help me claim the Anvil, and you will have an army unlike any you’ve ever seen!” Branka’s eyes glittered with obsession.

Alistair hesitated to answer; _Maker, how do I decide this? I_ **_need_ ** _the kind of army she’s promising!_

“NO!” Caridin cried out. “Do not give it to her! Already too many have died on account of my greed! The Anvil’s enchantment is too strong! Those who work it become slave to it!”

The ancient golem spoke of things Alistair related to: blood magic corrupting those who use it. A flash of _dead Tess_ from Alistair’s nightmare, _dead Tess_ this time torn and bloodied on a mound of lyrium. _No no no!_ “No!” Alistair yelled out. “Caridin is right, it’s too dangerous!” A nagging pit in his stomach warned him defying Branka meant summoning a fight.

“No! Don’t listen! He doesn’t know what he’s saying! He’s spent centuries down here roasting in his own dementia!” Branka disputed through

“Branka, listen to yourself!” Oghren barked. “You’ve been down here too long, woman! Look what you did to your House - _our_ House!”

“Orzammar’s on the brink of crumbling to dust! I can stop this Blight and save our empire! Between our casteless and surface vagrants, I can make whole collections of armies! We will have the strength to reclaim and rebuild and never worry about another Blight again! We will never be robbed again! Give it _me! I_ am your Paragon! _You owe me your allegiance!_ ”

“You can’t _demand_ loyalty through torture!” lines of passion roughened Tess’ battle-hardened face.

“Ah, just give her the damn thing. Look at her, she’s worked herself manic. Give it to her and we’ll reason with her later,” Oghren bargained.

“Oghren, we can’t give what doesn’t belong to us!” Alistair chimed in.

This was almost as bad as bickering on the bridge; shrill inflamed voices, erratic pleas. Voices Alistair didn’t expect added to the flames: both mages argued it wasn’t dwarves who stopped Blights but Grey Wardens, and no matter how many golems were made the Archdemon would continue to raise more hordes until the golems failed; Leliana remembered she was part of a team and recited quotes from books on past Blights as evidence of corruption and what the Blight does to land. Bhelen seemed to be weighing his options out loud but his audible thoughts were taken for duplicity and political gain, and Wonus and Velren argued to both sides about the difficulties they’d already had down here. Alistair tried to speak up when he heard his wife slandered but he could barely hear his own voice. _Just like on the bridge._ He almost expected another cloud to engulf them all.

Alistair looked to Caridin with a silent cry for help. _What could they do?_ The only way out was past Branka but who knows what she’d left waiting for them.

“Destroy it!” Caridin told Alistair, “ _Please_ destroy it! No golem can touch it, _you_ have to destroy it! _Please!_ ” the massive, mighty ancient golem _begged_ Alistair, his arm aiming at the overhang of rock and lyrium.

_The Anvil of the Void._

Alistair nodded. Destroy the Anvil, he could do this. But two strides past Caridin and Branka screeched. “NO! You can’t have it! I’ve worked too hard for this! The Anvil is _mine!”_ She produced a short metal rod from a second sword-sheath and yelled out words Alistair didn't recognize - the six massive stone golems jumped to life. Alistair and his party were already forced in battle by the time Caridin called them to fight.

One golem was hard enough to take down; two strong horses had died. Two golems did not leave them with enough mages to keep them rooted in fire. It was a miracle they made it past four, but six? There was no way. Alistair plunged right into the thick of it but his shield kept denting against mountainous legs; he did no damage. Shale yelled to attack Branka - if the owner of the control rod died the golems would deactivate just as it - she? - had. Alistair gladly took on Oghren’s crazed wife, but doing so left the others to ward off the golems.

Branka had a vicious swing with both blade and shield. Alistair might as well have been dancing the way he constantly dodged. He tore his eyes away once but took a shallow slice to a leg. It frenzied him not to find Tess, he couldn’t even hear her. Lyrium and lava and glowing golems produced light glares that Alistair had come to associate Tess in battle with since he’d given her the diamond dagger. Thumping and stomping of colossal feet rumbled like stampedes, echoing thunder in what sounded like a cave-in; the ground shook beneath their feet so hard they _bounced_ if they lost footing. Angry crashing of metal beating back stone did not happen often enough.

The mages were quickly running out of lyrium potions; unlike Tess, they were not accustomed to living with high doses so the raw veins could not fuel their mana. Bhelen was missing a guard. Zevran’s wild hair made his presence known here and there. Arrows bouncing off golems were from Leliana; Alistair yelled for her to use her daggers but his voice was lost to his own ears. Sten and Shale hit slower but seemed to have the most impact with fire suddenly diminishing. Alistair still hadn’t spied Tess; it was useless to yell for her as well. Oghren was nowhere in sight. Alistair wasn’t faring well against Branka; she struck through his armor twice, his ribs and his shoulder. No time to take potions. No healing spells going around.

A barrage of boulders crashed amidst them all. Alistair and Branka were knocked off their feet, others screamed in pain. Alistair scrambled away from his opponent to take a breath and assess, though half of him didn’t want to know just how bad it was. Wynne was down - at least he thought it was Wynne, a female body sprawled on the floor emitting some kind of bluish egg-shaped aura. Leliana cried and grunted, pinned down by a boulder she couldn’t push from her legs. Sten bled from multiple places, bruises already forming, each swing and reaction too slow for such a warrior; another blow broke more skin by Sten’s eye. Zevran pushed himself, his face raining under fierce determination to _not die like this_ though one arm lobbed too loose at his side, swinging and flopping, and when he tried to dodge his hips and knees quaked. Tess was still nowhere to be seen and and it frightened Alistair to the core; he prayed hard in his head she was hiding or in stealth somewhere and not fallen into lava. Oghren was nearly down; from the blood and dizziness on his face, Alistair could not fathom how the dwarf still stood. Morrigan was...where was she? He couldn’t find the witch for the life of him, but a bolt of ice exploding like shrapnel from overhead told him she lived. Bhelen crawled on the rock floor with a leg that wasn’t cooperating; one of his guards lie down for good in a pile of blood, the other pinned under a boulder larger than Leliana’s.

Only two golems were defeated. _Two. Only two_ , and most of the party was down one way or another. Alistair rocked while he breathed, trying to keep his eyes clear; when he wiped his nose, his entire hand brushed away with blood. _Shit._ He looked around for Tess again. _Maker! Please! Help us! It can’t end like this! PLEASE HELP US!!_

Leliana, the closest to him, continued to  whine and grunt while she pushed. Alistair scrambled to feet to shove the rock; he couldn’t lift her but he dragged her out of the way. She said his leg was bleeding and gasped at his face. She stared with wide eyes as Alistair told her to pray for them.

Alistair aimed his warped shield and ran as hard as he could. A gray cloud exploded; Alistair smashed into a wall, not into Branka. A cackle, then pain everywhere; Branka rammed him, flattening him to the rock, bashing till something cracked and pain exploded. Alistair’s ribs and lungs hurt with every inhale, his nose bled freely, his sword dangerously close to cutting through his own armor into his chest. Branka gave a cry and Alistair spun as soon pressure let up. What was physically left of Alistair’s heart sighed in relief and affection for Shale - or _Shayle of House Cadash_ , come to his rescue against _her_ own people; Alistair hoped this was the Maker answering his plea.

Shale moved from Branka to interrupt another golem, then threw its weight into another, paving the way for Alistair to take on Branka. Stolen glances proved Zevran had disappeared, fireballs flew through the air but not as quick as Alistair needed them to, Sten would be lucky to be dead after all this, and Shale intercepted a blow to Oghren who stubbornly hung on despite the odds. Branka was like Tess, quick, limber, and the more hits she took the more brutal she became. She went for his legs, his sides, his arms; the more she penetrated his armor no matter how shallow, the more Alistair tried to pretend he was equally resilient as this menacing Paragon.

_He knew it wasn’t working. Nothing worked down here. This was damnation, proof of failure. Trying to pretend he could carry on was pointless. He was going to die down here. They would all die down here._

Alistair poorly judged his own swing, and Branka took advantage: the leg Alistair almost lost in Haven burned as her blade shot straight through and _turned._ She jeered in triumph as Alistair lost balance, her sword still in his thigh.

Suddenly a voice filled the air, resonating higher than the sounds of battle: _“BRANKA!!! LET HIM GO OR I WILL DESTROY THIS THING!!!!”_

Everyone still in combat froze and looked over. Alistair would have laughed in relief if his ribs weren’t cracked. Tess stood over the Anvil of the Void, hammer raised high above her head.

Branka’s scream matched Tess’ desperation. _“NO!!!”_

Alistair’s heart - _everything_ inside him danced at the sight of his wife. Tess’ voice echoed around the cavern: “STOP THE GOLEMS AND PUT DOWN MY HUSBAND OR MAKER HELP ME I WILL _CRUSH_ YOUR FUTURE WITH THIS ANVIL!!! _DO IT NOW BRANKA!!!_ If you think I’m kidding _JUST TRY ME!_ I am _sick and tired_ of this place! I’m tired of the _darkspawn_ and their _filth!_ I’m tired of _smelling_ like them, I’m tired of their _voices_ in my _head_ every day! I’m tired of these _nightmares_ and those sodding deepstalkers! I’m tired of ogres and Shrieks and _I’m tired of YOU!_ I’m tired of your stupid traps and how _the Archdemon in my FUCKING HEAD_ tells me to lick lyrium so I can _stop YOU!_ I’m tired of your _fucking obsessions!_ _You are NOT A PARAGON!”_ Tess screamed at the top of her lungs. Maker help Branka because Tess was _livid_ ; Alistair reveled in her voice all the same, he’d feared he’d lost her to lava. “Paragons don’t kill their own people, they HELP them! _YOU’RE JUST A FUCKING LUNATIC!!!_ NOW GET AWAY FROM MY HUSBAND OR I WILL SHATTER THIS THING AND LEAVE YOU DOWN HERE TO ROT!!!”

Branka cursed and growled in aggravation but surrendered, and as soon as she spoke her native tongue the remaining four monstrous golems deactivated where they stood; Shale even tested one to make sure.

Alistair ripped the control rod from Branka before she could sheathe it, and without a second thought he hurled it into the lava like a javelin. Branka’s screams frantically switched from Alistair to Tess: Tess raised the hammer high above her head again, preparing to smash the Anvil anyway.

Branka wailed beside Alistair. _“NOOOOOO!”_ a cry that should have belonged to the woman she’d forced into the broodmother, or for her old lover Hespith - or even her husband Oghren. Lamentation did not belong to an anvil, a _thing,_ a source of power.

A sudden flash of inspiration hit Alistair like the Maker Himself slapped his face: an image of Branka lying atop the Anvil of the Void, screaming just as she was now. Alistair’s heart nearly stopped. _Yes! Maker, that’s it!_ “NO! Tess _Stop!_ DON’T!” Alistair yelled. He tightened the grip on his sword to harden his fist, and he hit Branka hard at her temple to knock her out; the first time Alistair ever hit a woman. Considering the image in his head and the source he believed it from, Alistair was sure the Maker would forgive him. Oghren spat blood while he cursed, but Alistair ignored him. _“You!”_ Alistair pointed to Caridin with his sword. “Can you make her a golem?” Branka unconscious on the ground could not protest.

“Alistair! _No_ , she’s too dangerous!” Tess shook her head from afar, hammer resting above her head. Oghren spewed blood with rants but he choked too much to get out clear words.

Caridin answered in pity, “The Anvil can only do harm. I would not make another golem if all remaining life depended on it.”

“But you WILL!” Alistair demanded, “All life _DOES_ depend on it! There is a _Blight_ going on and we need _strength_ to fight it!” Oghren ranted, spitting blood again; Bhelen tried to help him stand but both were very weak. “Shut up, dwarf! This isn’t your fight! Branka severed your say over her life when she left you behind!” Alistair forced his point.

“It cannot be serious? Is it truly considering this?” Shale asked, “After all that? After all the fuss it made over blood magic in that tower?”

“Yes! I _am_ serious! _Caridin, make this dwarf into a golem!_ ” Alistair ordered.

“I will not. The anvil is an evil magic that -”

 _“I DON’T CARE!!”_ Alistair boomed. “We are _dying_! _My people right now_ _are dying because of this woman_!! The Blight is destroying the only home I have to return to, and every bit of power is needed! Branka is strong, quick and clearly genius - _I NEED_ that kind of strength to win this war, and if one golem equals fifty dwarves, then it must be done! Diverting resources - just like she said! She still stays Branka! _Branka under control,_ ” Alistair interrupted Oghren, _“_ because _look at what Branka OUT of control does!_ I am NOT leaving until I have all the resources _I_ need! _YOU WILL MAKE THIS GOLEM, Caridin!!! You WILL MAKE it, or I forbid my wife to destroy that anvil!”_

“Alistair, this is _blood_ magic!” normally Tess worrying over stopping such magic agreed with him. He could not afford that chance right now though. Alistair finally understood what Duncan had meant all those months - or years? - ago, he understood the Grey Warden dictum: _In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice._ It held a broader meaning to the Grey Warden Order in general, but right now his choice was evident - if he was to keep peace as a Warden and King, he had to be victorious _now,_ he _had_ to vigilantly accept whatever means necessary. _Do what it takes. A Sacrifice to ensure Victory and Peace._  

Alistair turned his head so sharp it made Tess jump. “I don’t care,” he tried to be gentle for her but he knew his desperation revealed itself in every word no matter his pitch. “ _Look around,_ Tess, half of us are _dying right now_! _Wynne_ is gone - our _healer!_ Bhelen’s guards are gone! Leliana may not walk again! Zevran might lose his arm! I have no idea if Bodahn and Sandal are alive! - _our food and water and potions! I am broken and bleeding_ inside and out! _And you!! Look at yourself, Tess! You are covered in blood!_ There is no room and no more time left for leniency!” Needing to blink to clear his eyes made him that much more aware of how close they all were, how close he was to losing Tess - or leaving her to fend for herself from here on out. Never-ending tears in spite of dehydration and severe blood loss. _“Desperate times call for desperate measures._ Making her a golem will _end_ this battle right now down here and give us a decent chance at defeating the Archdemon. I _cannot_ pass this up!! _I_ _can’t lose you and I refuse to leave you!_ This _will happen!”_ Alistair reached down to yank Branka up with his good arm dragged her closer to Caridin, blood rewetting his leg with every step. “Make this golem for me and I _promise_ you I will _destroy_ that anvil myself! But if you _don’t_ I will drag _you_ up to the surface with that Anvil and you will spend the rest of this Blight making me an army to _make up for_ the lives you cost me today by _creating_ that thing in the first place! And then I will give you back to your people so you can watch your mistake turn every last drop of dwarven blood to stone and watch your race wiped from history!” Alistair dropped Branka in front of the ancient metallic giant. “ _Make me a golem, Caridin.”_

Caridin took long to answer, though with a deep sigh that echoed clear disappointment, the ancient Paragon agreed. Shale scoffed in protest, announced it - she? - would not permit such a thing when Caridin opposed it and _she_ knew how it worked now. When Alistair ignored _her_ Shale advanced, arms ready to strike.

Caridin halted Shale with a sound like thunderclap. He said Alistair glossing over the loss of life did not differ from when Shale was created; activities and interests that once defined _Shayle_ as a living, breathing dwarf were lost when the Anvil drank her blood. Caridin was more to blame than Alistair, for Alistair just wanted to stop the current infighting. Though an act Caridin now saw as evil, it was indeed necessary to divert resources; _if only the idea of preserving a brilliant mind could be done without the need to control behavior_. But if Alistair kept his promise and destroyed the Anvil, Caridin would no longer have to worry about guarding it from people like Branka. Caridin’s consent to this final act was acknowledgment of the humans correcting his mistakes for him. Enormous metal hands reached for the unconscious Paragon; heavy steps rattling the ground beneath Alistair’s feet marked the end of a battle Alistair had not believed they’d survive.

Tess let the hammer drop to the rock floor; clenched brows carved potent concern through the blood and dirt on her face. Alistair took a step after Caridin, but almost toppled when his leg gave out; he looked down to see blood streaming liberally from the thorough hole Branka had made. _Too much blood._ He raised his eyes to find Tess walking awkwardly past Caridin, wincing every time her right foot touched down, a limp that worsened as she tried to hurry. Alistair’s own gimp was much slower; Tess’ face scrunched harder still upon eyeing his wounds. She yelled for Morrigan for come help, but Alistair cut her off.

With a final determined step, Alistair scooped up his wife, ignoring all pain the pressure of picking her up bought. He had no clue how he remained standing, but he clutched her tight and refused to let go. _I thought I’d lost you, I more than love you, I’m so glad you’re alive, I love you so much, I can’t live without you -_ so many things Alistair wanted to say that kept catching before they found voice. Husband and wife squeezed with no intent of ever parting again, sobs quaking them both, each flooding the other with tears. He couldn’t tell if it hurt to breathe because broken ribs strangled his lungs or out of relief she wasn’t dead. Through gasps and cries lips crushed together, wet with tears and blood, a desperation to show the other what couldn’t be spoken just yet.

Morrigan interrupted with an urge for them to sit. The witch made it out of battle the best, only a few bruises and a thin bleeding patch at the back of her head. Most of their supplies had been crushed but when remaining potions were used up, she could begin more. She said Wynne put herself in a coma; asleep in a strange impenetrable magic cocoon, seemingly unharmed inside. Despite the hole in his leg, Alistair told Morrigan to work on Wynne. None of them would survive without Wynne’s healing expertise.

Zevran slowly made his way over as Tess removed Alistair’s armor. Much of the elf’s face was swollen, ankles both craning unnaturally with each hobble; he fell down twice, though Alistair could not get up to help his friend. Determined, Zevran reached them anyway, dropping an injury kit when he plopped with a wince next to Tess. Zevran could only speak from one side of his mouth; he could stitch wounds but he needed Tess’ help first. After what must have been painful attempts to realign Zevran’s dislocated shoulder, Tess wrapped the elf’s elbow in a sling and Zevran slid next to Alistair to work on the gaping wound. Alistair was in so much pain he couldn’t tell the difference between what already hurt from Zevran stitching without numbing first.

As much as Alistair didn’t want to let Tess out of his reach, she was one of the less wounded. He insisted she help the others; tend to Sten, tend to the dwarves, stitch and bandage who needed it most. And for a while, Alistair did nothing but watch. Leliana rocked where she sat, muttering with closed eyes and a strained face. Morrigan attempted multiple spells on Wynne’s cocoon while Tess knelt to wrap Oghren’s head. Wonus was nowhere in sight. Shale removed the boulder from Velren’s legs, and Bhelen sat by his friend with a look of helplessness. Sten sat against a rock trying to wrap his own head, lips moving without sound. Alistair had never seen people so broken struggling so hard to survive.

A noise reminiscent of both metal and crystal struck hard, causing everyone to start. A rather pleasant echoing ring throughout the cavern despite what it signified: _Caridin was making a new golem._

Shale approached Alistair, surprisingly with an offer not a threat. It - _she_ ; _she_ \- said _she_ was incapable of sewing wounds and healing bones but could set off to retrieve the Legion of the Dead for their surplus supplies, and with the Legion here to help the party recover, Shale could return to Ortan thaig to fetch a wagon bed to drag the wounded back on. When Alistair asked _her_ why _she_ would help them still after Alistair’s demands, Shale expressed no desire to deactivate so the obvious answer was keeping _her_ masters alive. Alistair thanked _her_ as she thundered away.

Whatever magic Morrigan funneled worked; Wynne awoke and set off to heal the others in no time as sprightly as ever. Tess moved from Oghren to Sten; the Qunari stared hard as Tess nervously stitched his face, and Wynne attended to an arm bone that had been struck so hard it jutted out. Morrigan rolled her eyes at whatever Oghren muttered as she coated him in a healing spell. Wynne made a splint from a fallen sheath to set Leliana’s legs; the bard would walk again - in time. Zevran worked a needle through Alistair’s bleeding shoulder gash, again no point in numbing for existing pain overpowered any new. Alistair’s wounds weren’t as bad as some, but he had been cut in places he’d been unaware of during battle: cracked shoulder blades, a gash to his side, a slice to his face that that Zevran said split his beard on the left side of his jaw, random deep cuts that explained the burning in through his body; a long list of scars to add to the one from Haven. Trying to return Zevran’s kindness, Alistair tore his own undershirt and tightly wrapped crooked elven ankles to help set and heal; Zevran wept, confessing no one had attended his wounds before without reluctantly obeying orders, no one had cared enough.

Despite the beautifully eerie chimes of the Anvil, injuries were being tended to and help would soon be on the way. _Finally a time rest_.

 _Almost_. Wonus lie dead, impaled from behind or maybe thrown so hard his bones broke through skin. Bhelen would not leave Velren’s side, and when Alistair limped over to investigate why Tess and the mages crowded, he suddenly felt ashamed for considering himself in pain. Velren’s right leg from just above the knee on down was completely flattened, thigh including bone in a tapering crumble that led to a gory mess. It was almost unreal, like a macabre painting of a leg smashed in whole, skin intact though splinters and breaks lay distinctly in sight over liberal blood and pulp. The left foot was no better off. Morrigan apprised what no one else wanted to despite the obvious solution: the leg and foot had to go. What hit Alistair hardest was the frantic disbelief of the dwarves, inexperience to magic leaving both under the impression it could heal anything and _Before I know it I’ll just wake up, right?_ Velren said - as if magic would make this seem like only a dream. Wynne found her voice: normally magic _could_ heal anything...but there were not enough pieces of Velren’s leg left _to_ heal. Bhelen came to terms before his friend; and then, utter darkness. Alistair didn’t know what was worse - Bhelen asking his friend if _he_ should be the one to chop the irreparable limbs, or Velren begging for Bhelen to just let him die. Velren didn’t want to go back to Orzammar like this, relying on others for everything, being cast aside to Dust town until he died of starvation because he couldn’t get to food, not able to get up to shit by himself. Not able to walk. _Exactly how Alistair had felt at Haven,_ only there truly was no hope for healing in Velren’s future.

Tess volunteered. With glossy eyes, she offered to _ease Velren’s passing_ so Bhelen could sleep a little easier. Orzammar still needed a king after all, and Bhelen needed a clear conscience to rule. She was true to her word; the diamond-coated rose dagger claimed another life, an _innocent_ life this time, after an emotional goodbye between two life-long friends and a desperate plea for Bhelen to _live like no Assembly tries to force you casteless._ Husband, wife, and Wynne stood with Bhelen as he rolled his dead friends off into the lava below. Oghren sitting woozy muttered from a distance; Alistair recognized it as a dwarven rite for the dead when Bhelen took over in a somber tone.

Caridin worked noisily from the ledge, using materials from a store room only Caridin could reach, speaking to no one. Alistair drank healing potions and occasional pain potions while the others soaked in luminous healing spells. Bones were set, wounds were cleaned every so often, minor wounds healed within days, but otherwise half of them were in no condition to walk. The party had no choice but to remain.

With Tess by his side as Wynne took over attendance, Alistair was able to assess his wife’s health. Every kiss tasted of lyrium; peppery wet-rock that tingled his lips. Only now, when he had time to notice _taste_ and _smell_ again, did Alistair realize she was still dipping into the lyrium veins hidden in her extra sheath. Every few moments her finger slid from the sheath to her mouth, and every time she swallowed it down blood trickled from her nose. When he distracted her, she ticked and cringed. _It was happening again._ Alistair decided: _It was time to wean._ Her first reaction was to nod, her second was a trembling sob of fear. Fear of hurting, fear of nightmares, fear of the itching in her bones, the burning she couldn’t get rid of, fear of dying. And fear of losing her mind.

“I don’t want to _not think_ , Alistair. I don’t want to stand off to the side and watch my body move without me, to watch myself try to talk. It’s like someone’s tied me up and gagged me and put a mask over me. I _know_ you don’t see _me_ when I’m like that. I know you just see a _broken little girl_ that won’t let someone fix her. It’s like I’m _trapped beyond_ my mind _screaming_ at myself _Don’t touch that! Don’t do that! Why are you acting like this?_ I feel like I _scream_ and _scream_ to get you know I’m _here_ , I _hear_ you, I can see you, but no one can hear me. It’s _baby Tess_ all over again: _Don’t let go, she’ll fall; Don’t give her that, she’ll poke her eyes out; Don’t leave her alone, she’ll grab the hot coals again._ I know I don’t make sense like that. _I don’t want to be helpless anymore, Alistair!_ _I just want to be the woman you thought I was before...before you knew I was like this. Before you knew I wasn’t perfect.”_ She gasped out breath. “I _know_ what I _look_ like when that happens, but _no one sees._ No one knows what’s going on inside, it’s like my insides get replaced with fire and barbs and daggers, and I’m _screaming_ inside because it _hurts_  but all everyone _sees_ is a dispirited mute who stares at pretty things.” The thought itself of enduring all that pain again made her shake like Wynne’s ground spells.

Alistair _wanted_ to tell her he’d thought her perfect from the beginning, but he knew it sounded like verification he no longer thought she was. Instead, he reminded her of how he _stayed_ , all those times he could have left but chose not to. He took her hand, pressed his thumb in deep circles; he hadn’t done this in so long. She watched him with eyes that rang of heartbreak. Alistair didn’t know she experienced withdrawals like she’d said, but _he was here to help._ He couldn’t stand to see her in pain, he wanted to give her a reason to smile. Alistair wanted to _be_ the reason she smiled. He stayed because of the overwhelming ecstasy that filled him whenever he awoke and saw her right there with him. He’d wanted it to just be the two of them before he knew about her lyrium addiction and he’d stayed to help her overcome it. This time was no different.

“Flaws don’t mean you aren’t perfect, Tess. You’re  _different_ , you’ve _always_ been different to me, different than other women. _That’s_ what I fell in love with you for. I never loved you because you’re noble or the way you fight. Or _this,”_ he slid his hand over and grabbed the sheath of lyrium, “or how it makes you talk. You could never speak and I would still love you. _You made me feel something I didn’t know was possible to feel. You make me feel home, Tess.”_ Alistair fumbled with the buckle until it came loose. He kept his eyes on her as he closed her hands around it. Bright blue lyrium trees shimmering in watery emeralds reminded Alistair of the ocean; he still wanted to take her there, their own perfect house on a beach with their perfect children. _“Please_. _For us_ , please. Do this for us, Tess? So I can walk out of here with you instead of carrying your bo-your body back?” his voice broke. He felt his own fat tears roll down his face, off his nose with the angle he was tipped, saw liquid reflections as they clung to eyelashes in thick mounds. “I’m _here,_ I will _help you._ Wynne is right, it’s better to let it pass here where you’ll sweat it out quicker. _Please,_ before it kills you. _Please,_ while I still have the chance to help you. _Please for us._ We’ve been so much together, I don’t want this to be the thing that separates us, not after all that’s happened. _For us, please,_ ” he begged her.

Tess sat in silence next to him. She was quiet for so long he didn’t think she would do it. Her tears rolled past trembling lips and splashed on to the luminous veins below with a faint sizzle. She was quiet _too_ long. Alistair’s chest crumpled inside like it snagged around a twisting blade. As if he wasn’t crying enough, fatter, heavier tears rolled out like a waterfall down his face. He threw his face in her neck and cried harder, hugging her as tight as he could with despite his burning wounds. _Not like this. After all they’d been through, it couldn’t end like this._ She’d gone through two stalks already, he didn’t want to think about if the next pushed her past her tolerance. Sobs rocked his body; he cried harder when she draped an arm around him. _How long did he have? How much longer could she still hold him?_

“All right.”

Her voice didn’t register at first. Alistair was so focused trying to memorize her hand on his back that he didn’t recognize she was answering his plea. When he finally sat up, she nodded, repeated her words, and though her limbs shivered and joints twitched Tess stood. Alistair’s insides laughed in relief. _Maker, thank You, thank You, thank You!_ He staggered to his feet and walked with her, held her hand tight right up to the edge; Caridin’s mouth-less head glanced at them in between otherworldly clanks on the Anvil of death.

Tess stood in pause again. Alistair assured he was there, he wouldn’t make her do this alone, she would _never_ be alone. With a scrunched face, tears glistening, jaw quivering, she threw as hard as she could. Before they could see where it might hit, Alistair pulled her into his chest. _Thank you. I more than love you. I’m here, I have you._

Pride and gratitude she chose him over wanting to appear perfect did not ease the events Alistair knew would follow. More symptoms this time, either from the heat or the raw concentration she’d used almost as often as she blinked. Headaches first, along with more twitching. Wynne had dry herbs for headaches, but those did nothing for Tess. Alistair held her as she held her head, offered her water while she rocked and whined under increasing pressure between her ears. She paled quickly, sweat faster, was _clammy_ in all this dry heat. Jerking caused a muscle to pull wrong, which caused a steady flow of tears that only worsened her headache. More rocking, dripping sweat, soon it was vomiting. Alistair had to carry her to an edge. He sat rubbing her back as she lay on her belly with half her face off the cliff. Wynne conjured ice from what little was moisture in the air, allowing Alistair to help when he otherwise couldn’t, sliding it over bare her skin to help bring temperature down; however, Tess was so hot she melted most pieces before he could replace them.

Vomiting didn’t stop, but it waned. Tess convulsed after every heave, out of breath and wincing, growing more pallid by the... _shit, how long has this been going on?_ Alistair wasn’t sure if days or hours had passed. Chills next; between dry heaves she shook violently, teeth clanking as if she were back in the Lothering river at sunrise. Zevran, who was supposed to be off his feet, hobbled more water over, though Alistair could barely administer it with Tess shivering so hard. Then... _scratching; this_ is what Alistair feared. Nails were chipped, torn and _sharp_ from vicious battles and inability to groom - if she scratched now, she’d tear skin for sure. Alistair didn’t catch the first itch in time; Alistair counted it a miracle she didn’t bleed, but he remembered her Lothering withdrawal too clearly. Zevran helped hold her down, and again Alistair was so grateful he cried; the elf hadn’t been there for Lothering, but he seemed to know how important this was to Alistair. They sat on either side of Tess with her arms locked over their laps. Sleeping potions worked, thank the Maker, but not as long as Alistair wanted them to.

Nightmares broke the first sleep, a shrill so full of fright it raised the hair on Alistair’s skin and even paused Caridin’s hammer. Wynne said she was a little _dried up,_ but she managed a faint regeneration spell into Tess’ head after administering a stronger sleeping potion. Dry heaving between chills and crying swapped sessions with fighting to scratch and induced sleep. Tess tossed throughout it all. The second nightmare brought out names, _Ser Gilmore! Oren! Nan!_ Bhelen offered Alistair and Zevran stamina potions and dried meat; Alistair took the potion only, he couldn’t eat with Tess like this. The dwarven prince asked how else he could help but Alistair didn’t know what to do except shake his head.  

Tess thrashed so hard the next round she scattered the shirts beneath her head. A crack echoed when she hit ground, instantly quieting her. Wynne and Morrigan ran over even before Alistair screamed. They checked her eyes, felt her pulse, felt the back of her head while Alistair frantically cried for them to save her. While it was _only a minor fracture,_ Morrigan said, Tess gave herself a concussion, her eyes drifted but wouldn’t focus. Wynne wrapped Tess’ head and drizzled a stamina potion in her mouth while Morrigan performed the healing spells.

Alistair was a gasping puddle of anxiety. _This was his fault! He had pushed Tess to do this!_ The mages had no potions or herbs for his nerves, and all Zevran could do was guide him to breathe to counts of four. A tight chest, shallow breath and fear he’d caused Tess to go comatose flooded Alistair with tears and his own headache and his own fit of rocking.

Alistair hadn’t believed the mages or Zevran when they said _be patient, she’ll come around._ A pathetic blend of sobbing and laughter jumped from Alistair’s throat when Tess came to in a wail of pain and chills, and he cradled her tight in his arms, completely folded so he could hold all of her. _I’m so sorry!_ He cried and apologized and smothered her with kisses before Wynne and Zevran convinced him to let her breathe and be tended to. Tess’ concussion was decreasing, but she desperately needed water, which contributed to doubling over and holding her belly. Once again incoherent and unfocused with primal functions still intact, Tess sucked down healing potions and water like a child - _like Alistair’s infant son from the Fade_.

They’d been there at least a week if not longer. Alistair suspected much longer, considering enough time had passed for _decent_ improvement to Zevran’s legs and the warriors’ concussions to heal while in such heat with little nourishment. Only one of them was unaffected by battle or environment: Caridin remained busy at his Anvil, Alistair could see a definite stone body coming together. Wynne approached Alistair with bad news: their supplies were dangerously low. When questioned about how to measure time down here, Caridin had no answers; he had no use for it.  If Alistair hadn’t panicked before, he was now. With no way to tell time there was no way to ration, and with no way to ration there was no guarantee they weren’t just going through food and water because they couldn’t remember when they’d last eaten. Shale wasn’t back with the surplus yet, either.

 _As if things couldn’t get worse._ Alistair had never prayed harder for a miracle.

Tess was _too_ infantile. Alistair had no way to communicate with her other than shoving food and drink in her mouth. He sat streaming tears as she frustrated herself into fits because he couldn’t understand her. No words, gestures of nonsense, though he saw desperation beyond her eyes as she sought within herself to explain the grand stories her hands told through the air. Awake and aware, but so broken this time. _Completely broken_.

When Tess failed to get through to Alistair, she tried Morrigan. However, attempts at communication were quickly distracted by the beads and charms around Morrigan’s neck. Alistair doubted Morrigan’s channels of wispy golden healing energy were even noticed by Tess. Alistair still loathed the witch, but while he was grateful for her help it made no difference on his disjointed wife. And then - Tess forgot about the charms one session: she sat on her knees with Morrigan’s hands shimmering around her head, mumbling like she was telling the witch sweet poetry. Alistair watched as Tess puckered her lips and fell forward, squashing her face against Morrigan’s - a kiss Alistair wasn’t aware Tess remembered how to give, a kiss that froze Morrigan speechless, a kiss that on the surface in safety might have made Alistair laugh until his sides hurt. _A kiss that belonged to_ _Alistair,_ a kiss wasted on someone who did not love her like Alistair loved her, _a last kiss stolen_ by a dangerous apostate with a hidden agenda. A kiss Alistair was not confident he’d have a chance to feel before the end. _He did not have enough tears._  

Caridin finished the golem. Alistair fell twice trying to stand because Tess cried incoherent slurs and clung to him like he was leaving forever; she wailed so loud no one even notice Alistair was in pain from ripping his muscles all over again, _just like Haven._ The mages held Tess while Alistair hobbled from pillar to pillar to reach Caridin. The new golem - _Branka_ \- stood as tall as the other golems they’d fought, bearing distinctive metal plating across _her_ chest, shoulders and thighs. Caridin branded _Branka’s_ chest plate with his own House heraldry and what he explained was Orzammar dialect for _Paragon,_ so every dwarf who saw _Branka_ would know _what_ she was and whom had made her. As long as _Branka_ was not experimented on like Shale had been, _she_ would obey. Alistair was given a control rod, shorter than a magic staff, a wand of metal infused with Branka’s blood to match specifically to her with her control phrase imbued on in runes of blood; if the rod was destroyed, Branka would remain in whatever state she was in at the time of destruction. _Amgeforn_ \- dwarven for _Sacrifice;_ this was Branka’s control phrase. Painfully Alistair kept his promise: though it took many swings and his shoulder and arms burned at the wounds, Alistair grasped the hammer and beat upon the Anvil of death until he broke through. A shower of blood made way for a blinding light that inspired sounds of awe from Tess.

Alistair led Branka the _living_ Paragon golem off the overhang back to Tess. He honestly wanted nothing to do with this golem right now; Branka had nearly killed them all - simply for the power to do what Caridin had done to her. Alistair _truly hated_ her. If he didn’t need strength for the war, he’d be content to let her waste away the ages where her _precious Anvil_ had stood. Before he could ask if ordering a golem into eternal stillness was possible, a last glance back made Alistair witness to Caridin diving off the ledge. The lava below eagerly welcomed the last free Paragon.

Alistair returned to find Tess neck-deep in fascination for _Branka the golem_. Unable to communicate by word or gesture, but she expressed wonderment like any normal person awe-struck. Tess was like a child with a new toy, tracing, moving arms, trying to figure out how Branka worked. Wynne said it was _cute;_ Alistair was truthfully thankful Tess was too distracted to be hungry.

 _There was no more food left._  

Maker knew how long Tess played with Branka. Alistair sat against a pillar watching his child-like wife, building up his own anxiety. He tried to work out in his head how to tell Tess she couldn’t eat anymore, but every time she flashed him a grin of innocent glee he broke down all over again. She seemed so happy and carefree; Alistair couldn’t remember her ever being like this. He dreaded having to break her euphoria.

 _And then she asked._ In her own way, infant-Tess crawled over to Alistair with her mouth open. It took Alistair moments of watching her act out _chomping_ to realize she was asking - _she was finally asking, she was communicating!_ \- but Alistair no longer had anything to give her. He put a bottle of water to her lips though after one drink she pushed it away with a frown reminiscent of a child Alistair only knew in his dreams. _She didn’t understand._ Alistair repeatedly told her _he wasn’t trying to be cruel, he wasn’t withholding food on purpose, there was just none left;_ an unending rain down his face and a hammer inside crushing his heart like he’d crushed the Anvil. Only after mimicking his head shake did she finally comprehend what he meant. Her mouth and brow quivered and Alistair watched her try not to cry. Tess sat helplessly by his legs, tearing her gaze to the lava with lips that pinched and pursed. _He couldn’t comfort her._ She didn’t respond to him wiping her tears away, she didn’t come to be held when he opened his arms. She didn’t acknowledge his finger spiraling on the back of her hand.

 _Alistair had failed her. Again_. Permanently, it seemed.

Alistair recapped the water after checking for enough for himself; there wasn’t. When he noticed Tess staring, he gave her a drink. Still not speaking, only mumbles and sounds, she tried to get _him_ to drink; she pushed the bottle, trying until he burst into sobs - _there’s just not enough._ Tess sat for a moment in defeat. Sad emeralds wandered all over his body, over every bandage and scar. _As if this wasn’t hard enough,_ Tess leaned over, pushed Alistair’s jaw open by his chin, put her arm against his open mouth and made a biting motion with her own. _Maker’s Breath! She wanted him to eat her arm!_ The fact she wanted him to bite her didn’t appall him as much as the _reason_ for the gesture he instantly understood - _he refused to drink so she was trying to feed him. She was aware enough to know he needed to eat. She was trying to take care of him._

“No! _No! Tess, stop it!_ I’m _not_ going to eat you! _Please stop that!”_ Alistair’s voice cracked, turning his head to try to avoid her arm. He held her hands firmly on his lap to keep them away from his mouth. _This was too much._ Alistair couldn’t handle it, couldn’t handle her being _trapped inside herself_ , as she'd declared. He couldn’t handle her primitive responses. He couldn’t handle not being able to feed her or bathe her _like he should be doing_. Alistair especially could not handle _silent, trapped Tess_ acting like an infant but trying to take care of him anyway. But trying to feed him her arm unaware how it would hurt her added a whole new weight:  Alistair now thought what he feared most was Tess coherent enough to _know_ she was dying of starvation.  

 _More than coherent enough._ Staring at her hands in her lap while Alistair refused her silent care allowed Tess to find the scarf at her left wrist. Once a beautiful, deep shimmering green that matched her eyes, the scarf was now stained with months of sweat and blood and dirt, a grimy mess she had adamantly refused to take off. Alistair watched her flick the ends of the knot; memories of a happier, more carefree time pushed more tears from his eyes. And hers, as well - a fat drop fell to the filthy scarf. _Did she remember?_ Tess raised her head, and then her wrist towards him, a silent question around her eyes.

Alistair nodded and took her hand again. “Husband,” he reminded her. Tears responded for her along with a trembling mouth. _A nod._ Then Tess burst into tears. _At least he wouldn’t die alone;_ Alistair couldn’t believe these were _his_ thoughts, but he held his _wife_ who finally remembered who he was since however long ago. It was the only _positive_ thing he had to look forward to now.

Slowly Tess began speaking again; she had _lost words,_ she said, _they were just gone and my tongue was numb._ Tess improving didn’t remedy everything else completely falling apart. Morrigan fainted and gave herself a concussion, re-opening her scalp wound. Wynne did not moved from Leliana’s side, she slept too long between intervals, resembling a corpse more than a living person. The only clue Leliana lived were the nightmares she cried from in her sleep. Oghren was nearly comatose and suffering severe dehydration; _alcohol withdrawal_. Zevran kept fainting, one of his ankles swollen like a third knee. Sten fell asleep repeatedly trying to pray, though he’d had the sense to prop himself in a corner to cease falling. Bhelen literally laid himself down to die, hands gripping his sword flat against his front. Alistair hardly moved - he _couldn’t_ move, his leg and shoulder wounds had swollen where Zevran had covered his gashes with _Quick Heal_ , inflamed scarlet mounds that burned him inside like venom on raw flesh. He had given Tess the last bit of water what felt like days ago. Tess seemed the most energized of them all; _Alistair assumed this elation came from being free enough to talk again_ ; but she often grew dizzy just sitting up. Alistair didn’t dare send Branka out looking for Shale because _Maker forbid Shale be unable to return with supplies if Branka got stuck in the tunnels!_

Shale never returned with supplies or the Legion of the Dead though. Alistair had prayed - _Maker knows he did!_ Leliana, Wynne, Zevran even, and Sten in his native tongue - but _nothing._ Skin sagged and then hugged bones. Eyes were concave and darkened, cheeks hollowed. Hunger and thirst pains had become everyone’s _normality_. Alistair felt every bone and joint in Tess’ shoulder and arm, he felt her ribs through her shirt. _This was unnatural. This was proof of something worse than despair._

 _They were dying. They were all dying._ Too hungry, too dehydrated, barely even sweating anymore. There was simply nothing left of any of them.

There was one thing Alistair _needed_ to do before he died though. He surprisingly still had tears, crying before he even got the first word out. Tess forced herself to sit up, asking what she could do to help, but Alistair stopped her before she got carried away. He asked her to turn around, and he took her hands, trembling as if it was already too late.

“Tesslyn Cous- _Theirin,_ ” he corrected himself, “Tesslyn Theirin, my wife, my best f- _my best friend,_ the happiest part of my life. _I more than love you_ , in-” _Maker, what had he said? He could hardly remember the surface anymore._ “I more than love you, inside and out...my Comfort and Support, my l...my legs when I can’t walk-”

“No.” Tess’ eyes instantly glazed and spilled over in realization Alistair was repeating his marriage vows. “No no _no! Alistair, please!_ Don’t!”

He ignored her plea. He _had_ to tell her, _he couldn’t die before her without telling her_. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m so sorry! I’m sorry I never built you a-a house, and I’m sorry I never gave you ch- _I’m so sorry we never got to have our babies, Tess!”_   

“Please don’t do this!” she whispered. “ _Please!_ Alistair, we’re not dead yet!”

“Just- _please_ , Tess, _let_ me,” he begged back, his voice just as weak as hers.

_“Please don’t! We’re not dead, Alistair!”_

He took a deep breath. “I _more_ than love you _always,_ Tesslyn,” he continued anyway,  “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get you out of this nightmare. I’m sorry I can’t s-save you-”

_“Alistair, please don’t!”_

“My best friend and lover,” he had to wipe his eyes just to see her again, “my First and my- _my Only-_ ”

A heavy racket sounding off outside the room cut Alistair short. It escalated posthaste like a raging stampede, crashing thunder surged through the tunnel into their cavern. Alistair wiped his eyes again as Tess clung into him in fright. Many somethings were coming straight for them. Alistair didn’t have time to guess what it might be before a herd of enormous black horses spilled in from the tunnel; Tess screamed in terror and buried herself in him.

Just inside the doorway, they dismounted - _humans_ , a dozen of them. Shale pushed _her_ way through from behind the black mounts just as Alistair recognized the emblem upon red armor of the men who had jumped from the horses.  

“King Alistair!” a man’s voice called out from behind a helmet. The hairs on Alistair’s arms stood up.

In an instant the nightmare lifted.

“I found something - many things - that claim to belong to it,” Shale announced.

“King Alistair! _Thank the Maker!_ He’s over here!” a face Alistair recalled once offered him a horse in winter. _Rainesfere knights._ Alistair’s pulse skipped hefty beat. “Please forgive us, Your Majesty!” the knight approached with a brief yet deep bow. “We’ve been looking all over this place! Bann Teagan sent us - we’ve come to take you home, King Alistair!”

 

 

 

*** _NSFW ***_

_Alistair and Tesslyn; scars, physical and emotional changes as of 8 months in the Deep Roads **:**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by me.


	53. Revive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens learn being rescued doesn't mean an easy ride out. Alistair and Tess re-discover strength within themselves as overwhelming experience after another tests patience, and Alistair puts being King into practice once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning: Addiction Withdrawal Symptoms**
> 
>  
> 
> **Mood Music:**  
> [ Aratta, by Two Steps From Hell](https://youtu.be/EO_ZvZWLV3M)  
> [ Kogan, by Two Steps From Hell](https://youtu.be/94K-xxROAyY)  
> [ Up to the Sky, by Audiomachine](https://youtu.be/ES14uPeP5do)  
>  __  
>  **Returning to the Surface **:****  
>   
> [ Ghost of Eden, by Dwayne Ford, _specifically 3:02-4:27_](https://youtu.be/R6DFGtJgWsk)  
>  __  
>  **Tess to Harrowmont **:****  
>   
> [ Child of Light, by Linsdey Stirling](https://youtu.be/oEBNIzOIbVs)  
> [ I Am the Fire, by Halestorm](https://youtu.be/8hkmuTvkp_s)  
> [ Whole World is Watching, by Within Temptation ft. Piotr Rogucki](https://youtu.be/mf97F-SpBQU)

_Eight months._

That’s how long the Wardens and their party were down in the Deep Roads. When Alistair and Tess hadn’t returned to Rainesfere after seven and a half months, Teagan sent a small regiment of his most dedicated knights, including his personal medic and Rainesfere’s herbalist. Twenty-four bodies each upon a naturally resilient steed of the Anderfels, packed to the brim with months of food, water and potions, and half a dozen mabari war hounds for good measure. The knights had been underground two weeks; they kept constant measure with a pocket hourglass that chimed when the last grains fell. At first they’d followed the trail of dead creatures, but wound up in a dead-end thaig. Upon meeting Shale in Caridin’s Cross the regiment split up, half of them were directed to Ortan thaig to retrieve a wagon, and Shale led the rest to the Wardens.  

 _Retrieve the King and Queen,_ that was the mission. 

Alistair was a wreck. He and Tess wept in relief, overburdened with hope and too weak to hold back emotions as they listened to the tale of Bann Teagan’s orders of rescue. The knights and the healers tended to the failing party without orders. No one cared the water was warm, and the knights ignored the King and Queen wolfing down food. The sensation of _taste alone_ made Alistair cry anew; sweet, tart, herbs, _texture_ , _chewing,_ tongue watering between bites - things Alistair had forgotten existed, examples of _life_ and continuation. Things that didn’t exist mere moments ago for Alistair’s future.

The herbalist distributed potions that cured small ailments instantly. Swelling and pain fled from Alistair’s body almost faster than he could breathe; he felt the potion traveling through his veins, dispelling discomfort as it raced along. No longer hungry or hurting, Alistair recognized the faces come to the rescue: some of the same men Alistair trained with, drank with, became friends with in Teagan’s home. _Alistair’s friends came to help him._ He turned his head in another spill of tears, though too readable right now to pretend he was looking away from the medic at his shoulder wound. The herbalist administered potions that put Tess in deep sleep. _Widow Osmond_ she introduced herself, before insisting Alistair also drink a sleeping potion. With such medical care, the party would be healed and ready to move out when they awoke.

“Don’t worry, King Alistair. You’ll see daylight soon enough.”

The Anderfels horses were strong. Everyone doubled up on a steed with Shale and Branka pounding behind. They made better time on these than they’d come close to achieving without the wagons. The horses charged through gore of rotting flesh like the stench didn’t affect them. They rode hard, adjusting to each bend and change as if they were used to the harsh terrain. What Alistair remembered had taken them days, the horses crossed in a matter of hours. Hooves moved so fast bodies made their own wind. Sleep only interrupted twice, and Caridin’s Cross was upon them sooner than the party could have hoped for.

A dozen other knights on lumbering horses met them not far within the Cross. A wagon with barrels of water and more food was rigged in a two-way yoke with horses at both ends, and Kardol with his Legionnaires greeted them from inside, tasked with keeping the barrels upright; Shale had sent them to guide the knights. Twenty-four horses thundered through the ancient dwarven highway like an urgent black storm. When their storm broke into the cavern where Zevran’s legs had been attacked, a unanimous deep breath of _cool, fresh air_ rose over the determined stampede, then an even louder breath upon bursting into the clean open space around Ortan’s river.

From the old homes across the water a large dog _raced_ over stone. Tess tried to halt the horse she and Alistair shared in a frenzy of desperation and stumbling hands. She didn’t wait for it to stop; as soon as it slowed to a trot, Tess threw herself off and scrambled toward the bridge ahead. An ecstatic mabari met his mistress with a slobbery tongue between barks as Tess wailed; Alistair had never heard such _despair_ in relief before, and he had never seen a dog truly grin. It moved Alistair to tears just watching. When he slipped from his horse to gather Tess, Po pulled Alistair down with her and alternated cleaning their faces between excited rambling. The dog just couldn’t believe they were _really here._

Beyond the Wardens and their Warden hound, Sten dropped from his steed and staggered toward the river, disarming himself before dropping into rapid water. Knights hurried over in concern only to laugh; the Qunari was bathing.

 _A bath. Yes._ Alistair looked at Tess. Despite Po trying his best to sanitize them, it was time for a bath. A hot bath, a hot meal, a long nap.

Armor and clothes had to be thrown, sheaths weren’t even salvageable. Tess had a moment of panic when Alistair tried to cut the besmirched cloth from her wrist; he might as well have asked to cut her hand off; only under an adamant promise to get her a new one did she let him dispose of the dirty rag. Otherwise no one cared for discretion anymore; bare skin was so soiled they hardly looked nude. Sandal even got undressed with them, happy as Alistair remembered and dancing like it was a party. Houses were re-opened, baths were drawn, then Ortan thaig fell into silence as layers of filth scrubbed away in more suds than anyone remembered soap could make. Alistair was unsure of the other houses, but the same one he and Tess occupied had a nozzle that poured like a waterfall from above. They had not used this before but it served a grand purpose, washing sludge straight down the drain instead of creating a bath of it when he’d stepped in. Curses ran through Alistair’s head as _weight_ flushed from his body. An experience sickening and yet liberating.

Alistair had gone first, quickly scrubbing himself clean so he could take his time washing Tess. _He missed it. Baths had always been his to give._ Still nude and dripping, he lathered his wife as she stood under the lukewarm shower, scoured every last smear of grime. Alistair stood staring, speechless for a moment not out of lechery but amazement - _he had forgotten what her skin looked like._ A _rosy_ tinge to her cheeks and lips, glassy _emeralds_ stood out amongst the palest _pink_ , _ashen_ hair highlighted like _honey_ in the firelight. _Color._ Lyrium and lava had been the only color Alistair had seen in Maker knows how long, but _these_ were the colors of _life._ Tess right now before him represented life, _growth,_ a _future..._ a new beginning. Alistair stopped the shower, drew a steaming bath and climbed in with her _simply to hold his future._ Never in his life had he imagined _he’d_ be one _grateful for a second chance_.

Bodahn made a pot of stew and roasted fresh meat and eggs, bowls were set out - the dried fruit and nuts held out well in cool, arid Ortan. Everyone ate until their bellies were so full sleep beckoned. Other residences were opened for the knights, and just as quick as baths had quieted the thaig, so did beds.

Alistair and Tess could not sleep though. There was something energizing about _sitting without worry_. Po wedged his way between their legs as husband and wife sat holding each other in silence, and it was _peace_. It was something neither of them had known for almost a year. Troubles still loomed ahead, but for now they could relax, _breathe,_ no need for words, only _existence._

 _Thank You, Maker, for Your mercy and grace when we had shamed ourselves._ They soaked it in best they could.

For a while, anyway. Tess fidgeted with her left wrist, turning her fingers around and around like she was trying to recreate the sensation of something tied on; _that’s right,_ Alistair had promised her a new handkerchief. He sat forward to grab the crate that held their belongings, vaguely remembering they’d owned more than one handkerchief long ago. A handkerchief is not what he found though. _Pictures_ , just over a dozen parchments coated in something that shimmered when he held them up in the light, _children, pregnant Tess, himself;_ mostly children. _Eleonora and Carlyn, and baby Griffon. Oh, Maker!_ Alistair broke down without warning, crumbling hard within himself, _pain_ he thought he had forgotten as memory after memory of a dream life flooded his mind. _His family -_ **_his_ ** _\- his perfect family in the Fade...that had almost cost him his wife in real life._ Alistair wanted nothing more right now than for that all to be true - Tess safe with him where no one could find them, their own ever-growing home of love and happiness - but looking at his babies also reminded him of trying to replace Tess with a mirage. He didn’t know what was worse: knowing he could never hold his children, or knowing if he chose to he would never hold his wife again. He turned the pictures face-down, hid them beneath sacks, shoved the crate out of sight, and let Tess pull him into her arms. She said nothing as his tears dripped down and pooled between her breasts. With her heartbeat beneath his ear, Alistair fell asleep, his last conscious moments wondering _if they had died at the Anvil, would they be with their children in the Fade right now?_

Morning...or whatever it was arrived without the feeling of rest. Pain potions had worn off during sleep and wounds flared up again. The healers advised they stay in Ortan a few days to let injuries heal since it was safe. But by now, Alistair was used to _rest_ not living up to its name. He was reminded of the Blight on the surface while his wounds and ribs were tended to. According to the knights, the darkspawn weren’t _terribly_ busy up top; farmland around Lothering had been destroyed along with the Brecilian and small communities near the Korcari Wilds, but nothing Loghain’s men weren’t suppressing. Teagan’s theory: the surface darkspawn were sent to wear down Ferelden soldiers, or divert eyes away from the real threat. Teagan had spread word throughout the lesser holds to encourage doubt in Loghain, and for now all the Banns and Arls agreed it was best to let Loghain to waste his own troops against cannon fodder instead of rallying the Bannorn’s best.

Alistair missed Teagan. He missed Rainesfere. He even reasonably missed court; at least in court Alistair never worried about broodmothers and golem fights, nor darkspawn. The Deep Roads had hosted them far too long, _they needed to get out._ Alistair went over maps with the dwarves and the knights. Teagan’s men - _Alistair’s friends_ \- described where they’d been, verifying the tunnels by which they’d arrived were cleared. With the Anderfels horses, they should be back in Orzammar no later than a month, and wagon wheels breaking over darkspawn debris _should be_ the worst of their troubles. This was good news to Alistair; a brief discussion amongst the party, and all agreed the sooner they leave the better.

The rescue had not been for any sort of holiday, in fact Alistair was used to respites symbolizing breath before another storm. Out of the heat with fresh food and water, the damage done from Tess’ lyrium relapse was more obvious than any before. Reactions were slowed, depth perception off, and the most trivial choices made her freeze or explode. It took Alistair a day to realize he’d just have to set food in her lap or feed her because asking _What would you like?_ encumbered her mind and she could not answer. Alistair thought she’d recovered while they wasted away near the Anvil of the Void, but seeing her wander the thaig made it clear Alistair had been delusional in his famine to think Tess was coherent. Other than irritable from being misunderstood, her face was a blank slate. She paced the bridges, humming incomplete melodies in a casual stroll as if seeking blossoms to pick through a meadow. Before sleep when Alistair bathed her, she would come back in full, grateful they were safe, happy for a bed to curl up with him on. But the reflection in her eyes broke Alistair’s heart all over again: she knew she had lost more of her mind again. Sadness and hopelessness in lines trying to hide behind eyelashes; another disconnection to deal with. Smiles and drowning in bedtime stories didn’t fool Alistair.

Tess had a horrible day. Teagan’s medic Aibne and Widow Osmond asked if there was anything she needed, and in frustration from thinking, Tess erupted. Every little thing set her off, and automatic reactions were to snap at others and push them, followed by screaming when they immediately didn’t disappear. Aibne had witnessed Tess’ withdrawals before and apologized with a shake of his head there was nothing to be done until whatever ailed her inside waned. Alistair urged Tess to go inside, _take a break, talk to me please,_ but trying to calm her was useless; words seemed to strike chords too harsh for her ears, triggering her to scream again. He tried to pull her inside the house only to have her drop limp in tantrum, dead weight as he dragged her over stone because she screeched and scratched, kicking the whole way. Alistair was so overwhelmed by the time he hoisted her inside that as soon as he closed the door, he broke down. He sobbed, curled up in his own limbs at the foot of the door as Tess ranted and spat on the bed in front of him. _He couldn’t handle this, he’d thought they were done with these problems. Why did this have to happen?_

The meltdown ended with Tess rubbing her fingers in a tight loop around her left wrist, legs folded on the bed, tapping her head against the wall. Alistair watched with silent tears as she muttered longings of a child: _I thought you would always be there, I thought you would protect me, I thought you would save me._ She was right, he _had_ promised all that, and he had broken _all_ those promises in the tunnels and caverns they’d slept in the past eight months. Alistair _couldn’t_ save her; _shit_ , he didn’t even own a home to return her to.

 

_Naughty maiden full of rage,_

_Whip her ‘fore she storms at thee,_

_Bind her, lock her in a cage,_

_If no cage, then throw her to sea._

 

Alistair sniffled into his sleeve as he stared. “What?”

“Celene taught me it. I returned to her service after leaving without permission, and withdrew in front of her. Like today. She chained me to the wall in her private quarters when I screamed at her for ma... for making me decide what punishment I should earn for desertion. _Celene knew_ , she knew what was wrong with me. She made me repeat that nursery rhyme. It’s... about conditioning. Training young ladies to obey. Old and out of practice, but the nobles still verse it, usually a threat of correction if they forget their manners.”

“ _Why_ , Tess?” he choked, tears still aiming for exposure when he tried to keep composed. “Why bring that up? _Why scream at me?_ And why bring up other people torturing you? Have I really been so awful I deserve to be compared to people who _chained_ you and _whipped_ you?”

“It _helped_ , though,” she said. “She _made_ me repeat her words until I memorized them, she said it was to remind me she was _helping_ me. And when I forgot the words and yelled because my bones hurt, she cracked the flogger on my bare skin and it would - it _stopped._ It stopped my bones from itching. Or... or maybe it distracted me. It made it go away for awhile, and I could remember the words again. And then she made me say them again, and when I had them memorized it was like a chant, like a song.” _Maker, no - Tess_ **_liked_ ** _this? Talking of being chained and whipped? Alistair had never done that!_ “Like when Sten rhymes, do you see?” her eyes darted, wide, an aura of hope as she recalled. “It made it easy to _think and breathe.”_

“Yes, Sten _did_ say it helped his breathing, but that’s not whipping, Tess.”

“Celene made me repeat verses when I was in her service so I could think for myself and not focus on pain. But that doesn’t work anymore. I think it only worked with her.” a moment of silence as she continued to wring her wrist. “You said you would get me another handkerchief, Alistair?”

“What?” _Maker help me, I can’t keep up with all this._ “I don’t even know if we have anymore, Tess.”

“I thought we had a blue one left?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I- _fuck_ , Tess! If you want it on that bad, then look for it yourself. I can’t do it, I can’t go through that box with all those pictures.” he shook his head. As if he'd ordered her, she moved in a blink and dug through the crate.

She paused again. “Will you tie me up if I find it?”

 _“What?! No!_ Tess, what is wrong with you? Screaming and kicking and - because you want to be _tied up?_ Like some woman used to do to you? _No!”_

“ _You_ used to,” she insisted, “at Teagan’s. You tied me to my bed.”

“I-” a flash of his hands knotting her wrist to a dark bed pole interrupted his protest. “Maker’s balls, Tess, I don’t even...I completely forgot about that...”

“Will you? If we still have it?” she finally looked over.

“No.”

“What?” _hopelessness._ Another pause before she returned to the bed with a drawn face something blue stuffed in her fist. Alistair wanted to repeat _What is WRONG with you?!_ but he knew she saw nothing abnormal in her request. How _could_ he make her understand?

“That was for _me_ , Tess, that was _me taking my stupid anger out_. How-” he scoffed.

“It _did_ help.”

“By tying you up? You were _scared_ of it, I remember that now. _Terrified_ is more like it,” he recalled her stammering and backing away like he’d asked for blood. “You were _terrified,_ and I _begged_ you anyway. What kind of man does that make me?” he muttered in disgust at himself, at _her_ for _wanting_ that again.

“Not the tying part... the... I was always hanging against a wall when Celene did it, it was different like that. But when you told me what to do! It _helped_ , especially when I couldn’t move but how you wanted. _That_ part helps _so much,_ Alistair.”

Alistair only stared. “ _No_. First off, that was eight months ago, Tess. Look at what _just happened_ to us. I am _done_ seeing you hurt by my actions. _I_ brought you down here, _I_ couldn’t feed you, _I_ couldn’t give you water, _I_ let you get hurt, _I_ didn’t stop you reaching the lyrium in time... No.” he shook his head. “I can’t, Tess. I can’t do anything else. You don’t know what it was like for me to see you not understand we had no food. I _let_ you grab the lyrium, I _begged_ you to get off it, and then after we all nearly died I watched you suffer _everything._ Everything I have ever wanted you to do has hurt you, it nearly killed you this time! I _can’t, Tess, I just can’t.”_

“I can’t think, Alistair.”

“What?”

“I don’t have new thoughts anymore. I can’t... I can’t think ahead, I can’t imagine what might be. Everything that plays in my mind is a memory. But if you tell me what to do, I can think! Please? You could tie me up again, I’ll _let_ you! You could make me follow you around again, or- or just _sit_ here. I can _do_ that, I can _do_ things if you _tell_ me!” she nodded, eager and ready as if proposing they practice blades together.

Alistair shook his head. “I can’t, Tess. You can’t ask me to do that again. The _boy_ who did that never had to watch his wife _bleed_ from every pore in her face. He didn’t know what it meant to _sacrifice_ so someone greater could survive, he never had to watch his wife crack her head open in withdrawal, never had his wife try to feed him her arm so _he_ wouldn’t starve to death even though withdrawal left her inarticulate. That boy never saw how the Archdemon _broke into your mind and used you against me._ ” he wiped his eyes as they spilled over again. “That _boy_ didn’t have the guts to turn off his dreams to remember his _wife_. He didn’t even know what it meant to _be a husband_ , he had some silly idea and thought it would be effortless as long as they loved each other.”

Tess took a deep breath from the bed, her face contorted to accommodate upturned brows. “I’m a silly idea?”

“No. _No,_ Tess, that’s _not_ what I mean. I mean I have no clue what I’m doing. But I’m _tired of pain,_ I’m tired of seeing you hurt, I’m tired of looking back and realizing I could have prevented something if I had just listened to you to begin with. I can’t tie you up anymore. I _won’t._ I’ve _accidentally_ hurt you down here, I don’t want to do it again.”

She gave another sigh with a trembling lip and did not push the matter further. However, she held out the handkerchief. “Will you tie it on me at least? Please?”

“ _Why_ do you want something that reminds you of how juvenile I was?” he grimaced.

“You said... it was _part_ of _you_ , always with me at the end of my arm. It feels... like something’s missing without it on. Like part of you is gone.”

“But I’m _right here,_ Tess, you don’t need a piece of cloth to know that.”

Hesitation, like she was daring herself to speak. “But you haven’t been. Not really. Not since we’ve been down here...”

Alistair wanted to argue but he couldn’t. She was right. From nearly the moment they’d returned to the Deep Roads Alistair had distanced himself one way or another, either waiting for her to look like their Fade daughter or by seeking her intimacy only in dreams. Walking next to her as they traveled hardly counted, nor did trying to keep her fed. He had not been there as _husband_ , as the man he swore himself to be for her, _emotional love, more than love inside and out, broken and sewn_.

A sigh rose and sank his chest, settling in the pit of his belly under a lead heart. Alistair pushed up from the floor to join her on the bed. Without a word, he took the handkerchief from her, this one a deep sapphire contrast to the former that matched her eyes. He felt her gaze as he folded and wrapped the blue silk around a delicate wrist. She gave a teary _Thank you_ as he secured a secured a second knot to keep it in place. Alistair sat with her hand in his lap, the callouses on his thumbs scraping over cloth at her wrist, making silk seem like rough satin.

_Once upon a time this had been habit for him. Circles._

Rich fluorspar orbs met polished emeralds. Alistair slid his thumb over and looped a single circle... then another, and another. With every bend and flex upon her skin, the creases cradling her eyes and brows smoothed until all that remained was Tess. _Broken and sewn_ and sometimes not even aware of his presence... and still responding to his touch as if he’d never stopped marking.

“Apologies seem pointless after being down here,” he admitted. _“True_ _apologies_ , anyway... I can’t promise I won’t lose myself again,” he shook his head, never straying from the only green he’d seen in almost a year, “and I know I can’t make it up. I know that time is lost forever. I haven’t tried as hard as I _think_ I’m capable of. But I would like to try. I still want to be your husband, I still want you forever. Now, I can’t... I don’t feel I can tie you up anymore or make you sit and wait - _Maker, I’ve made you wait so long for everything down here_ \- but I can _do this_ , I can _do circles_ , and I’ll try my best to _tell_ you what _I_ foresee so you don’t have to worry about making the wrong choice. And I’ll hold you whenever you want me to, even in court, _if you need me I’m yours._ But I might need help, I may need you to _tell me_ if you need me, if you need _this._ ” Alistair held up their connected hands between them. “I don’t know that I’ll always catch it in time on my own. Will you do that for me? Will you tell me if you start to feel overwhelmed?”

She nodded. “I'll try. But what if I can’t?”

“We’ll just... try again the next day. And the day after that, and so on. I think it will work if we do it together.” Still spiraling on the back of her hand, he reached up with his free digits to touch the scar on her cheek; circles _had_ to work, she had been hurt too much. An airy caress outlining the scar before he wet his lips and leaned in for a kiss. “Together, then?” he offered.

Strands of ashen honey shook loose to outline her face as she moved her head. “All right. Together.” _Just like it had been from the start._

The following days were much easier. Alistair had to re-condition himself to reach for Tess’ hand for other than mundane holding; Tess adjusted better than he did at first. The remaining nights in Ortan thaig were long but worth patience. Hot baths after supper made way for sitting cozy with Alistair’s thumb marking the back of her hand. He noticed an immediate improvement in her slumber as well, falling into sleep swifter than Alistair remembered, little snores of deep rest tickling him where his beard tapered off. While he was grateful she had some peace again, it pained Alistair to know he could have helped induce it months ago. In fact, he couldn’t help but wonder if the Archdemon would have had such a strong grip on Tess if Alistair had been circling her hand the entire journey underground. All he could do was push himself each day to prevent her from slipping away again.

Heavy footsteps crashed and echoed around the cavern one morning while Teagan’s knights adjusted the wagons to accommodate the Anderfels steeds. Shale halted a pace out of reach from Alistair. “I have a question, if it will indulge me?” The rocky companion waited for Alistair to look over.

“I thought you already knew everything, Shale?” it was too easy to rib their first golem.

“I _did_ , until Caridin divulged I was once a _dwarf.”_ A scoff was hidden amongst a grinding wave of stones as Shale shivered.

 _“Oh,_ so _that’s_ what this is about.” Alistair eyed the stony mass.

 _“No,_ that’s _not_ what this is about!” Shale snapped. Alistair laughed, _genuinely laughed._

“No, of course it isn’t.” A smirk tugged at Alistair’s lips. “While I’m at it, you’re looking _very_ lovely today, _Shayle of House Cadash.”_

“My inquiry is valid, and considering I risked destruction for _its_ safety, I remain optimistic it will grant me a request?”

“A request? You mean like _help?”_ this piqued Alistair’s interest.

“In a manner of speaking. I am bound to it and the other Warden, am I not? It goes without saying I cannot rove of my own will.” Shale rarely hesitated. “I have a map stored in my memories. It meant nothing to me prior to finding Caridin, but now I am convinced it is the way to Cadash Thaig. If I truly was a dwarf, I wish to know about myself. Comparing the map I remember to the dwarven prince’s map, I believe Cadash Thaig is not far from here.”

“You want us to _stay_ down here?”

“Two days there, two days returning to the road we shall exit on when we leave here regardless. Sooner, I suspect, with the giant horses. Considering all I have suffered on its behalf, I daresay I am entitled to an opinion on our direction.”

Alistair didn’t know what to say. Everyone else had agreed to return to the surface, they _needed_ to return to fresh air and sunshine. But Shale had returned to them with more help than Alistair could have hoped for, _she_ was indeed correct: _she_ had suffered in battle like the rest of them, had stepped up to personally save Alistair a few times. He supposed they owed Shale whatever sort of reward she could use.

“Very well. I suppose now is better than later.”

The mound of rock that was Shale’s head tipped to the side. “I shall remember this.” an oddly kind remark from such an impersonal being.

Shale had not been wrong: the Anderfels horses traveled a great deal faster with the wagons yoked up between them than their horses and cow. While the massive dark steeds never ran, their casual gallop matched the overall walking pace of the party. According to Teagan’s knights with their chiming pocket hourglass, the journey from Ortan thaig to Shale’s memory of Cadash thaig took only a day and a half. Though while the highway was clear, the moment they reached the outskirts of Cadash they faced darkspawn. Ironically after massive golems, blood magic traps and broodmothers, the lot of them welcomed _mere genlocks._ And despite desperately wanting out of the Deep Roads, they were all astounded by the new thaig.

 _Green. Sunlight._ Not moss or reflections from lava or crystals, but _actual sunlight, actual plants_ \- trees, grass, sun rays pouring from huge crevices of an ancient rocky ceiling. Ivy hung from stone buildings, some structures so completely faced with vines it seemed the war was not between darkspawn and the untainted, but a war underground where _light_ and _life_ beat back darkness to enforce color and passionately recreate the surface.

Darkspawn did not bother Alistair down here. The monstrosities had tried to invade but only a minute area succumbed. What bothered Alistair were the crystals - rather, the effect they had on Tess. There were enough darkspawn spread out and hidden between buildings that every attack required everyone’s help - but Tess wandered. Crystals, beautiful even at a distance, caught her attention, and in the middle of combat she diverted straight away to kneel in front of sparkling gem shafts as if in worship. Alistair yelled for her every time she sprinted off, but she was a bee and the crystals her flowers full of nectar. He could not summon her back to him until she successfully wiggled crystals loose or Alistair tore her away. Shale lauding the crystals held magical properties that enhanced her rune slots didn’t help; Tess already drowned out prudence with childlike fascination. After two detours between two battles and an arrow to her arm which she ignored for crystals, Alistair realized he had to set rules again; _just like last time she withdrew and tested limits._ Once again, she was to stay within his reach because otherwise he would not protect her. Alistair had no choice but to be firm, _You may not leave my side. If you can’t touch me, you are too far away._

Part of Alistair felt like he was trying to scold _Carlyn_ again; when the excitement in Tess’ eyes waned with his tone, she returned to the moment and obeyed. He sighed for multiple motives: _this is what she’d begged him to do_ , order her around though he didn’t want to - yet something surged deep in his gut at her immediate obedience, striking a familiar chord, however distant enough to cause discomfort. His wife’s obedience excited and scared him.

To brush off his internal qualm, Alistair pretended to share Tess and Shale’s interest in the crystalline chutes - and they truly were lovely, like patches of geometric blossoms where sunshine poured in the most. _More color;_ this was something worth distracting himself with. And as if the sunlight and plants and magical crystals weren’t enough, they found water. _Fresh water_ had flooded half of the thaig; even Branka was impressed, though she tried to mask awe by blaming the flood on incompetent darkspawn digging.

 _Real air, real plants,_ Alistair swore he even saw a squirrel shimmy up a tree and jump, _real sunshine, real running water... They could live here. Alistair and Tess and Po could live here -_ not just survive but _thrive. This could be theirs._

Alistair met Tess’ eyes as they stood over a deep moving lake that roared a welcome. The green was nearly lost from her eyes, pupils wide in _awe_ and _inspiration_ circulating like urgent Anderfels steeds. They needed no words to understand their silent ideas: _They could live here. This could be their home._ When the time came for their Calling, _this_ is where they would retire. The others could not stay, but for a Grey Warden this was paradise. They would not have to go down fighting, they would pass away in peace within their private underground garden.

An enormous statue engraved with names confirmed this was Cadash Thaig. Shale found the information she sought. Homes above water were opened for a couple nights of rest, and while Shale scoured even some underwater residences, a bonfire was built and fresh meat set on skewers. The lake was deep but clear and safe - _and there were fish._ The Wardens party minus Teagan’s men were all too eager for the stench that normally made most of them cringe. Nearly a year underground with little variety for food made fish seems like a banquet. Shale and Branka were content discovering, Po and the other mabari were ecstatic swimming and romping through grass, and with flaky fish melting on tongue the entire party felt like royalty that night. Alistair even found a flower; though it was a simple buttercup, Tess’ entire face lit up when he placed it in her hand.

For now, they had a break, and Alistair relished it with his wife at his side. After the others went to sleep, Tess and Alistair took a stroll through the moonlight peeking in through the cracked ceiling. They privately planned where they’d grow their future garden and what flowers to bring from the surface. Their Callings were hopefully decades away, but it was a good dream - a real dream, a goal to achieve with each other. Children or not, their future would end beautifully _together._

The elation from feeling fresh water and real sunshine wore off quickly. Though they’d smoked enough fish to last weeks, leaving Cadash thaig meant trudging through overwhelming heat again. Once more grateful for Teagan’s Anderfels horses, the party made it through even the most primitive tunnels quicker than they had at first arrival. Only one wheel broke off, but it was replaced and they reached flat ground in no time. Alistair had no idea how long to expect Orzammar’s sights and sounds, but _they were almost out._ The whole party was eager to leave and ready for the nightmare to end.

No maps were needed when they closed in on Orzammar. It was not the view that struck memory but the atmosphere ahead. Minds were paralyzed as senses took over after starvation. Smells and sounds moved them like a horde possessed. _Clean dirt in the air, salt and flame of browning blood. A growing hum of laughter, chatter, voices buzzing on a busy day, shouts here and there followed by more laughter. Hammering, slamming doors, metal on metal clanking all the way through the tunnel to the Wardens’ ears._ Hooves and feet picked up speed. Livestock in the wagons dizzied themselves trying to find the source of renewal; anxious cloven feet clopped and kicked, heavy flapping of feathers and scraping talons, beak pecking, frantic clucking and bleating. The party’s remaining horses and cow kept pace with the Anderfels steeds, solid clapping echoing around ancient highway walls, clanks and clops. Seasoned mabari warhounds resembled eager pups, bouncing around, in a language their own trying to hype the people into going outside; Po was more ecstatic than the rest, dashing ahead to shoot back over and over, constantly informing them _This way! Come on! Let’s go! Hurry!_ Between the horses and golems, they sounded like a violent stampede: _direction_ , _determination_ , never slowing - _must reach, must find_ \- _freedom seekers_ broken from a cage. Alistair was not aware they’d breached the city, but _there they were -_ racing, _needy,_ shoving through marketplace dwarves, picking each other up to make it to the door. He told Shale and Branka to guard each door, then with Tess’ hand tight in his they led the charge out of Orzammar, out from underground _; outside_.

 _Light_ exploded before Alistair and the horse assumed a pose of attention with an accidental tug to the reins. Blinded by the glow, Alistair slid from the mount, Tess crashing into him before his feet planted. He could not see for the life of him, but smells attack his senses - _smells!_ \- wood and dirt, dry and wet, wet pine, wet tangy grass and herbs, wet leaves, _clean air_ reminiscent of fresh rain. A hearty ambrosia of nature’s abundance: _pumpkin_ , _fresh corn_ , smoking meat wafted in between swirls of aging oak and ripening maple in the wind. _Blossoms,_ sweet nectar, _clovers._ Even the dung of the market livestock was welcoming among the beckoning aroma of potatoes, cooked rabbit, onions, leeks, cabbage, honey. Sickly sugary perfume of poisonous mushrooms fought for attention over the _bitter_ cloud that hung around white berries of early winter. Spices - _tangy,_ cloves, cinnamon, ginger, sage, elfroot, from somewhere a draft of molding oranges, the roasting of honeyed duck fat, sweet wild roses and their tart cores, lingering blend of overripe berries and late apples in the breeze, _acorns_ , walnuts, rich pine cones; _the savor of autumn._ Rich, wet, stale, _musk_ \- bear, elk and wolf. That familiar smell of dog like a shout of _Welcome home Alistair!_

Breath invaded Alistair with a gasp. Persistent breeze chilled tears on his face, exciting shivers up his spine - _breath! Lungs filled with cool, pure air_ beyond the pit of his gut - _I can Breathe!_ Inhalation was deep and painful at first, his blood raced to replace the foul, stale miasma he’d adjusted to underground. New crisp air prevailed like a song of comfort, aches fled from joints and skin, _pain_ he hadn’t known he’d harbored because there had been nothing to contrast the bad, the hurtful.

Alistair forced his eyes to adjust, only to cry all over again. _Color,_ green, brown, gold, yellow, red, teal, an explosion of every mural Alistair had ever seen. Sun-kissed tents and shadows to challenge the hues they hinted. _Blue sky, white clouds puffy, wispy clothed waist-down in silver and dark gray, glowing pale lemon of the sun changing the sky for just a stretch_. Life in bloom right before him after preparing himself to never see it again.

 _SUNLIGHT! Rays of heat directly from the sun_ like a never-ending hug with his face buried in the bosoms of the woman he loved, wrapped in quilts in front of a roaring fire. _Warm, safe, hearth and home, curling up with steam rising from the largest teacup as thick liquid amber mellows clove and pepper and sweetens orange peel; HOME - I’M HOME._ Alistair felt like he was experiencing everything at once for the first time again. There was no room in his body or mind to contain the gratitude and praise soul-deep, his very bones cried out reverence to the Maker, and Alistair _swore_ he felt the Maker respond with a hug to his heart.

Tess was in his face and arms before he could seek her. He _clung_ to her, cradled her, _felt_ her, kissed her, declared his love, _safe, whole, here with me, we’re alive!_ Hearts and breath moved so fast he couldn’t tell which was his. He attempted his sacred vows again, this time as a new beginning, a promise of _life_ not a farewell.  

A dainty blond staggered by; Alistair caught a loop on Zevran’s wrist guard and pulled him in. Silent tears revealed Zevran never expected to make it out either. Po joined the huddle, the four of them stuffed together with the sun beating up on their heads, strands of hair mingling in the breeze that bridged gaps in their hold. Alistair glanced up and almost laughed before he even yanked Morrigan down with them; he still loathed the witch, but Maker, she had suffered with them _and she had helped._ Morrigan buried her face in Po’s coat to hide a sob her shoulders unveiled. Wynne joined them, followed by Bhelen, Oghren, Sten knelt at the persistent tug of Wynne’s hand, lastly joined by Sandal and Bodahn and a few more mabari until they were all woven together. Alistair wanted to laugh but out came another mess of tears - _What a sight they must be!_ The mighty Grey Wardens and their ferocious party huddled on their knees, locked in a circle _breathing, sniffling, crying, embracing,_ everyone grateful to be outside and alive, grudges and personality rifts forgotten as they realized _they made out it alive together._

Fellowship did not last long; _of course it didn’t._ A male voice queried, _Oh, shit, is that Bhelen? What do we tell King Harrowmont?_ Tess was the one who responded; head whipped up, darting eyes shaded by deepened brows, hardening assumed with very new crease that formed. Alistair wished he could read her mind right now. A clenched jaw and tense pulse that raced the presence of her Taint, and she tore from their living knot before Alistair could untangle himself. Limbs were stepped on, tripped over as Alistair scrambled to catch his wife.

As big as Alistair was, he could not reach Tess before she flew through the other set of doors and a penetrating screech consumed her entire body.

_“HARROWMONT!!!”_

Alistair caught up to her as she yanked on Branka’s enormous arm; had she not looked about to dice up foreign royalty, Alistair would have laughed when she rebounded back into the stone Paragon.

“Branka, _now!_ You’re coming with me!” Her face was completely distorted, the scar on her cheek adding to the tenor of rage erupting. Tess was so incensed her limbs trembled down to the tips of every digit, irate, vengeful, _betrayed._ Alistair had only seen her like this when they’d met Loghain. As if understanding he’d read her mind, she verified: “It’s like Ostagar all over again, _just like Loghain!_ He left us to die, Alistair!”

“Tess, this isn’t a good idea.” Alistair’s hand was shaken from her arm. “This isn’t the same as Loghain, Tess-”

“Isn’t it?” she fumed. “He _used_ us to cause a distraction so he could name himself king! _He could have prevented everything! BRANKA!!! With me NOW! BHELEN!”_ matted hair dried from their moment outside glimmered golden from the lava light, whipping over her face each time she turned. A groan followed by steady heavy steps followed; dwarves around them gasped and echoed the Paragon’s name.

“ _Shit._ Tess, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get our fucking Treaty honored, that’s what. It’s what we should have done to begin with.”

Alistair didn’t know how to handle this - _if_ they could handle this. He’d have to play it by ear, whatever she was doing; he hoped he _could_ play it by ear, for he was not the same man who threatened to conscript Harrowmont back when Tess was stabbed. Their journey up the winding squared staircase allowed for utterances of _Just like he killed Cailan! Trapped us, left us to die! Just so he could bloody have a higher title!_

Tess drew her diamond-dressed dagger as stone footsteps knocked around with each turn of the ascent. Branka eventually smashed holes in the walls to make room for her shoulders. The massive Paragon squeezed by the Wardens to _fix_ the narrow doorway. The moment they stepped out they were greeted by a familiar graying dwarf still donning shimmering raiment.

“Ah, Grey Wardens,” Harrowmont’s voice was as smooth as last they spoke. “And... _Prince_ Bhelen. Only you’re no longer a prince now. If I may be so bold, I feel _betrayed_ , Wardens. I sent you away with some of my best resources only to find you’ve aided my opponent.” A thick coat of cunning gripped every word, knotting Alistair’s gut. There had been a reason he’d threatened this dwarf before.

“ _You lying son of a bitch!”_ Tess’ voice rang off massive ancient walls and resonated through the floor to Alistair’s feet. “YOU LEFT US THERE TO _DIE_ , HARROWMONT!!” If Tess couldn’t separate Loghain from Harrowmont, Alistair would have to physically remove her. _Maker_ , he wished this hadn’t triggered Ostagar.

“This is a conversation saved for the witness of the Assembly-”

“ _Fuck_ your Assembly! _You used us!_ You lied to us! You threw our lives to the Deep Roads! You knew Bhelen would seek out his brother and _you used us_ to put that ridiculous crown on your head! If finding Branka had _really_ been so vital to the Assembly's decision, then _why didn’t you wait!”_  

Branka scoffed from the other side of Tess. “Orzammar will never change. I told you before, they’re nothing more than primitives distracted by gems all day followed by ale and whores at night. That precious chair means more to them than any degree of logic. They will waste a thousand valuable resources just to have a king.”

“I _knew_ you still cared,” Oghren muttered from the other side of Branka.

“Shut up, Oghren.”

“You found another functioning golem. I hope you understand they are both property of Orzammar?” Harrowmont treated this like information never brought up with Shale before. Branka made a noise of disgust. “You seem to have free will to speak. Tell me, golem, what are you called? I need to inform the Shaper of your addition to my ranks.”

“Kiss my stony ass, Harrowmont, I don’t belong to you,” Branka challenged.

“Your voice sounds familiar, but I have no recollection of your presence here. I implore you, a _name_ , golem?”

“Call me _golem_ one more time and you’ll be the next new painting above the Proving Grounds.” Another groan as she noticed Tess and Oghren craning to see her. “Very well. My name is Branka - of my own House. I am your Paragon.”

Harrowmont stared. Silence was slowly broken with raspy gossip of _Branka_ and _The Wardens found the Paragon! What did they do to her?_ “This is a discussion for the Chambers, all of you," a hint of panic and curiosity barely covered by formalities. 

“Not a chance, there’s no way I’d fit.” Branka brushing off the concern for a king in the Deep Roads made sense now. She loathed the nobles of her kind, possibly more than their politics.

“I agree,” Shale spoke up behind Alistair; he hadn’t noticed she’d followed. “It would be unwise to follow the lying dwarf behind lockable doors.”

“You and I have not spoken before,” Harrowmont's attention shifted between the two golems. “Am I to assume you also are a Paragon?”

It was Shale’s turn to scoff. “Hardly. I believe _I_ was more _efficient_ than the Paragons I’ve met.”

“I’ll remember you said that, _golem,_ ” Branka sneered.

“Of course you will. You’re a _golem_ now, you’ll remember it until the universe ends,” Shale retorted.

“We are wasting time,” Sten’s voice appeared.

“Wait a sodding second,” Oghren spun around, “if you’re here, who’s guarding the doors?”

“All of you need to go back down stairs!” Alistair hissed.

“Sten is right,” Tess spoke up. Hands that miraculously received no scars dug into Alistair’s purse for the twig-thin rolls of old parchment. “Pyral Harrowmont,” she announced as she located the scroll for dwarven aid, “you are to surrender your false claim to the throne of Orzammar and submit to the true king.” She unrolled the Treaty and turned to Bhelen. “Your Highness, the Grey Wardens require dwarven aid to stop the Blight, before Orzammar follows the rest of the world in death.”

 _Fuck._ Alistair knew Tess could speak her mind when inspired, but this was a devastation Alistair was not confident they could recover from if Harrowmont banished them. And yet it reminded Alistair of a judgment he’d made himself at Teagan’s home.

Bhelen opened his mouth, but it was not his voice that came through. “Apologies, Grey Wardens, but you seem to misunderstand Orzammar politics. Only a legitimate king can approve your Treaties. Unfortunate as your alliance is, the Assembly unanimously accepted Bhelen’s disappearance as a clear sign from the Ancestors. Considering you wasted my personal resources and hospitality on a man who would see me dead, I feel I must ask you to leave my city-”

 _“BULLSHIT, HARROWMONT!”_ taut, strident; Alistair read the lines around her eyes - Tess was trying to separate Harrowmont from Loghain. “You _assured_ us superfluity to survive! You wasted your own resources _lying_ to us about the conditions of the Deep Roads! You sent your own Legion of the Dead in and _even they_ died! Our alliance with Bhelen is a pact forged in _blood and sweat,_ the things that bond soldiers in times of war! It was never planned, but he has been a trusted ally and I would bet my life on his blade! When _my_ people took arrows and swords, Prince Bhelen stepped in to help! _You_ , however, sat up here and declared us all _dead!_ _You_ wasted dwarven resources when you refused to discover why your investment hadn’t returned! _DID YOU HEAR THAT, ORZAMMAR? KING HARROWMONT WASTED FOOD AND ARMS THAT COULD HAVE FED AND PROTECTED YOUR CHILDREN!”_ she was orotund over the edge for the Commons to hear. The glint in her eye was vile, _bloodthirsty._ Noble Tess, confident in the element she grew up in; the very traits in her that Alistair loathed and admired. _“YOUR WISE KING TRIED TO KILL THE GREY WARDENS WHEN ONLY_ ** _WE_** _CAN SAVE YOU FROM THIS BLIGHT! PYRAL HARROWMONT TRIED TO MURDER THE KING OF FERELDEN_ ** _AND_** _YOUR OWN PRINCE BHELEN! HE WILL KILL_ ** _ANYONE_** _STANDING BETWEEN HIM AND THE NEXT SOURCE OF POWER!”_

“I assure you that’s unnecessary. No one below the Diamond quarter has say in who is elected.” A simple shift from one foot to the other exposed a sly tilt at the corner of Harrowmont’s mouth.

“But they can stop feeding you.” Flames danced and flashed in her eyes as she spun her sparkling dagger between both hands. “They can stop cleaning, and they can refuse command. They can stop the machines that pump clean air into your pretty little throne room.” _Pacing_ now, uniform strides between Harrowmont and her own party. Each foot set down _just so_ , allowing for meticulous turns that enabled a constant eye on the shiny dwarf. The spinning dagger never drew blood though it pivoted on a single fingertip. Control that normally found fuel in lyrium further distanced her from the woman who’d begged Alistair to think for her. Control that had drawn his attraction from the hour he’d met her. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, _Pyral,_ but the disappearance of an Heir doesn’t automatically give the opponent rights. Take my word for it - this is a lesson I have spent _years_ trying to correct, it is an _irreversible mistake._ If there _are_ mighty Ancestors guarding and guiding you, then between the subjects of interest - _you_ versus _us_ , _we_ have earned _favor. We the Grey Wardens-_ ” a cock of her head and a swivel that defined her hips sparked a whisper of lust Alistair hadn’t felt for his wife in far too long. _“-_ were _lied_ to, taken advantage of and left for dead in order for _you_ to remove the only obstacle in _your_ way - and yet _we_ found _two Paragons_ and gained an eternal force to aid our cause, _and then_ we were aided by _surfacers. Surfacers,_ ” she enunciated _. “_ Those _towering beasts_ that stormed _your_ city unchallenged were sent by divine intervention. _Ancestors,_ if you will.” a shake of her head, an upturned lip. “ _We_ succeeded, _not you._ On the surface, your actions would have you dragged to Denerim and hung for Treason.” 

“We could still drag him,” Alistair proposed. The dagger paused as bronze brows flinched above curious eyes. “Or am I allowed to punish my foreign enemies in their own territory?” he wasn’t sure if he was flirting to regain her attention or genuinely joking about his own kingship.

“I believe I understand what transpired. Your loyalty is ignorantly misguided. You spent months with a deserter and now claim a prince is worthy because he fought with you,” Harrowmont speculated. A pinch to Alistair’s gut; his hand flew to the hilt of his sword.

“Are you calling my wife a _liar?”_ Alistair stepped forward.

“I called her no such thing.”

Alistair’s eyes narrowed thought he need not boost intimidation with his height. “If you aren’t accusing her of intentional actions, then you’re trying to label her _unstable._ This accusation allows you to remove us by force and lock the doors.”

“That will not happen, my friend. These old dwarves would have to be quicker than my blades.” Alistair gave a double-take as a small blonde man unsheathed two daggers next to him.

 _“Sodding tits, who’s guarding the gates?”_ Oghren barked.

“The terrifying horses, of course,” Zevran answered. “I have fought with and against many princes in my time. All of them have been worthy, even when my actions were not.”

Tess’ feet came to a delicate halt. “ _I’ve_ fought with _two_ princes. _Neither_ left me for dead.” Another twirl of the rose dagger aimed just right sent a shower of sparkles over Harrowmont’s face.

“I see this discussion has overwhelmed me,” the self-proclaimed dwarven king tossed his glare down the line from Oghren to Shale. “Since I find myself outnumbered, you should know I have countless guards at my beckoning. Grey Wardens, you are officially denied Orzammar aid from this day forward. I am offering you the chance to exit my city in peace and never return. You should also keep in mind I am not Bhelen, for he-”

“That’s _exactly it!_ You’re _not_ Bhelen!” the passion Tess had embraced when she’d manipulated Alistair’s orders in Rainesfere to get what she wanted out of him. “ _Bhelen_ took initiative to seek out his brother and the Paragon himself while _you_ used the Grey Wardens as _servants!_ This proves Bhelen will _earn_ his respect, _not expect it!_ You can’t shove me under the covers for this, Harrowmont, _I was born to debate nobility!_ Kings don’t behave like you have! A king must _protect_ his country as if it were his _child, including_ moving everything in his power to stop wars of genocide!” more reminders of Teagan’s lessons. “Implementing tyrannous acts to give yourself an easy way out will not stop the Bight! Your disregard would have killed us, and yet you want to play the civil hero? _Not over my bleeding body._ Bhelen lost his _friends_ , his _brother_ and _almost died himself_ and _yet he stands here_ with a golem made by a Paragon and _willingly_ aided the Grey Wardens without bribes! Bhelen was honest and loyal without reserve from the start! It is no coincidence the Heir to King Endrin stands here with a Paragon! _Bhelen has earned the favor of the Ancestors!_ You cannot deny this!”

Alistair met Bhelen’s eyes. “Would you like to add anything?”

“Yes. If I ever find myself in another shit storm, I want your wife to advocate for me.” Bhelen joked, otherwise aged and too wary to deal with all this right after the Deep Roads.

Other dwarves in shiny apparel stepped forward with questions. _Where did Bhelen go? How did he escape? Can anyone vouch for_ The Warden’s _claims?_ Brief explanations from Alistair and Tesslyn: the Legion of the Dead could vouch claims, the rest of their party down in the Commons would gladly tell of their tribulations, and if the Assembly still doubted they could use Harrowmont’s map and follow the trail of blood, dead Darkspawn and vomit until they reached deactivated golems and rotting body parts.   

Tess enjoyed the _control_ enacting her nobility gave her - the control over herself, rather. Alistair better absorbed her plea for submission by observing her. Though she had ceased play of her rose dagger and now rubbed sapphire silk around her wrist, Alistair perceived reciting past lessons and disconnecting her emotions was easier for her than pondering what _might happen._ None of these ideas were new; different people, but practice for facing Loghain all the same. Plights of the Dalish also hit chords too close to home for Tess, and just like now she had inserted her own experience to remedy the situation. Noble values exercised to resolve personal problems that just so coincided with Grey Warden obstacles. As long as the rest of their journey held trials reminiscent of her past, Tess might even return Ferelden respect to the Grey Wardens. As Queen, though...

 _This_ struck a chord in _Alistair_. Tess was sound and firm as a Queen should be when external drama resembled her past. Like this, she was an effective politician. He made a mental note to ponder this later.

They viewed a simple ceremony: sweet and short, Assembly members stamped staffs - _recognition of their nobility_ \- while a lone member transferred a tall golden crown from Pyral Harrowmont’s graying head to Bhelen Aeducan’s blonde locks. Vows to serve went around the members.

Alistair peeked at Tess beside him. Watching her shout, witnessing the return of fire within that emanated her passion, the control that transformed chaotic frustration into smooth, _feminine_ motions... He was conscious of his eyes looming over her; the way her shoulders tapered down, the dip in her collar, beholding slopes that yielded to plump mounds disappearing beneath cloth and leather. _Curves_ he hadn’t noticed in so long. Armor posed no barrier for the warmth radiating from her arm to his. _Heat settling in his loins, blood swirling with an itch to touch, his own chest swelling deeper._ A delicate jaw aimed in his direction. Above a subtle cleft lie perfect lips, a generous pout ripe and ready for plucking. Crimson emerged to wet the crooks, lush candy slick in its own juice. No longer just _wife_ or _partner,_ but _Woman. Mate._

Rich maple orbs scoured up fair skin that hid behind shadows and coppery scarlet; glistening reflections beckoned like sweets. The scar like a double-knot shone on its own accord; a tear-jerking reminder that needed to be soothed, kissed, _tasted_. A flutter of dark lashes before clear emeralds locked on him. Brows flinched, deep green zipped over Alistair’s face. The corner of his mouth turned up when her pupils blew wide open. _“Alistair!”_ Tess scolded under her breath. Amusement fled his throat in a husky chuckle.

There was no time to embellish this restored attraction to his wife’s body. Tess was huddled by members of the Assembly. Apologies and promises to compensate for misdirection and damage bombarded _The Warden_ who called out callow behavior; a shameful trait for a noble of any race. Alistair shuffled aside to give his wife time with her new admirers. Not the fairytale aura of the elves in the Brecilian but a good sign nonetheless; another chance for others to acknowledge the strength and majesty Alistair had always revered in Tess.

Bhelen approached Alistair with a scroll unveiled. Their eyes met before Alistair took the parchment. New ink shimmered beneath ancient script: _I, Bhelen Aeducan, King of Orzammar, pledge dwarven troops, arms and resources to aid the Grey Wardens in the fight against the fifth Blight._

“Careful the ink doesn’t smudge.” Bhelen’s shoulders rose and sunk with a gesture to the scroll.

“ _Thank_ you, Bhelen,” Alistair told his friend.

“I was going to write a declaration of allegiance to Ferelden as well, but I can’t sodding spell human names for the life of me.”

A laugh rumbled through Alistair’s throat. “I don’t know. I think I’ve made enough friends down here, you might rather make a schedule to restrict my visits. I’m told I’m rambunctious when I’m drunk!” he grinned. “ _Ah_ , the first human king to be banned from a dwarven tavern.”

Bhelen smiled for the first time since Bownammar. “I’m actually surprised you fit through those doors.” Alistair laughed again. “Lucky for you, my giant friend, I happen to have my own royal brewery. _And_...while I know you’re anxious to get back outside and return to that uncle of yours, there is room in the palace. I don’t know that not meeting up in the Deep Roads would have made less trouble for you, but I’d like to make it up all the same.” The two shared a potent moment of silence; friend to friend, same traumatic feats, on death’s bed together. “The tables and chairs might be a little short, but the food is good and fresh. Water, wine and ale to your heart’s content. Not to mention beds, running water and huge bathtubs.”

Alistair indeed missed the surface and Teagan, but he supposed friends - and allies - were more important right now. He smiled; he could always take a midnight walk with Tess. “That would be perfect, Bhelen, thank you,” Alistair accepted.

While Tess finished up with the Assembly, two kings joked amongst themselves how relief disguised itself as infuriating noble life after lethal slime, Shrieks, broodmothers and Paragons. Harrowmont approaching Tess dimmed royal conversation, shifting from humor to speculation as two kings eavesdropped. Harrowmont offered Tess then Branka an apology. After a reprimanding from Tess, Harrowmont then turned to Bhelen and pledged to serve him as he’d served the Aeducan King before him; Tess gave a nod of approval as Bhelen accepted.

Alistair didn’t buy the act though. Harrowmont had fooled them and used them many times over already, disregarded severe injury in attempt to use them again; not to mention lying and betrayal. Given what Harrowmont was already capable of, there was no insurance the dwarf could provide to convince Alistair of security. Nothing could stop Harrowmont from killing Bhelen and revoking the dwarven Treaty after the Wardens left. There was only one solution to ensure Alistair’s ally would not be double-crossed.

“Kill him,” Alistair advised. He watched Harrowmont walk away before meeting Bhelen’s stare. “You have to kill him. It’s the only way to guarantee he won't betray you again.” It’s what Alistair would do to protect Tess; remove the obstacle and never give it another chance. It was the fate that awaited Loghain so Alistair could give his Queen a safe place to sleep each night. Allying with Orzammar was just another way to protect Tess in the long run.

“I plan to after you leave. Official sentencing, right?” Bhelen muttered. “But I’m glad _you’re_ the one who said it. Now I can blame it on the King of Ferelden.”

“Declaration of Alliance, you said?” Alistair joked.

Bhelen laughed. “Over drinks later.”

“Oh good, it will be a _legible_ Declaration.” Two kings giggled without even a drop of liquor yet.

Alistair was glad they stayed. Bhelen provided rooms for everyone, including Teagan’s knights and Sandal and Bodahn; more of Bhelen’s loyal guards were tasked with guard duty to watch over the Wardens’ livestock and wagons. Bhelen’s mistress and son joined them all in the throne room for a feast so grand they barely broke into platters. Gluttony and merry-making, drunken songs and laughter. _Celebration._ It was strange for Alistair to feel that something was _finally_ worth celebrating - _life_ was worth celebrating. He watched Bhelen’s eyes sparkle, overjoyed and not afraid to adore his family in the palace. Love, hope, family; it was inspiring to Alistair, and heartbreaking.

Alistair shared a secret gaze with his wife. Whether Bhelen’s son reminded Tess of Carlyn, Eleonora or Griff, Alistair did not know, but her eyes drooped and she attempted fake cheer. He couldn’t promise her children, either; more proof they were both faulty forever. But he held her, kissed her, refilled a goblet to share and assured her _We’ll find a way._ When Tess asked to retire for the night, Alistair indulged her. Repairing time with his wife was already a desperation.

Bhelen escorted them to his father’s old quarters when the Wardens ended up back in the throne room twice. With his face stuck in a laugh, Bhelen steered them around corners and through halls Alistair swore they’d already passed.

A quick stop at a secret vault in Endrin’s chambers before the new King let them rest; Alistair raised an eyebrow when Bhelen clunked piles of dwarven-cast gold sovereigns in his palm.

Bhelen cupped Alistair’s fingers around the coins, staring at both Wardens. “I know this is none of my business,” Bhelen began, “but I saw how the Deep Roads tore you two apart. I remember the Wardens I met, and I know the Wardens you became when we found Caridin. I don’t doubt you love each other, but relationships survive on more than love. Because of these ridiculous royal rules, I can’t marry Rica - something I intend to change. Point is, I know a man in love when I see one. I would genuinely hate to learn what you once had never returned. So take this, _please_  Let this be a personal gift, friend-to-friend, King-to-King, whatever it should be  - _go see Ruby._ There are more than toys in Hot Lava.” Bhelen took Tess’ hand and folded it over Alistair’s before a final word for the night: “It was a beautiful thing you once had. Find something that reminds you of who you used to be to each other.”

 


	54. Reclaim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Knowing_ is different than _feeling._  
>  A revisit to Orzammar's finest goods show Alistair and Tess their actions as Grey Wardens affect everyone. Back on the surface, Alistair's sense of duty interferes with the intimacy of his marriage and the reason he wants to be King in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW; adult toys, seduction, sensual massage, foreplay, anal stimulation, oral sex, intercourse. 
> 
> Mood music:  
> [ Rock Paper Scissors, by Katzenjammer ](https://youtu.be/P05yJ1zQhJM)  
> [ Whole World is Watching, by Within Temptation ft. Piotr Rogucki](https://youtu.be/mf97F-SpBQU)  
> [ Wide Open Sky, by Audiomachine ](https://youtu.be/r7AT0exOiqc)  
> [ Sigma, by Really Slow Motion ](https://youtu.be/ocoTaDDhKfw)  
> [ The Promise, by Really Slow Motion ](https://youtu.be/nUGdJ9lhyAE)
> 
> Amazing art by [donc-desole](http://donc-desole.tumblr.com/)

_Skin and bones._ Ribs, muscle, joints showed through skin still, proving it would take more than a couple weeks of meals and water to recover of their bodies what was lost in the Deep Roads. Alistair _had_ wanted to make love to his wife - seeing the control Tess had over herself as she forced Harrowmont and the dwarven Assembly to respect the Grey Wardens, seeing that _fire_ burn through her had excited Alistair mind-to-groin. But when it came down to it, when his hands passed over knolls and dips of bone instead of the soft flesh he used to bury himself in, Alistair was reminded of _starvation, unable to provide, unable to save._ He noticed how gaunt his own body was and it added more shame; she used to love his shape though the meatier the better - how could she want him now? Tess insisted she wanted him anyway, but he didn’t believe it. Then she looked in the mirror and saw her scars and spindly figure; _ugly_ she called herself. The night ended quickly for the Wardens. They sat and cried together, Alistair unable to recall ever feeling so low and incapable. The Deep Roads, it seemed, had broken them.

Rubbing the handkerchief on her wrist inspired Tess. She suggested they return to Hot Lava anyway, like _King_ Bhelen had urged. Maybe there _was_ something for them there, something to make them forget their _blemishes_ so they could enjoy each other again. _I miss you,_ Tess said, she missed his hot hands holding her on his lap, his full weight upon her as soon as he climaxed, at the very least she missed the teasing with his beard. _Maker,_ he did too, Alistair missed it all. He didn’t want to wait until Maker-knows-when to feel comfortable enough with his own body to let his wife touch even his chest hairs. Hot Lava it would be, and Alistair prayed they found something to make them forget they were incomplete.

Alistair was glad - and embarrassed - they returned. Hot Lava had redecorated: beads of _breasts_ and what looked like...as Alistair peered closer... _Maker_ \- tiny woman petals, clitoris and all. Alistair inspected one in his fingertips; _yep, it was all there,_ minus curls, of course. Shining, sparkling beads of womanly privates replaced the phallic beads Tess had eagerly purchased their last visit, but that didn’t mean the shop was devoid of male bits. In place of the open geodes, in front of candles now stood crystalline penises, _gems_ Alistair recognized by sight carved with apparently the same attention to detail as all the other man-shaped toys he remembered, brilliant colors helping the womanly beads shower a glittering rainbow all over the shop.

“ _Ah!_ I was wondering when you two would find your way back!” and of course there was Ruby, hair up and fastened with barrettes shaped like limp man parts.

“When?” Alistair quickly dropped his hand from the beads that resembled his wife’s sex. “You were expecting us?”

“Of course I was. I _have_ somethin’ for ya.” A sly twinkle in the eye of the she-dwarf far from modest. Alistair wasn’t sure if he should be concerned. “Make yourselves at home, I’ll just be a moment.” With a wink, Ruby pushed back from the counter with a wide smirk and disappeared behind a curtain.

“H-home?” Alistair did a double-take as Tess returned to his side. She met his eyes, a mass of tourmaline quartz in her hands, intricate in every vein and _wrinkle_ down to a small hole at the cleft head. “What exactly do you need that for?” he asked his wife.

“To hold.” _as if it should be obvious._ “One of my own.” Tess ran her thumb over the frenum gathering, down the raphe to more lines and wrinkles of the scrotum. Alistair couldn’t believe how _real_ they looked, aside from being made of pretty stone.

“You want to hold your own penis? Mak-” _nooooo, he couldn’t say the Maker’s name in here. Could he? Lightning would split the mountain open._ “You already have one you can hold,” he reminded her.

“In private, yes, but what about on the road?” she held it up to watch the light flow through it. Rainbow flooded it, though with Tess’ hand shown through it reflected a dull peach shine, illuminating her face like a coat of make up Teagan’s fussy nannies might use.

“You want to hold a penis while we march to Denerim?” he asked in disbelief. He could already see Teagan’s cheeks flush under all the jests yet to come.

“That’s a candle holder.” Alistair’s eyes flew to the counter; Ruby set a clasped chest on the glass display with a grin on her face. “Sold half a dozen in a set, mix and match your own colors with special little candles made just for them.”

“We’ll take two sets,” Tess said without a breath’s moment between voices.

 _“What?!”_ he whipped his head from back and forth from the dwarf to his wife.

Ruby chuckled, her short fingers flipping clasps on the chest. “Take a look at these,” she beckoned. Tess approached first, an immediate _Ooooooh_ drawing Alistair to join the women.

A small collection of sexual trinkets left Alistair speechless. A pair of small shiny hematite anal plugs, a two-headed gryphon engraved into the haft- _“The Warden Recruit,”_ Ruby stated with a proud smile. A larger pair of plugs lay below it, perfectly polished lapis lazuli with a two-headed gryphon carved as the handle itself - _“Commander of the Grey”;_ that had been Duncan’s title, _Maker help me!,_ Alistair felt his cheeks flare like a hearth. A flesh-like gel coating with generous foreskin enveloped an erect penis, leading to a sparkling hilt of sapphire cradling a single rune stone - _Tess’ rune_ at that - _“The First Warden, charged with a user-controlled lightning rune to pump and vibrate to your delight. Grey Warden stamina guaranteed to outlast the next Archdemon!”_ Ruby declared triumphantly; Alistair didn’t know how he should react. Another phallus, stone of ruby intricately cut and glittering in the lights all around them, also bearing foreskin wrinkles and veins and the raphe - and a matching ruby scrotum - _“The Ferelden King!”_ Ruby grinned up at Alistair, “I researched, found the royal colors. Garnet matches that Ferelden-maroon better, but it’s a cheap imitation, doesn’t belong on any dildo unless you want a loose gem between the petals.”

Not even the last _dildo._ Another: clear citrine this time, shorter and narrower than _The_ _First Warden_ and _The Ferelden King,_ a slight curve but smooth-cut as the others with all the detail that left Alistair in awe, and around it arched a folded leather belt and what looked like a storing pad on a patch of leather; _“The Ferelden Queen,”_ another grin that reminded Alistair of Zevran, _“it’s for her-”_ a nod of her head toward Tess, _“put on the belt, attach the Queen, and be a man for the night.”_ Alistair met Tess’ eyes faster than ever before.

Ruby pointed to yet another _“The Velvet Trench_ , _”_ a thick flesh-like sheath akin to what surrounded _The First Warden_ only no shaft inside, opening instead like folds of a woman’s labia leading to a darkened tunnel. _“Penetrable! Look for yourself-”_

Alistair stammered on the word _penetrate._

“It’s for when duty separates you,” Ruby wore that crafty grin well.

“You mean...I put my...” Alistair couldn’t get the word out. He had no problem saying _penis_ to Tess, but to this odd little woman dwarf who made toys to use during sex? His mind was half blank, and he was sure his face matched his hair.

 _“That’s right,_ ” she stared right at Alistair, “for those long nights she’s on the road and you’re home, or when you want to watch each other.”

Tess frowned, shoved the candlestick-penis into Alistair’s hands and snatched the _penetrable_ thing. Her frown deepened as she turned it, inspected it, squinted to try to see inside, _squeezed it._ “This fits a _penis?_ A full-grown one? A _hard_ one?” _never shy as long as she starts it._

Ruby’s smile unsurprisingly grew. “You betcha. Designed to tighten and squeeze deeper in as the opening accommodates size. Easy to clean, air-dry. Easily concealed if he’s the one on the road.”

“So...I could use both at once, couldn’t I?” Tess wagged the _Velvet Trench_ and pointed to _The Ferelden Queen._

An even broader grin from Ruby. “ _Now_ you’re talkin’.”

Alistair nearly ducked under a table. Almost nine months without sexual interaction, and now _his wife and this strange dwarf were speaking right in front of Alistair about him being utterly dominated!_

There was one more piece. Another Golem’s Fist, only this one was transparent inside and out and much larger than the other _Fists_. Ruby gave another overview: quartz hollowed to fit two runes - she was providing the initial set, one fire, one frost. She’d heard about Caridin making Branka into the golem she now was, and common knowledge in Orzammar was Caridin’s Anvil was enchanted with lyrium _; neither Warden bothered with the truth._ Ruby inserted both runes and flicked a tiny switch between the two. It lit up like lyrium and lava, like where the Anvil had been.

“It’s called _The Paragon,_ ” Ruby held it out. “It’s a night lamp. And discreet enough to pass it off as a souvenir from Orzammar. I’ve seen the Legion return after two months exhausted like an old nug shedding whiskers. You were down there over eight months and came back with _two_ things we thought we’d lost.” A small passing of silent gratitude. “The runes lock in - something to carry around the castle at night. A light in the dark, so to speak. A little reminder of all your hard work.” Another awkward passing of gratitude. “Anyhow, I started on these shortly after your first visit here,” Ruby pointed to the plugs and the phalluses. “And then I whipped this up when Branka stomped back in with you,” her gesture aimed at _The Paragon._  

“That was...not even two days ago...” Alistair marveled, his cheeks still burning. Fitting _The Ferelden King_ was as red as it was. “Did Bhelen put you up to this?”

Ruby laughed. “No. He _did_ send coin over this morning, but when inspiration hits I can be up for days. This?” she urged the chest forward. “This is on the house. Anything else goes on Bhelen’s tab. I suggest you take advantage of it.” Another sly wink. As if knowing _King_ Bhelen had a running tab for things like Golems Fists made this visit less awkward.

Orzammar had changed Alistair’s life. Deep Roads and Paragons aside, he’d never known _sexual toys_ even existed. Now, not only was he purchasing them, but some were made in his honor...other people - _dwarves_ \- were going to be... _inserting_ objects called _The Ferelden King_ into each other... _Maker, if Teagan knew about this ---_

Alistair looked down at the erect candlestick in his hands, then at his wife. “We need to bring Teagan a gift.” Alistair cursed inside, already in glee of tormenting his uncle just so he could brag about the lamps, and the snort from Tess certainly wasn’t helping. “We’ll take three sets of lights. And more oils.”

Tess perked up. “And handkerchiefs! Do you have more green ones?” Alistair stared at his wife while Ruby sauntered away to sift through her stocks. The hope in Tess’ eye was too great for Alistair to deny, though. _And_ , he sighed inside, he supposed this is what they were here for anyway, right? _Find something that reminds them of who they used to be to each other._

King Bhelen sent the Wardens off with envoys to help train with any surface soldiers Alistair gathered. Branka would stay with the Wardens; Bhelen couldn’t stand to look at her after the perils at the Anvil, and they agreed she would be more useful fighting the Archdemon than standing guard outside of a palace she could not fit in. With a final gift to Alistair - a declaration from King to King, a promise of aid and alliance should either realm need help, _"Or just friend wanting to visit friend”_ Bhelen extended, the Grey Wardens finally bid farewell to the land of the dwarves. As felt in their brief return to the surface, it was indeed autumn outside, and a wind carrying the sweet spices of early winter whipped past them as the great golden gates of Orzammar shrank from sight.

They made good time the first day even with the wagons. Even Oghren was glad to be out under the stars when they set up camp. With the golems keeping watch, even the knights relaxed. Dwarven wine sent off from Bhelen got passed around while fresh doe roasted over the spit. Leliana approached Tess and Alistair, and though Tess was reluctant to let the bard speak and questioned why she remained, Alistair persuaded his wife to listen. At the least, Leliana owed them an apology. Leliana did more than apologize: a graceful tale how she could not explain her behavior with the stolen rations yet she swore it had been true, and while she knew it was much to ask, she truly desired to help end the Blight. She was full of regret and self-torment, she understood Tess’ plight when _she_ was deprived of food with the rest of them. Leliana offered to submit to being prisoner if they deemed it necessary, but she adamantly believed the Maker told her to help and she would like to aid how she could. Alistair left this up to Tess, _an offense against the Queen_ after all, though he was secretly relieved when Tess agreed to keep Leliana. Even with agolem the size of Branka, they needed all the help they could get.

A knight heralded to Rainesfere when the party had returned to Orzammar. Now, the Anderfels horses cut down travel time from five days to two; _a day faster than regular horses;_  and when they came upon the outskirts of Teagan’s town, another knight was sent ahead to signal the King’s immediate return. Alistair's heart sped to match his steed’s pace as they neared. The fresh air and sunshine these past two days had been emotional enough to wake up to after nightmares plagued them all, but seeing the home of _family_ surfaced more emotions. Tess shared his horse, but they both drove it faster, heels nudging and reins cracking. It all looked so different to Alistair, he’d arrived and left in winter before, but at the same time _Alistair was coming home._ He remembered enough - the gates, the well, the open tavern door, children and dogs prancing about, the open smithy, and with the knight ahead still shouting _The King has arrived! Make way for King Alistair!_ , Alistair was indeed home.

And as if that wasn’t an overwhelming return, the Bann _running_ to meet them was. Teagan practically flew, yelling _Alistair! Tesslyn!,_ as if he hadn’t believed they’d return. The two just about fell off their horse trying to dismount before it stopped, already crying, picking each other up from the ground when legs tried to move faster than they were capable. They crashed into Teagan, and though they were grown adults Teagan’s arms encircled them like children. There was no lecture on formalities that day. Tears escaped, cries of worry, grateful for reunion, _family_ clutching each other. Teagan pulled back to shout beyond, then he assessed Alistair and Tess. Thumbs gliding over facial scars pushed tears from the Bann’s eyes and he hugged them tighter, planting kisses over reminders of pain while muttering _My poor children._ The fussy nannies joined them a fit of wails and shrieks before they could head up the walk to Teagan’s home.

 

The _King and Queen_ and their party had been expected. Quarters had been readied, beds made, blankets heated, banquet prepared, wine airing, night clothes hung ready for use near steaming baths. They had two weeks until they rode to Redcliffe, but for now they could _rest_. As soon as bellies were full and bodies still as babes on soft beds, the bickering golems outside were the only indication Bann Teagan even hosted guests.

An early morning drink in Teagan’s study exposed incoherent mail to Teagan from the past months. When Teagan located Alistair, he explained the nonsense: Teagan had a personal maid within Eamon’s Denerim manor, an otherwise _invisible_ elven girl who regularly helped in the palace as a scullery maid when Eamon was in Redcliffe. The elf was low enough in station no one noticed when she cleaned outside of her assigned chores, and since she legally belonged to Eamon, it was not unheard of for her ride back and forth every few months. Word from the palace was Anora knew about Cailan’s correspondence to Empress Celene, suggesting there may have been a grander force at work behind Loghain retreating from Ostagar.

Alistair’s pulse quickened as he listened. _Concerns Tess had pondered. More traitors who had the power to take Tess from him._

Alistair insisted Teagan resume his lessons that day. They could not wait until Redcliffe and he could not trust Eamon to the task. _Alistair needed to know exactly how to be King_ , and he would study as hard as necessary to fulfill that role by the time they reached Denerim. Teagan agreed, surprised at Alistair’s willingness but cleared his schedule anyway. After a quick breakfast, they returned to the study and Alistair sat scribbling notes while Teagan paraphrased from books. The mundane practices of kingship were boring, but Alistair soaked it all in. Dealing with Orzammar politics had taught him quite a bit, now that he could compare it, and though Ferelden had no Paragons or Shaperate, what he’d learned about dwarven castes and who their problems reported to versus who decided their fates closely resembled Ferelden ranks. Resources were all under Alistair’s control, and in times of war Alistair would likely need to dispose of more lives to divert resources - just like with Branka. Practicing Teagan’s court before summed up what to expect as King in his own court, only grander problems - Banns against Banns, country-wide businesses against another business, foreign ambassadors being harassed by locals; _absolutely boring_ but Alistair drowned himself in it anyway.

 _Alistair was determined._ He left Tess to the fussy nannies in the mornings, studied hard until afternoon tea, trained with the knights from tea until supper, and then resumed lessons until Teagan called for a nightcap of aged rum or whiskey. So consumed by studies by then, Alistair sometimes couldn’t understand why they needed to stop, and on those nights, Teagan would stand him up by the shoulders and walk him to the balcony to view the starry blackened sky, forcing him to stop, to breathe. Alistair took books to bed with him, and while Tess slept with her faint snores, hugging his legs, he made sure he was always one step ahead of Teagan’s lessons. He left himself no room for failure.  

One morning, Teagan studied the intent listener before him. "Alistair, I must admit this eagerness to learn astounds me. You retorted _But why should I want to?_ to every lesson last time."

Alistair glared, not to challenge but in reminder of his desire to be King in the first place. “Teagan, I had a woman removed from her body and deprived of touch, of taste and smell, of affections and the chance to be a mother - so I could have an unstoppable weapon for the war. I killed a person to obtain a battering ram, I _willingly_ gave up a life to divert resources. I understand what I’ve done, and I know without it we are lost. It was the same lesson you tried to teach me when last I was here. If I had listened harder, I might have returned with a whole army of new golems, not just one. I can’t walk into Denerim without knowing how to stop them from arresting Tess. I _need_ to know the loopholes and how to overrule politics with Grey Warden stratagem so they can’t throw us both in prison _just_ because Loghain or Anora says so _._ I _need to know_ this stuff. _Continue, please.”_

Alistair had read through all the legal books Teagan had by the end of the first week. Late nights over solitary drinks, walking around the halls with his nose shoved in text, reading aloud, creating scenes in his head to practice what he could not yet in court. When Teagan had no more to teach that would impact the Landsmeet, Alistair urged Tess to join them. He wanted to know about the plan with Orlais, he wanted to know about Empress Celene - was it possible she would show at the Landsmeet, could she be contacted now to somehow sneak troops in by sea, what sort of support was she offering?

Tess admitted now, as Alistair’s wife and her physical dependency upon him, she had given up the idea to take over Orlais. Celene was indeed awaiting word to send reinforcements but with Loghain controlling borders now they could not accept them; under Cailan’s rule with his association to Celene, this would have been accomplished. Celene had been promised the islands surrounding Jainen Circle and extend Orlesian coastal trade to West Hill’s docks. Alistair immediately understood the complications with that: the islands around Jainen’s Circle of Magi were part of the Waking Sea, under Ferelden rule by a bann with a successful trade district. Kirkwall traders regularly sailed to the islands before Ferelden mainland ports in storms, simply because it was closer, or when they sought specialty fish that only the cold water island reefs hosted, _and_ Antivan, Rivain and Tevinter traders habituated Jainen for the rare fish not found in warm water.

Alistair stared at his wife, wondering in his head if she had made deals while under the influence of or withdrawing from lyrium. “You gave away the Waking Sea? In _my name?_ Before I even knew it was possible for me to be king? How bad is this going to affect my rule? That’s not exactly a light trade route, every ship passes by there to trade with us and Orlais. _Tess!”_ This did not look good. Less trade meant less resources and less power. This was a _significant_ loss of resources. “What good will it do me to take the throne if I don’t have the power to protect it? To protect _you?”_ he searched her.

“ _Not entirely_ given up, Alistair,” Teagan intervened. “Celene asked for it all, but we only agreed to the islands - _with_ , I might add, our own office on port. Orlais would share West Hill’s ports - joined stations, still under rule by Bann Alfstanna Eremon. We give Celene the islands, she gains a significant amount of trade, and _we_ get rid of mages and still keep a trade post open. We are not losing much, Alistair. Considering the borders for land trade between us and Orlais will freely open again once you are on the throne, we will hardly lose out.”

Alistair sat pensive. “And if I don’t want to give Celene an important island of trade?”

“That is up to you,” Teagan granted. “However, at first I urge you to honor it. Make a show of working with Orlais. They will have a stronger army by the time your coronation and it will do no good to jump right into war with Orlais after the likelihood of losing so many to this Archdemon.”

Alistair sighed. “And if you still became Empress?” he asked his wife.

Tess blinked as she stared back. “As your wife, if I declared myself Empress, we would own it all. But I _can’t do_ that, Alistair, I would _have_ to live _away_ from you, I-I _can’t!”_ she winced. This was a genuine fear for both her and Alistair, despite his anxiety in the agreement with Orlais.

“In time, this can be discussed - and arranged, if necessary,” Teagan advised. “Right now, we should stick to keeping our neighbors, particularly since Tesslyn is in good standing with Celene. This benefits you greatly, Alistair. At least for the immediate future, Tesslyn has private knowledge Celene may not want exposed to the world. Orlais will cooperate for now.”

It was an ordeal Alistair couldn’t ignore though. Giving up an important fishing station to Orlais as soon as he took the throne would not gain him favor; he’d never met this Bann Alfstanna, but she was a loyal citizen and he could only imagine the expected rant when Orlais set up office on her docks. He knew how it would look: he would be seen as a renegade king himself, and his life had been suspicious enough to bring about such concerns. A secret bastard hidden away in the stables of an Orlesian Arlessa and then sent to the Chantry at age ten? It would look to the public like he was an uncontrollable problem influenced by Orlais and the Chantry had been a last hope to squash the rebel out of him. Giving land to Orlais immediately after taking the throne would only been seen as proof he was a traitor. Loghain had most of Ferelden convinced Orlais was an evil that needed to be eradicated, and even if Alistair _could_ count on Celene’s support for the Blight war and to take the throne, Alistair would have all the appearances of that same _evil_ Loghain was trying to _save_ them from. The country would revolt with fire.

Alistair needed to hit something.

The rest of the day was spent throwing his weight into sword and shield. Alistair tore apart three training dummies before Shale and Branka approached with a request from Teagan that Alistair take his aggression out on something less likely to break. Shale backed out first after skidding across ground until her feet dug into the soil from Alistair’s shield. Branka was a better training dummy; if she had kept her amusement to herself, she would have a perfect one. However, the more Branka chuckled and antagonized, the more it fueled Alistair’s frustrations. Irritability turned to physical strength he could channel, and the more she mocked the harder he hit. Branka finally quit speaking when Alistair rammed her so hard she slid paces backwards. Alistair must have looked completely unassailable, for the training grounds cleared out and guards jumped clear out of the way as Alistair strode to retire for the day.

Strain emergd halfway up to Tess’ quarters. Alistair had worked himself too hard, more than he should have for not having bulked back up yet or even because he’d nearly starved to death mere weeks ago. While he’d always relished the burn of his muscles strengthening, overworking himself hadn’t relieved the anxiety he’d expected it to. Though he wasn’t _as_ tense now, his mind still reeled and tried to plot defense, and he needed a long soak in a hot bath.

Alistair froze upon entering Tess’ bedroom. On the edge of the bed with a glass of liquid amber in her hand sat Tess, straight and expectant. _Just as when he’d ordered her during their last visit._ A steaming bath even awaited. With a mix between a scoff and a groan, Alistair shut himself in with Tess, locking the door for good measure in case any of the nannies checked in and saw her begging for submission.

“Not this again.” He peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt and sank into a chair to unbuckle his boots. “Tess, I already-”   

“I’m _not_ asking you to do anything to me,” she interrupted firmly. Alistair glanced up and did a second-take. Back straight yet shoulders flexed forward, jaw tight, thumbs fiddling against the glass; she wasn’t awaiting command, she was trying to find her voice.

“Alright, then what?” he softened his tone. He yanked a boot before fully loosening it, causing the buckles to chafe his ankle as he forced it off.

“I just...I want to take care of my husband,” she stated. Alistair neglected his boot with a sigh and stared at her again. “I _miss_ my _husband_. I just want to be _wife_ tonight.”

Alistair watched, let his eyes roam, studied. _She wanted sex?_ _Maker_ , he hadn’t considered that since they’d been here. In Orzammar he’d been ashamed, aware of how starvation had affected his appearance and competence. Here, he’d needed to learn royal politics; that took precedence over pleasure. Part of him was _still_ ashamed he not yet had the body she loved; he trained hard every afternoon, eaten as much as he could without feeling sick, but still did not have the defined muscles _and the excess waist_ he knew she desired. Undressing in front of her had lost its arousing appeal some time ago in the Deep Roads when they’d all been exposed. But _sex,_ when she wanted it from a man he no longer was? He wasn’t sure if he could do this. Just thinking about it felt _too new_ again.

A sigh thick with emotion slipped out. He yanked off his other boot and stood up. “I need to wash up before I can think about any of this, Tess. I’m sweaty and I overworked myself. I can’t think yet.” He shoved off the rest of his clothes, gesturing to the tub with his head as he untied his smalls. “Is that for me?” As soon as she nodded, Alistair plunged in, leaving his clothes to wait on the floor.

Water so hot it dared to scald. Hisses turned to sighs and moans as Alistair slowly sank and adjusted. Sometimes he hated how tall he was, having to deprive his legs of the heat that instantly relieved pressure from his back as he lay down. A deep breath as he settled his head and closed his eyes. Rose and hawthorn steeped into his lungs; bath oils, calming, sweet, like Tess’ skin smelled to him. The oils were already clinging, hairs and skin, underwater and above, softening his worn hide like he was melting into the mist around him. He even peeked to check if he _was_ evaporating, though amidst such hot water he almost couldn’t tell the difference. Steam peeled off his skin and the surface like lazy flames as if trying to turn him into the heavens with the bathwater.

The wooden step up to the tub creaked, and Alistair turned his head as Tess sat as close as she could. From where the bath saturated his beard, Tess was a mirage behind smoke. He watched her eyes roll over him; without thinking he shifted his legs to better hide his groin. From the corner of his own eye, he saw her gaze return to his face.

“I still love you,” she said.

“What?”

“I still love you. _More than love you,_ ” she corrected with a small wince, like she’d forgotten. “It doesn’t matter what shape you are. I _know_ that’s why you’ve been training so hard.”  

Alistair hated when she saw his insecurities. He’d always tried to be strong for her, made it a priority, it was just something that _had to be_ because of how weak lyrium withdrawals left her. He wasn’t supposed to be the one with problems, he was supposed to burden every problem for the both of them. He had _promised_. Her observing his attempt to hide weakness didn’t help, it only seemed to validate he wasn’t what she wanted; otherwise why would she notice? “That’s...part of it, yes,” he admitted. “But not all. We still have a war to fight...”

“You pushed a golem today.” Alistair looked over to find a smile on her face. “That’s an admirable trait for a warrior. I don’t think the others could even budge Shale.”

He huffed in irony. “I’ll pay for that in the morning. My back is killing me.”

Her shoulders rose with breath. “May I wash you? I can rub your back.”

Alistair watched Tess for a moment. _Wife,_ he had to remind himself, more than a friend, _woman_ he had given his purity to. He still loved her as well, despite all the scars and breaks. He hadn’t much time to reflect, but it was strange for someone to stay for _him_ instead of his abilities. And _Maker_ he missed being husband, but he didn’t know how anymore.

He nodded, and nearly melted when she smiled again and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. Tess folded Alistair’s hands around the glass after he sat up. Steam bled into the glass and danced with the fumes; whiskey, the same as last time. Alistair watched the amber drink swirl with a gentle shake of his wrist, before bringing the glass to his lips. Hot water splashed down his back right on a knot of muscle as sharp liquor spilled over his tongue and burned his throat. The sensation made him gasp and groan. Another sip; another splash of hot water. Harsh drink gave the impression it eased knots on his back as it trickled past his neck. When it happened a third time, he almost wondered if Tess timed when she used the wet rag. Whatever it was worked, the tangles inside unraveling more with each sip as liquid heat and tender hands made their way around his body.

Her touch tingled, spreading like a hot tail after her fingers. It tickled, in certain places a gentle scrape of her nails made him writhe while shivers shot down his spine. Touching his back, shoulders, pressing, rubbing, gliding like silk as she trailed his scars, grazing ribs; _a new heat arose,_ pulsing in his groin. His hips lifted on their own accord, and his eyes flew to her to see if she noticed; part of him was embarrassed it had been so long he responded by instinct, not choice. But the look on her face drown all awkwardness.

Emerald orbs flew everywhere, eager to discover, following her hands. He soaked up her fondness, he _felt_ her love pour into every curve, every bone, every crease attended to down to his core, some spots drawing moans, others gasps. Alistair was ready to bend to her whims tonight; she could not hide her want, desire painted her face - _she enjoyed touching him,_ enjoyed him though he was not as large as he had wanted to be to pleasure her again, it truly didn’t matter to her. It was enough to _want_ to give in.

He sipped the whiskey, trying to focus on her hands spreading and flexing over his back instead of hiding the fidgets of his hips. Strange and rewarding to let himself savor _sensuality._ Hot water falling down his skin, gentle hands lathering him up, suds gliding skin over skin, slicker with oil. Tess massaged him, _Maker, did he miss this_ , kneading tight spots in his back, knuckles rolling, grinding until she quelled them all. _A kiss_ , and then another, delicate pecks climbing between calculated pause that took his breath. Hands never ceasing, _another kiss to his shoulder,_ fingertips tangling around soapy chest hair, _lips and hot breath press into his neck,_ nails raked down the path of hair, his front tightened and hips bucked as she found an arousing ticklish spot, _her lips were plush against his cheek._ Her caress slowed, their eyes met while she finished her descent in a crawl. Winded in anticipation, barely managing a nod when she sought his eyes for approval to continue. A tender slide up his shaft; a whine and a swelling crave. _First time all over again._

Alistair grabbed her head and pushed his mouth; moans of relief were swallowed in a lustful dance of lips and tongue. A firm tug before opening to receive his sack, _squeezing_ , cradling; she was soaked to transparency under Alistair’s wet hands. Fondling, rubbing, tracing his raphe down to his anus and back, _feeling_ his curls and sensitive skin between her fingertips as if they were fine cloth she admired. Hips thrust him up and down in her fist. She made another ascent up his erection, pulling more falsetto from this throat as she traced his crown, a grunt when she plucked at the knot of his foreskin. _He wanted her; he had forgotten what it felt like_ ** _to_** _want her._ Her own hips rocked as she pumped down, up his sex, _tighter_ from the hilt. She hardly needed to move though, his girth eager for her clutch, _greedy_ , not wanting to be let go. Each pull and squeeze sent another wave that strengthened the swelling shower of ecstasy he knew awaited. _More than love you._ It stumbled off his lips over and over, breaking between kisses, trailing off to murmurs as she echoed his words back into his mouth. She was practically in the tub with him when his balls clenched up. _Up, down, pressing_ into a ready sack before milking back up, _a slick jerk down, urging him,_ his name whispered in his ear like a ringing bell. Teeth at his earlobe, tragus, the tip of her tongue wet his conch and dipped deeper, _a loving hold where his manhood was defined._ Alistair whined in the dual sensation, striking, _a fixed stoke, fast, bewitching. Conquering him, taming him,_ he was jelly to mould as her touch drugged him with desire, right where he knew she wanted him to be. Pressure shot through his shaft, quickly rising to the pace of her grip; Alistair held tight, _cursing_ , arms locking around her as hot seed burst up past the crown and spilled out. Breath drifted from him in a whimper.  

They sat in each other’s arms, the stone tub wall the only obstacle between them Alistair caught his breath and her lips at the same time. _Love, more than love. I more than love you._ He was a muttering mess of affection even as she finished washing him. Tess dried him off, gently patting his skin, pinching his hair. Their eyes locked while she dabbed his beard. His heart felt ready to explode inside his chest. _Maker he loved her so much_ , and he could feel his own emotion radiate back to him from inside her. Alistair knew he was her only vision tonight, as she his. _He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten what it felt like to_ ** _love_** _his wife_ ; _knowing_ was so different than _feeling_ it. She reached up and stopped a tear with one finger; he held her hand to his face and kissed her palm. He stopped her before she could tie the towel, and for a moment just _hugged_ her. Alistair missed this. Certainly he enjoyed the pleasure, the stimulation, the orgasm - but the _closeness,_ being with his _wife, his lover._ _Completely vulnerable to the woman who held his heart._ He had forgotten how intimacy felt, what being touched _felt like_ , how the touch of the woman he loved could melt him utterly. They _could_ recover the love they’d lost, and Alistair vowed never to lose it again.  

Knots in his back reappeared outside of the hot bath. She finished drying him, asked if she may use the oils to massage him. She _wanted_ to, wanted him to relax and soak in the night. Alistair chuckled as she pulled him to the bed and sat him down, anyway. He kept her from leaving him with a hold around her waist.

“When do I get to return the favor?” he asked, pursing his lips to her chin, up to the plump cliff of her bottom lip.

She paused. “It’s about _you_ tonight.”

“But you’re _part_ of me, Tess.”

More hesitation, and she took the moment to slip out of his arms.

“I already regret saying this, but do I need to tie you up again?” he joked.

“Yes please! I’ll even let you tie up my legs,” she said over her shoulder as she shuffled through their belongings.

He laughed softly. “What happened to _Alistair, it’s about_ **_you_ ** _tonight?”_ his grin spread crooked as she took out the new box from Hot Lava.

With her back to him, she played along, “Well, then, don’t make offers a lady can’t refuse.”

 _“Can’t refuse,_ ” he echoed. “I’ll remember that.” He froze at the contents in her hands when she came back to him. Lick-able massage oil and one of the Grey Warden anal plugs. He met her eyes. “Is that for me, or you?”

“Oh, this is yours. _Commander of the Grey_. You _are_ the highest ranking member in the Ferelden order,” she reminded.

“I...will remember that, as well...” his eyes followed the plug until she set it down. “I’m not sure it’ll be a complaint, though. Are our others that large?”

“Shorter, I think.” she knelt on the bed and rolled up her sleeves. She told him to lie down.

“Take off your shirt first,” he bargained. “I’m awfully exposed over here, and _you..._ are _not..._ ” he made a show of outlining the shape of her breasts through her shirt with his eyes.

“That was rather lecherous, Your Majesty,” her tone accused, however untying the knot that kept her constrained.

He grinned at his wife with a giggle. “Says the woman who asked to wash me for the chance to yank my haft.” A wider grin as the chemise came up over her head. Bare breasts stretched and bounced back to place as her arms moved, nipples pinched and pert despite the heat of the room, _aroused not chilled;_ the sight of her so eager twitched his cock.

Lying on his belly was almost torture, _he wanted to touch her_ , but she insisted. The oil was cool at first, a welcome change on his heated skin, entangling smells of cherries and almonds. The massage was lulling; deep, tender, palms and knuckles gliding over shoulders, arms, spiraling down his back. Alistair loved every motion. He rocked beneath her hands, especially when she coated his buttocks and _squished_ him under her fingers; Alistair giggled to himself while she entertained herself at his bum. He loved her massages; he had forgotten these too. Tess’ hands were a magic all their own, relieving the hardest knots and sore spots. The only thing stopping him from sleep was the _heat_ pulsing from between her legs when she sat on his thighs to work his lower back.

 _Turn over._ She had never given him a front massage before. This was a new experience for Alistair, and it brought a new awareness. Watching her above him as she smeared sweet oil around was arousing, _intriguing,_ a different kind of sexy than being brought to climax in her hand. _She was learning his body; intimate_ all over again. His legs conformed to her hands, muscles moving, giving in to her pressure. Certain points were concentrated on, some stealing the lingering pain of his Deep Roads wounds the instant she pressed. Alistair giggled again while she tickled the back of his legs, a smile playing on her face as well. His feet were _not_ ticklish, perhaps from all the oil, though they were _something else_ instead...

It was like a bolt of passion zapped straight up his leg to harden his erection. She’d touched his toes before, kissed them, rubbed her own against them. She kissed them now, one by one, and when a gentle tickle at the base of his second toe made him  twitch elsewhere, she took the digit in her mouth. _His toe in her mouth hardened him._ Motions she’d used on his cock in the past, _sucking, wetting, flicking her tongue,_ took his breath _by his toe._ He watched her agape, kissing, licking, nibbling, tightening her lips around the base to _pull._ Eyes locked unless they darted to catch his shaft twitching as her tongue teased. It was like a line of powder, her fiery tongue, his toe the fuse, detonation guaranteed. A pearly bead pressed out from his small eye and he gasped, hand flying to catch his shaft, _awe_ once again her touch to a place never associated before with sex turned him on.

Tess moved, and Alistair focused in time to see her head drop to his groin. Breath and a moan escaped him as her mouth closed around his crown. _Hot, wet_ glided over his slit, catching the sly drop of cream before it was lost. _She swallowed him. Slick;_ saliva and lips hugged his shaft, _and deeper._ Another hissed as she closed tight at the base and _pulled, summoning_ his seed again. Every curse he knew ran through his head as she bobbed, determined muscle suctioned perfectly around his own. He gathered her hair to the back of her head in time to see her hands tucking out of sight. He gasped, a faint graze clenched him, flexing up to meet her mouth and urge where he hoped she’d tread. Another massage, kneading, tugging, _squishing_ sacks of seed that thrummed in wait, _waking another orgasm;_ she loved his this part of him. _And her finger,_ past his raphe again, settling on his tight hole, _this_ is where he wanted her; yet another curse, he would spill quick this time. Holding her head, half to keep her, half to _know_ this was _real,_ not just some dream he would awaken from. Sensation down his length sent shivers through his hips and spine, and again on her return, squeezing, beckoning his divinity from her favorite shrines. Lips _smacking_ as she pulled back to wet her finger; another gasp of anticipation.

The first push stole his breath, the slow wiggle as she wedged further in coaxed a moan long overdue. Stretching him, curling, _tight grip around the base, licking, siphoning,_ rocking his hips to add pressure, _teeth daring a kiss_ , milking him from inside, growing, pulsing orb of pleasure. _A noisy slurp as rosy lips squeezed, up, down, tapping him for syrup,_ a stiff digit teetering back and forth, stretching him further at the ring until knuckles braced his bum. Noises from Alistair as well, he’d forgotten sex could feel so good, could make him feel so _desperate._ He _desperately_ wanted to release, hips thrusting in their own mind, tightening around her finger to keep her there only increased the desire rolling through his groin. His fingers tangled in her hair, _clenched_ , _pushed_ as he rose to meet her hot mouth A voice too high to be his slipped from his throat as he _burned_ inside. Aching, _ready,_ brandy eyes flew open to watch his love, to watch himself fall from her lips and disappear within, watch her arm flex as her finger turned and bent up into _that spot_. _Rigid, hasty, up, down, rocking, tilting,_ every action _begged_ him to give in. Brief slack to allow a second finger, _straight through,_ his sack shrunk, _pumping, another prod_ and he succumbed to her demands, a hot jet elevating through his shaft like it ran for life. Surging to his swollen crown, unable to release the head selfishly hoarding him as he erupted; _a wanton moan, a name amid bated breath._ Masculine grunts and a feminine sigh as she drank the last of his cache.

As soon as he relaxed, he pulled her up, groaning from release, _needing more._ Sloppy lips met fervently, arms entwined, _hands needing to touch, feel._ A reclaiming of territory forgotten for too long. _Remembering._ Fingers gripping, kneading, pinching, _mouths on every inch,_ teasing nipples, kissing freckles and scars. Shapes long and round, faces burying, digits tangling in hair from every end, _his beard along her skin drawing whimpers and tremors,_ trailing lips, _teeth_ , dragging his beard over the belly he used curl around, _thighs, hips_ , nibbling. _Taste._ He neglected permission to taste what he could not recall by memory anymore. _Cream_ , slick folds bending to his whims, _salted honey_ painting his mustache and beard as satin curls scratched his nose, _bitter nectar_ as he slipped his tongue deeper, _hot silk walls_ hugging him _, slurping, drinking her, his favorite wine;_ never again would he lose this. Every time he nestled his beard to taste _more,_ she squirmed, thighs clenching around his head, _hips jumping for him._ He wedged his hands in, squeezing plush buttocks as he lapped and prodded, held her legs firm around him, eager to stay as she was eager to keep. Fingers busy inside, coiling, wiggling, _feeling around like it really was the first time all over again._ He trailed lips over the stretch of skin, whiskers following to produce more moans and yanks on his hair. Flat tongue against her tightest hole; she gasped loud. Alistair cascaded in giggles as her nails dug into his scalp. Slow circles, tenderizing sensitive skin with his nose buried in her dripping quim, bristles of love tickling all between. _Musk, sweet, milky. Skin. His._

Alistair pulled back and sat on his knees, eyes on hers as he leaned over to grab the anal toy. Emerald orbs flew from Alistair to the _Commander of the Grey_ as he brought blue stone onto his tongue. _She stared_ , lust-blown pupils darting as his teeth clanked against the _Commander._ He slid his tongue all around, a thick coat of saliva running down as he pulled it from his mouth. Alistair timed the drop just right, catching on the skin between both entries; _another gasp_ , she understood this was for _her_ now. With the tip of the plug, he spread his lubrication around, eyes locked on hers, _wife_ staring back with heaving breasts. His erection bobbed every time she flinched, and from her smell matted to the hair on his face.

“May I?” with all the noises he made earlier, his normal voice was almost foreign to him.

A rapid nod consented what her voice could not, a whisper lost in yearning. He _pushed;_ brows pinched and teeth bit down as the sigh rolled off her tongue. Alistair gave the handle a jiggle just to see her leaking core reach for him.  

She was an explosion of _heat_ and _need._ Penetration stole his breath, and he sought her eyes as a man in love as he rested above her. _Snug, hot,_ more comfortable than any dream he remembered. Hips moved without instruction, his bum still tingling from her internal dance as he clenched to thrust _again and again_. Searching eyes never strayed, hips rocked together as if they’d never lost their rhythm. _Breath_ picked up as he pushed _quicker_ , _deeper._ Gasps took over, learned to sing instead of puff, _molten walls crushed and squeezed._ Brows hooked with rising friction, _filling her completely,_ and in return she cradled his girth in greed and passion, groping tighter when he pulled to satisfy his own hunger. Alistair was a mess of emotion as memories from the last time they made love on this bed resurfaced. He'd forgotten what it felt like to have her cling to him in desperation for climax, teeth sinking in his shoulder, _hot thighs_ hiking around him, arching into him ever higher. _Embracing_ him, coveting his manhood, hoarding his affections. _Drowning him. He couldn’t stop,_ Alistair was out of breath. _Whole, needy, one, mine, wife, can't believe it - can’t believe I forgot -_ purring, _panting_ , curling into him. A firm grip on his butt; nails nearly breaking skin, but he didn’t care. _They perfumed the room,_ loins, skin, _sex_ untouched for so long now overstimulated, overwhelmed and on the verge of detonating, _the smells of husband and wife and love survived_. Messy kisses, tongue sloppy in dance and chase. Voices tangled when they tried speak, urgency blinding everything but _her_ _;_ rocking, shaking her body faster beneath him, _deeper, harder_ until she locked up around him. _Crushing him, wresting him robbed his air._ His personal choir uncontrolled, whimpering, _wailing_ breath snagging on his skin; Alistair hurried to finish before she stilled beneath him. Up his shaft, over the brink _,_ and in a daze of pleasure, _seed. Completion_ inside his wife at the core they were meant to lock in.

Head to head, eye to eye, Alistair caught his breath still inside her. _Wife again. Never lose her again. Calm place, only peace. My Love._

 


	55. And So It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair _is_ King, and a Grey Warden, and with such power comes responsibility. There is no rest, no reprieve. To protect the woman he loves, he will do what he must even without warning. Despite his promise to save the land, Loghain cannot defeat the darkspawn, and his influence wanes as more of Ferelden is lost each day - coincidentally paving the way for Alistair to prove himself a worthy ruler. The tides are changing. The New Rule has already begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warning: brief Gore**
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [The Arena, by Lindsey Stirling](https://youtu.be/4MCjU-Du3eI)  
> [Undefeated, by Two Steps From Hell](https://youtu.be/xdotDI4azKw)

Duty pulled the _King_ and _Queen_ from bed before they were ready to end bliss and romance lingering from the night before. Teagan ignored as Alistair and Tess kissed and cuddled through morning tea and breakfast, leaving nothing more than small reminder the Landsmeet was right around the corner. Open affections _must_ cease if Alistair was to be taken seriously.

The day began with Teagan’s scouts; elven servants and patrolling knights so frequent on the north road no one paid them mind. Servants reported Loghain was losing his edge; each week less temperate than before, decisions becoming more brash as he endured doubt and challenges in court. Anora was overheard questioning her father though Tess and Teagan laughed this off; both believed Anora’s blind reverence of the man beyond logic and could be argued as bias. Loghain was losing his claim to control, and the darkspawn overpowering more of Ferelden each month seemed proof enough to half the Banns and Arls.

Half of Ferelden fell victim to the Blight. Lothering burned first, then the rest of the Korcari Wilds stretching from Honnleath to the Brecilian Forest, followed by the vast central farmlands - crops, _food_ that supplied citizens with grains, produce, meat, milk, _everything_ the fishing trades could not provide. Blame weighed on Alistair’s chest like an anvil. Trying to gain the dwarven army had cost Ferelden the means to feed its own people, let alone an army. The forces he gathered would not be as efficient now if Alistair had conscripted dwarven warriors to begin with.

Teagan assured Alistair it was trivial to fret. All they could do now was ride to Denerim where Alistair could take the crown and order his forces to war. Teagan’s men were busy now filling wagons for the journey. Teagan, the Wardens’ party and a few knights would ride to Redcliffe, collect Eamon, then double-back and take the north road to Denerim; with horses they would arrive in twelve days.

“The north road?” Tess gazed at Teagan, searching like she meant to ask for something dear.

Alistair’s heart hung. “Highever.” The north road would take them in sight of Highever’s farmlands. He reached for his wife’s hand, both thumbs looping.  

“Teagan, it’s only a day?” she pleaded. Though walking to the heart of Highever took two days from the north road, the Anderfels horses could get them to the castle in a day.

“Tesslyn, Rendon’s men, and Loghain's as rumors say, crawl over Highever like fleas. If we detour, we will lose time and lives,” Teagan affirmed, sympathy etched on his face.

“What about Fergus?” Alistair asked. Tess’ fingers clenched around his.

“I cannot say. There have been glimpses of what resemble him, but nothing more than vague accounts. Fergus is a smart man though. It if _is_ him, he is always a step ahead and seems to have an agenda. We must rely on the Maker to keep him safe.” Teagan took a moment to stir honey into another cup of steaming tea. “Round up your party, pester the smithy, have armor and weapons repaired. Alistair, I suggest you make your way through town, get to know your people, express interest and gratitude for their part in trade. We ride in two days.”

“Can I drink at the tavern?” Alistair smirked as he stood.

Teagan laughed. “I’m not sure that’s wise. I heard your dwarf got sick on the floor two nights ago. Word is the stench lingers.”

“Eew!” Tess crinkled her nose through a giggle.

“My Lord! Er - and Your Majesties,” Teagan’s steward Hamish dropped into a deep, quick bow in the doorway. “The tailor and smith are ready.”

“Oh! Wonderful timing!” Teagan wiped his mouth and left the tea table. “Forget the town, Alistair, change of plans-”

“I’ll be sure to let my country know _Arl_ Teagan gave me permission to ignore them,” Alistair joked.

“Very funny. I’ll tell you something even more amusing,” Teagan smirked. “You’re about to get your crotch measured.”

“What?” Alistair stared. Tess giggled and slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Your royal fitting,” Teagan explained. “We will not be trotting into Denerim with a Grey Warden. We will _storm_ Denerim under the banner of the new King.”

“Banner?” Tess echoed as Teagan shooed them from the room.

“You will see. Denerim will remember the day King Alistair and Queen Tesslyn arrive.”

_King._

_It was real._

It _felt_ real anyhow. Alistair stood in front of three fitting mirrors, clasped in sculpted golden armor reminiscent of Cailan’s from Ostagar. He turned, moved his arms, neck, followed orders when the tailor and smith told him to bend, crouch, pose how he moved in battle. Armor meant for ceremonial comfort and superior protection in combat. The smith had been Maric and Cailan’s personal smith, and he conveyed deep pride in carrying on for the Theirin line; it had taken no time to convince the man to ride to Rainesfere, and during measurements he gushed how much Alistair looked like Maric.  

Teagan bustled back and forth testing different bolts of cloth against Alistair’s hair and armor until he settled on a shade that didn’t clash. Tess sat with tea in the distance, admiring, smiling or giggling when Alistair posed certain ways; he had a clear view from one mirror and kept checking her reactions.

“Tess gets custom fancy armor too, right? I’m not the only one riding into Denerim shining like the sun?” Alistair joked.

“Tesslyn already has ceremonial armor,” Teagan said.

“It’s _hideous_ , Teagan, it’s seven - no, _eight_ years old!” Tess shook her head.

“Then you’re up next, Tesslyn.” Teagan motioned for the smith to move to Tess. Tess’ brow sank in glare, and Alistair and Teagan laughed.

“Make her new armor match mine.” Alistair winked at his wife in the mirror.

“One day you’ll tire of dressing like me,” she flirted. Their eyes met above lovers smirks.

“Never. _Although_ ,” Alistair added, turning again, “I look damn good in this. My _bum_ looks _perfect!”_ Teagan snorted from another stack of cloth.

“Now you sound _cocky,_ husband.” A deeper smile spread as emerald eyes studied his bottom.

“Did you hear that, Teagan? My wife called me _cocky_.”

“Hm.” Teagan compared two bolts, glancing at Alistair, not fully invested in the conversation. “Then show her where the _true_ cock is, Your Majesty.” A moment of silence as Tess sprayed a mouthful of tea. Teagan paused and raised his head, following with a sigh. “Forget I said that.” Alistair led a round of laughter that echoed out into the hall.

 

Returning to Redcliffe was a new experience again. Teagan’s knight rode through town up to the castle announcing _the King’s_ arrival, but Alistair and Tess were not who Eamon expected. The old man met the Wardens, Teagan and their mixed party with a gleam of confusion just inside the castle gates. Alistair knew who Eamon expected: Loghain. It took Eamon a moment of looking from Alistair to Tess to Teagan to the knight who announced _the King_ and back again before comprehension rolled over the old man’s face. Alistair sighed in discomfort, shifting his weight to jump from the horse he and Tess shared. Teagan stopped him though, his hand out to keep Alistair from bending over, and his eyes on Eamon. Alistair wasn’t sure what he needed to wait for; this wasn’t in his lessons.  

Arl Eamon gave a huff and a smile, and Alistair looked over in time to see Eamon’s eyes shift from Teagan. “Forgive me, Your Majesty.” The old Arl bent a bow. “Welcome to Redcliffe, King Alistair.”

“Maker’s breath, is _that_ what this was about?” Alistair asked Teagan.

Teagan smirked. “ _Practice_ , Your Majesty. Every citizen of Ferelden is required to meet you outside their home upon your arrival. Technically speaking-”

“Eamon should have met us outside the city,” Tesslyn finished. “Or the city stables, seeing as he governs a great deal of land.”

“And dear Tesslyn, always a pleasure to have you,” Eamon smiled again. Alistair stiffened at the sarcasm, tightening his hold around Tess.

“ _Brother_ ,” Teagan scolded, a darker glare than Alistair had seen from him yet.

“You know full well the Landsmeet-”

“It is too late for the Landsmeet to disagree, Eamon. The Bannorn recognizes Tesslyn Theirin née Cousland-” _Tess perked, turning her head to meet Alistair with keen eyes_ “-as the wife of King Alistair Theirin. Ferelden is under new rule. There is no turning back.” Teagan scolded again when Eamon remained silent.

“Your Majes _ties_ ,” Eamon corrected himself.

“ _Better_ , brother,” Teagan’s voice rang lighter. He removed his hand from Alistair’s arm and slid from his horse, meeting Alistair’s eyes with a nod before removing his gloves.

Eamon stared. Alistair wasn’t sure what the old man was looking for, but the appraisal stung and slivers of doubt seeped into Alistair’s mind; a Bann thought Alistair enough for the Landsmeet, but an Arl was skeptical - the other Arls and Banns might be more in mind with Eamon, and then what? A shiver overwhelmed Alistair, he didn’t even want to think about a _bad_ ending to the Landsmeet. He jumped from the horse, then braced Tess to ease her dismount, trying to ignore the glare that surfaced childhood memories of _Not Good Enough._ Alistair forced a smile for Tess when her brow crinkled in concern, and with an arm firm at her waist more for his own comfort than as a husband guiding his wife, he made his way towards the castle doors.

It was a boring, awkward evening of reviewing travel plans with Eamon. Servants begged pardons as they bustled around with last minute supplies. Alistair wanted the day to end; the Deep Roads, sleepless training at Teagan’s, now nothing but listening to scout reports of the north road told to an old man who only seemed to want Alistair on the throne because Loghain was a worse choice. Present _duty_ had Alistair _standing still to listen._ Inaction itself showed Alistair he’d never had, _and may never have,_ a break; even out of court, Alistair as king would be _laboring._ Even now: watching the Arl, Alistair felt weary and unneeded yet not allowed to slip away; as if returning to Redcliffe assumed the direction his life played out was once more at Eamon’s discretion. Alistair almost forgot what this felt like. Teagan had given him great leniency in Rainesfere as practice for kingship, but the castle of another man still belonged to that other man. Alistair felt like a holding place and nothing more, something to fill the empty collar on a leash. A _slave_ to his Arls, to his people; Wynne had tried to lecture this once, kings and Grey Wardens alike. _Slave;_ just like he felt in court.

All for his country, though, right? For the _good_ of his country.

Alistair sighed. He needed a break from the world. At the least, he needed something to do, some way to contribute instead of feeling like a display of pretty armor.

Tess called for a bath to be drawn, but Alistair insisted she use it. Washing her the past had done wonders to his nerves; he wanted it to work the same _now._ While it reconnected them that night, grounding him back to the present, lightening his heart so he could enjoy his wife, Alistair was unable to sleep after _need_ for him dissolved. He lay watching a large silvery orb and its tiny shadow move into the window frame across the dark sky while Tess snored at his side.

 _Shining like the highlight of a torch._ Alistair wondered if the moon ever felt like he did, emphasized, pointed at. Put on display or targeted one way or another. At least the moon got to rest once in a while.

A warm hand slid up his belly and tried to grip the hairs on his chest. Alistair turned his head to find Tess snuggling closer, curling her body in for warmth as if her skin wasn’t hot against his. He moved his arm to hold her where she wanted to be and planted a tender kiss. Sleepy green eyes reflected the moon as Alistair tucked the blankets in around her.  

“Have you been awake all night?” a yawn stretched her face and stammered her words.

“Yes. It’s only midnight though.” She made a noise when Alistair pressed another kiss on her forehead. “It’s all right. You can go back to sleep. I’m here.”

Though he tried earnestly, she did not fall prey to his coax. For awhile, Alistair watched her enjoy the caress of his fingers on her brows, around her eyes, down her nose and scars. She kissed him when he traced her lips. Though her eyes remained closed, the little snores that signified sleep never came.

“Is it Denerim or Eamon?” she mumbled.

Alistair smiled. There was nothing they could hide from each other anymore. “Both,” he answered. “But you should go back to sleep, it’s fine for now. We leave in the morning.”

A cold ear warmed on his shoulder when another dramatic yawn craned her neck. “I’m awa-a-ake,” she insisted.

He laughed and kissed her again. “Of course you are.” She peeked at him again. “It’s okay, sleep, please. I’ll talk over breakfast.”

“Would a walk help?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I hadn’t considered it. You’ve been asleep, I wasn’t going to leave you.”

Tess made noise like the undead and sat up. “I’m up. See?” while trying to force sleep from her eyes. He giggled at her drowsiness though his heart surged. Waking up in the middle of the night to walk with him so _he_ could sleep; Alistair knew how uncommon this was even amongst lovers.

Since he couldn’t convince her to lie back down, he gave in. Alistair filled a kettle and set it to boil while he gathered clothes and cloaks. Bundled up and bellies full of hot tea, husband and wife crept out of the castle with Po, Alistair’s sword and a dagger, and silent acknowledgment to the night watch guards.

Clear skies save for the moon and stars. After the Deep Roads, the light of the full moon was more than enough to guide them. It was quiet. Peaceful. The promising chill of winter around the corner lingered in the air even without the breeze from the north. Alistair and Tess and Po had the land to themselves, and after the horrors they’d survived, thought of bears or wolves seemed little more than pest control. They owned the night, clutching hands in affection not angst, allowing confidence in the safety of their homeland to guide their feet.  

Alistair spilled everything on his mind. He worried the Landsmeet would see him as Eamon saw him, nothing more than a stable boy trying to rise above his station, an eager pawn. Though he’d read every book Teagan owned on Ferelden politics, he worried he missed something - something vital the Landsmeet or Loghain could use against him. He was _terrified_ someone might arrest Tess - or worse - when they arrived in Denerim. Alistair doubted the troops they’d gathered would be enough for the Darkspawn, even with Branka and all the men Bhelen promised. He worried the Landsmeet would compare him to Maric or Cailan, which could sway from a blessing to a curse in the blink of an eye at one wrong word.

His confessions lasted the walk out of the town itself. Down the path as it twisted and curved around rock and land till they saw faint lights in the distance of what must be Loghain’s men outside Lothering. With all on their minds, the distant lights were like fireflies, a comfort as Alistair and Tess walked along the lake’s edge, another reminder they were _home_ and not underground. Tess said she had no clue how Denerim would play out, she was nervous about it herself; too many memories, _too much_ against her name, and without the documents from her chest in Highever there was little to back up anything she said. She was unsure of her father’s subjects retaining loyalty to her just because she was born there, for she’d done nothing for them since her home burned, and to the eyes of her father’s people it would appear she did not care. Teagan was their best bet, she insisted. The reason for his popularity was his rebelliousness, quickly remembered for it - and secretly admired. He spoke what the other Banns and Arls were afraid to say: suspicions, questions, concerns trivial for royal court but would impact the whole country drastically years to come. Teagan had the ability to address anything with a tongue so silver he _practically shines,_ she said, _In court he addresses kings the same as fellow Banns,_ confident and _so controlled everyone stands in awe. He turns politics to poetry, winning over hearts and minds so effectually evidence is not needed most of the time._

Incarceration was her primary concern though. “If they arrest me…”

She never got to finish. Her feet froze and Po jumped ahead to growl, alerting Alistair to what he thought was anxiety rustling inside. But now that they’d stopped, he could feel it. _Hear_ it. Stronger than Tess and Po combined, just like when they neared the marching horde in ruined Bownammar.

 _Darkspawn._ Enough of them to feel from maybe an hour outside of Redcliffe.

“ _Shit_.” was all Alistair could say. In the middle of night? They weren’t prepared for this, Eamon’s scouts had reported Loghain’s men holding Darkspawn back at Lothering’s borders, Lothering was _days_ away. On a fog-free night like tonight, one could see light for about two-hours walk; _hours_ , not days. Why didn’t he put this together sooner? This was way too close, _too close!_ And they could feel the Darkspawn, so the Darkspawn could feel them. “Run,” Alistair told her, backing up anyway. _“Run! Now! Come,_ Po! Back to the castle!”

There was no looking back. Wind whipped their faces and cloaks flapped like sails. Po dashed ahead, pausing every other second to ensure his humans still followed. _Uphill_. _Maker_ , this wasn’t happening. Uphill would also slow the Darkspawn, but only until they realized the _town_ was downhill. _Hours._ This pushed Alistair to run faster, count his breaths, _just get there._ He never let go of Tess’ hand, thankful she kept up though she was wheezing by the time they reached the bridge to Redcliffe castle.

Guards panicked at the pace of the couple. “What? What is it?”

“Go! Wake the guard!” Alistair panted, waving them toward the barracks. “ _Darkspawn! Go!_ Wake them all! Shale, close the gate!”

They spilled into the front hall shaking for breath. A guard lounging by the fire jumped to his feet before thrusting an entire pitcher of water into Alistair’s hands. He drank straight from the steel carafe while Tess choked on a glassful. Water aside, Alistair untied the knot of Tess’ cloak.

“Go upstairs, get your armor on, don’t stop for anything,” he instructed. He held her face for a trembling kiss, grateful they made it back in time at least to arm themselves. She nodded fast and ran off again, and Alistair grabbed the pitcher and a platter emptying both where they lay, and through the halls he yelled and banged as loud as he could. He yelled until his voice scraped his throat, until servants and guards and knights and his own party gathered in the hall and irritated grumbles about _sleep_ commingled.

“What is so important that can’t wait till sunrise, Alistair?” Eamon yawned.

“We have a _huge_ problem. The darkspawn are not in Lothering, they are _here,_ two hours outside the city at most -”

All at once voices erupted, worry, servants panicked, guards and knights and the party alike. So much noise it made Alistair’s ears ring.

 _“SHUT UP!”_ Alistair bellowed. “Everyone _SHUT UP!_ That is _not_ helping! _I SAID SHUT UP!”_ his voice rang around the hall. Mouths snapped shut and eyes landed on him. “We have _hours_ until the darkspawn get here, that’s still hours away from sunrise! They’ll get the town first, it’s easier to reach - there’s no time to get everyone out. We have to meet them, we have to ride out _right now_ and meet them! Loghain’s men are _not_ holding back like we thought. From up here, the lights look farther away, but we were _just down there,_ and there is enough of them we can feel the horde without hearing sounds of battle.” Tess called out, metal clanking and scraping against stone as she emerged from the spiral staircase. “Let her through,” Alistair pushed people aside to collect his armor and his wife. “We need to get ready. Everyone arm up, anyone staying behind fill waterskins and pack potions - Morrigan, Wynne, we need potions. How long will stamina potions take?”

“An hour,” Wynne said. “That is hardly enough time, Alistair.”

“It will have to do. As long as they haven’t been here yet, they don’t know there’s a steep climb into town. That should buy us enough time to get armed, and the potions made. Grab food, tea - the strongest tea here, _anything_ to wake up _,_ just get ready everyone!” Alistair ordered. With Tess’ help, he stripped to his underclothes in front of the shuffling crowd and immediately strapped on armor. He had to bark another command for everyone to get moving.

“Alistair, this is impossible,” Eamon said. “We have the scout reports-”

“The reports are _wrong_ , Eamon!” he glared and pointed south. _“Two hours,_ and they can feel us just as much as we feel them! They _know_ Grey Wardens are here! As soon as they’re able, they’ll come straight for us! Teagan, as soon as we leave, you have to go back home.” He locked his greaves in place behind his knees.

“Alistair, don’t be ridiculous,” Teagan said.

“I’m serious. Take Eamon with you, I need you both alive for Denerim.”

“Alistair, this is madness,” Teagan persisted, “if it’s as bad as you say and we leave, you will not survive to reach Denerim with us.”

“King Alistair will make it to Denerim alive, My Lord.” Alistair’s favorite knight Ser Pádraig, the knight who’d offered the horse in winter and led the rescue into the Deep Roads, announced from the corner of the room. Pádraig secured his own armor on as Alistair buckled up.

Alistair winced. “No, go back with Teagan, I’ll need you later, I’ll need you _more then_.” Alistair’s closest friend among Teagan’s knights, someone who gave him hope that kingship wouldn’t be as miserable as he feared.

“Of _course_ you will, Your Majesty, just as you need us now. With any luck, we’ll carve hole and retake the highway by sunrise.” Pádraig paused with a toss of his eyes. “Or maybe morning tea.”

“Alistair, it’s black as pitch out there, how do you know it’s darkspawn? You heard the reports,” Eamon said, “the scouts-”

“Your scouts are wrong!” Alistair repeated himself. “I’m _Tainted_ , Grey Wardens are Tainted, Darkspawn blood is _part_ of us, it’s how we feel them! Your scouts are _very wrong!_ Either they didn’t ride their routes as ordered and just took a wild guess, or they’re _ly_ -” He cut himself off. The remaining eyes in the room darted to one another. “Eamon, did you tell them you were riding off when we arrived?”

“Of course I did, Alistair, these men guard my castle, I have to inform them when I leave.”

“Did you mention _me_ though, or _Tess?”_ Alistair demanded. “Grey Wardens?”

“Maker’s breath, Eamon you idiot!” Teagan scoffed.

“They know you’re Grey Wardens, Alistair, it’s no secret.”

“But last time I was here, I didn’t have an army of dwarves and elves sworn to my cause! The last time I was here, I hadn’t made judgments as King in Rainesfere!” Alistair cursed. “Someone bring me those scouts now!” He yelled. Pádraig dropped the rest of his armor and sprinted down the hall, ordering his own men to help find the scouts. “Eamon, I can’t tell if you’re on my side or if you want me dead. Or if you’re just plain _stupid._ You put your whole town at risk! Again!” Alistair accused. “Do you realize what this means? If your scouts lied, that means they report to someone else, someone who knew you’d trust them and trust your castle to them! Have you been down there? Are Loghain’s men even fighting? If Redcliffe falls to the darkspawn, Ferelden is gone. That gives Loghain-” Alistair laughed at the irony. “You _fucking fool_ , you let Loghain infiltrate your castle _twice._ With you out of the way, Teagan’s claims mean nothing at the Landsmeet.”

“Alistair, that is a brash accusation,” Eamon cautioned.

“Is it? You married that Orlesian swine right after my father won this country back! It’s no secret he loathed you for that. You let her sneak in a blood mage who tricked your son into possessing himself and killed half your town! Now you’ve got _more_ spies? It’s like you _want_ this, Eamon!”

Eamon rolled his eyes as if Alistair would never understand his argument. “If the world-worn man eager to fight darkspawn didn’t scream out _Maric_ , I certainly see him in you now.”

“This isn’t about Maric, and I am _nothing_ like him. He abandoned his son to play in the Deep Roads, and apparently he couldn’t keep his pants up because _I_ was born! You should be grateful to _Tess_ , because whether or not I’m Maric’s son, _she’s_ the reason I’m even doing any of this! I’m not riding off in the middle of the night to save _Redcliffe_ for _you,_ but _her._ Grey Warden _or_ King, if I don’t stop this Blight and save my country, I have no place for my wife to sleep at night! _I won’t accept that!_ And _you’re_ over here _letting enemies_ in!”

“Your Majesty!” Alistair spun to see Pádraig and another Rainesfere night dragging in a single man. “We found him!”

“Where’s the other? There were two.” Alistair searched the face of the half-dressed Redcliffe guardsman.

“The others say he rode off by himself, everyone tells a different story, King Alistair, some say family, some say wife, some said merchant.”

“Why? Why did your man leave?” Alistair asked the scout. Ealdwine, the other Rainesfere knight, forced the scout’s face back towards Alistair. “Who do you report to?” Still no answer. Alistair drew his dagger and pushed the tip to the scout’s lips.“Talk, or I’ll start carving! The darkspawn will be here before sunrise, and they don’t give a damn whose side you’re on! They will kill you with the rest, only they won’t make sure you pass easy, they’ll cut you and leave you to bleed out while they do the same to all your friends! Or did someone tell you they were kind and merciful? _Why are you here and where did your man go?”_

It took Alistair pushing till the dagger met teeth for the scout to talk. “We were sent to watch for the Grey Wardens. The _traitors_ claiming to be Ferelden royalty.” teeth clanked against steel.

“Why bother lying then?” Teagan stepped up. “Why not kill us and leave?”

“Our men were outnumbered. As soon as we cut through the line, the Darkspawn poured in from the Wilds. We’ve been trying to hold them off. We planned to leave our men behind and secure the castle after the Arl left, but when we learned we couldn’t keep them back, plans changed. Whether we hold the castle or the darkspawn do, Eamon becomes displaced and loses his spot at the Landsmeet.”

“Where’s your man?” Alistair asked.

The scout laughed. “He was outside when you ran up. We both were. As soon as you said _Darkspawn_ he bolted. He’ll be in Denerim before you even cut through to Lothering.”

“That was a _minute_ ago,” Alistair said. Before he or Teagan could order patrol, Pádraig turned his head and yelled for two of his men catch the Redcliffe scout on the north road.

“Supposed you defeated the darkspawn, what did you plan for my castle?” Eamon asked.

“Teyrn Rendon takes it of course-” _Tess dropped her belt; Rendon Howe, the man who killed her family_  “-He’s the only man His Majesty trusts,” the scout said.

 _“I’m_ His Majesty!” Alistair corrected. _Maker, this whole thing was a mess_. They couldn’t keep prisoners because he’d just escape when the castle cleared, and he couldn’t risk the man recruiting Rainesfere. There would be so many blood stains on this carpet. Alistair stiffened his grip on the dagger and pulled his elbow back, but Tess caught his arm before he could strike.

“No, wait!” her eyes flew everywhere, never lingering long enough for Alistair to read her expression. “Are you expected to report? Directly to Loghain?” she asked the spy.

“We both are. He’ll send more men when I don’t return. He wants the job done, regardless.”  

Tess’ face screwed, and in a blink she pushed past Alistair and tackled the scout to the floor. The sound of bone cracking against stone didn’t seem to matter, the scout still struggled to shove her off. “Hold his arms and head!” she instructed. Pádraig and Ealdwine rushed to secure the arms below their weight, and Tess drew her diamond dagger. The man below her pleaded for his life, begged her not to cut him, he _needed his tongue!_ She couldn’t stop the head moving though.

_Shit, she was going to carve him. She was really going to do it._

It was better this way. Politically merciful; punished but given a second chance. Alistair stepped around Ealdwine and knelt opposite Tess. He gripped the scout’s head so hard it could not budge. Husband and wife locked eyes, and Tess searched him. For a moment she seemed to question herself, hesitating like she expected Alistair to question her. She did not expect Alistair to help instead.

Her face hardened to match knotted scars. Fingers tightened around the rose hilt and at an angle she _wedged,_ not stabbed, not cut. A scream ripped the air and rattled through stone. _Not the tongue._ Shocked at himself for finding interest, Alistair watched his wife carve an eyeball from the socket. The scout continued to shriek; Pádraig pulled a rag from his belt and muffled the noise. Eyelid pried open, bleeding strips of muscle released a gooey bulb with a wet, sucking pop; it flopped on the cheek and rolled. Fire Alistair had not seen since they met at Ostagar blazed in Tess now. She pulled the eyeball, _the head tried to follow,_ and sliced clean, then dropped it to the rug with a plop. A bleeding gray tail jerked behind like a suffocating fish.

Eamon made a noise of revolt before excusing himself.

“ _Ugh_.” Alistair hadn’t noticed Morrigan behind him. “ _Apply this._ Otherwise he’ll never live to boast how he survived the mighty Grey Wardens.” Alistair looked up to see the witch hand Tess a small bottle; Sandal’s Quick Heal potion, Alistair recognized it by sight now.

It was hard to say if Tess reveled in torture or if her scowl meant disgust, but she poured with a steady hand. Her eyes twitched as the screams broke through Pádraig’s handkerchief. She snatched the eye and her dagger and climbed off, refusing to meet anyone's gaze.

“Someone escort him to Denerim,” Tess ordered.

“Tesslyn?” Teagan prodded her as Pádraig and Ealdwine jerked the tremoring scout to his feet. Tess held up one finger, paced while her eyes darted, then disappeared toward the kitchens. Alistair had no answers when he locked gaze with Pádraig and Teagan.

Tesslyn returned with swift steps, stuffing the eye in what Alistair recognized _had been_ a spice jar from Eamon’s stocks. She wrapped a faded leather square around and tied it twice atop the lid, then shoved the scout’s own packaged eye in his arms. “You go straight to Loghain and you tell him _Her_ Majesty says _It’s been a long time._ ”

Alistair didn’t wait for Pádraig’s men to leave with the scout. He grabbed the rest of his armor and followed his wife outside. “Tess, wait.” He stopped Tess from hooking her bow upon her back and held her against him; knights and horses clanked and clopped as saddles filled with supplies and riders.

“I just want him gone!” she whispered, clinging to Alistair’s back as if she feared falling. “It’s not even the Blight he’s trying to stop, it’s _us._ I want him _done_ with, I want him out of my head!”

“He will be, I’ll make sure of it.” He kissed her forehead before unhooking her fingers from his armor. Alistair held her hands to his chest and pressed spirals. “I will finish him, but we have to clear the darkspawn first.” Watery green orbs stared up at him while he moved both thumbs to her right hand. Her pupils were wide, adrenaline infused, _hatred_ not fright; he recalled her saying sometimes she cried when she was angry. “We’ll go out there and pretend every hurlock has his face,” he told her, “and we’ll put Howe’s face to every genlock, and we’ll spend the rest of the night practicing for them at Denerim, all right?”

She nodded, closing her eyes for deep breaths, his thumbs looping each other to massage the back of her hand. “And the ogres can be Anora?” she asked.

Alistair laughed. “Definitely!”

The Darkspawn were not the threat the scout had claimed. Perhaps the Wardens and their party had memorized weaknesses, or the dozen knights and Redcliffe mabari pack _led by Po_ eased the fight, or Loghain’s troops were incompetent, but pushing opposition back was easier than any battle so far. They distinguished Darkspawn by crude armor in flashes between shadows. Morrigan and Wynne lit up the battlefield with spell after spell, filling in details and providing time to predict attacks. A random voice cried out during the battle: _It’s the bloody ghost of Maric!_ And upon Alistair’s growl, Zevran stepped up with relief: _Oh? Alistair and an Alistair look-a-like? What could be better than two fine asses at my eye level?_ Tess scolded the elf from somewhere across the tangle of bodies.

Triumphant cackles from not only the witch but a massive body; Branka was enjoying herself. Metal clanking, grunts and cries of momentum, crackling bolts and humming swirls - the party was a symphony, a result of striving to survive together. All that time spent in the Deep Roads and training at Teagan’s, they danced and wove in harmony around each other until the sky lightened and the sun peeked over the horizon. Remaining darkspawn retreated into the Wilds to escape a light Tess once described to a Tainted dwarf as _burning._

Still two days from Lothering on horseback, the Darkspawn were quelled from the west road for now. Alistair went around checking for struggling survivors, ending all he found with a chop to the neck. Armored bodies bearing battle-damaged insignias of the golden Mac Tir wyvern littered the ground with darkspawn filth.

“These bodies need to be burned,” Alistair said. “Not a pyre, I mean you need to get rid of the Taint. All of them.”

“Maker have mercy. It’s you, isn’t it? You’re Maric’s bastard. You even sound like him.”

Alistair turned to see remaining soldiers from Loghain’s teynir Gwaren sheathing their weapons and catching breath with eyes on him. “I am not my father. Keep that in mind.”

“I meant no offense, my lo- what-what do we call you?”

“Seems like you’ve already _given_ him a name.” Tess scorned as she stepped over bodies to seek the living as Alistair was.

Alistair watched the soldier study his wife with a curious glare. The man suddenly gasped and dropped in an awkward bow. “Your Ladyship! Forgive me, I did not recognize you.”

Tess rolled her eyes before grazing Alistair’s eyes.”It’s just a scar.” She paused and cocked her head at the body at her feet; Alistair looked down in time for her foot to flatten a neck. “Ironically, while you were up here dancing with my new kin, I was underground getting these lovely natural tattoos.” Her eyes moved to the soldier. “If you’re _nice_ enough, _Maric’s bastard_ might show you his. He’s got attractive ones on his thighs.”

“Please, forgive me, My Lady - the stories-”

“It’s _Your Majesty,_ actually,” Pádraig spoke up while starting a pile of bodies. He grabbed a pair of ankles and dragged; this one a Gwaren soldier. “Wife of the King, and all. Even without being Queen, she’s still married to the _heir_ which at the _very_ least makes Alistair _Prince._ So,” Pádraig looked around with a casual gesture, “it would still be _Your Highness_ , not _My Lady._ Better stick with _Your Majesty_ though. _”_

“But the Teyrn said -”

“ _Teyrn_ Loghain left you here to _die_.” Alistair cut the soldier off. “Just like he left Cailan and the Grey Wardens who could have prevented the Darkspawn from ever spilling out of the Wilds.” He pointed around to the dead Darkspawn. “Is it always like this? They swarm out at night?”

“Yes… _Your Majesty,”_ the soldier added under a stern silent cue from Pádraig; Alistair didn’t bother hiding a smile. “They took the road from Ostagar at first, but now they just pour out of the trees or-or... _pop up_ from the ground. I _know_ that sounds crazy-”

“We’ve seen crazier,” Alistair assured.

“You aren’t sodding kidding.” Oghren followed with a belch. “Isn’t that right, Nug Buns?” He reached up and slapped his hand against Branka’s stone rear, immediately shaking it with an obscene curse.

“Oghren, if you even think about touching my ass again, I’ll sharpen my rocks,” Branka threatened.

Alistair waited for the laughter of _his_ knights to die down before addressing the Gwaren soldiers again. “So, the Darkspawn?” he asked. He dragged a genlock by one leg and added it to Pádraig’s pile of bodies.

“They took the Brecilian months ago, I haven’t been home in ages, I have no idea how bad Gwaren is-”

“They came from Ostagar?” Alistair took no interest in anything of Loghain’s, and though he wanted to pity these soldiers they had followed Loghain on their own will.

“Yes. Your _Majesty._ ”

“Pádraig, the north road would take us twelve days, correct?” Alistair asked.

“If all goes well, yes, Your Majesty.” Pádraig met his gaze in silent contemplation. “Fourteen days, rather, since we’ll be starting from Redcliffe. Add two days for camp just to be safe.”

Alistair looked at Tess, at his party, at the growing pile of bodies. It was two days on horseback to Lothering from where they stood now, and from there two more days on horseback down to Ostagar. If they could clear the west road through Lothering and push the Darkspawn back to Ostagar during the day, Alistair’s _army_ could shave off over a week of travel on this route. Travel to clear Lothering and secure Ostagar would take roughly six days plus hours for battle, but it evened out with taking the north road. Instead of wasting time admiring the lake at casual trot, they could help turn the odds for the final fight in their favor by reducing Darkspawn numbers now.

Pádraig dropped in a playful bow. “Absolutely, Your Majesty. May I suggest we stock up in Redcliffe first though?”

“Have I mentioned it’s kind of creepy when you read my mind, Pád?” Alistair joked.

“I suppose _I knew you would say that_ is inappropriate right now then, eh?” Pádraig grinned.

Alistair laughed. He veered towards his wife. “Tess, what do you think of returning to Ostagar?”

“ _Why_ do you want to go back?” Tess searched Alistair as he approached with his waterskin ready for her.

“You wish to detour again?” Sten demanded.

“Either we waste two weeks on horseback taking the long road to Denerim, or we take a week now to push back the Darkspawn and relieve the land, and then ride a week to Denerim on the short road,” Alistair explained. “I know these roads, _I know my lands_ , and I know Ostagar well enough; I was there over two months. We can push them back and maybe even reach Denerim a day earlier than we expected.”

“Agreed then.” Sten gave a nod. “What are we waiting for?”

“Also agreed. I lost friends that day,” Wynne chimed in. “There are many deaths to repay.”

“What of the Wilds?” Morrigan asked. “We cannot hope to clear it _all_.”

“I have no intention of that. The Chasind can hold their own well enough, not to mention the residue from ancient magic still floating around the darkspawn couldn’t penetrate before. I’m sure your _mother’s_ magic-” _Morrigan’s neck clenched_ “-is leftover in some places,” Alistair theorized. “They avoid their own kind burning like a plague. We’ll push them back, get them out of Ostagar and burn the bodies. Then we’ll be free to ride straight to Denerim.”

“That will challenge the Teyrn’s claim-” the Gwaren soldier brave enough to speak to Alistair paused when all eyes shifted him “-as…as well,” he finished. He gave an awkward bow. “Look, we’ve been out here for _weeks_ and all we’ve done is lose men. You’re the first relief we’ve had in…” his eyes trailed off.

“Two months,” another Gwaren soldier spoke up.

“Maker, has it been that long?” the first blinked and shook his head. “Look, I don’t know if you’re really the king or not or if the rumors are true, but…” he took a deep breath. “I watched my little brother drown in his own blood two days ago…If you can rid the rest of those monsters, we’ll make sure they don’t take Lothering again. You have my word.”

Alistair met his wife’s curious green eyes before looking to the soldier again. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Stephen of Gwaren, my- _Your Majesty._ We’re all that’s left of Gwaren’s Southwest battalion. Nine-hundred lives wasted trying to contain Lothering.” Stephen of Gwaren paused again. “I would rather serve a king who gets results instead of waiting for the enemy to get bored.”

“Beg your pardon, but the King already _has_ a royal ass-kisser,” Pádraig called out with a smirk.

“Ah-ah-ah! I was here first! Get in line like the rest, both of you!” Zevran shooed both men.

Tess hid her face in Alistair’s shoulder with a low growl. “ _Husband_ , your _friends-_!” she grumbled. Alistair laughed into a forehead kiss; he never tired of Pádraig and Zevran’s banter, especially when it flustered Tess.

“So…are we going then?” Leliana asked.

“If not, my boots need a bath,” Zevran declared.

“So do mine. I’m not sure if I stepped in dog doo-” _Po gave a cheerful bark_ “-or darkspawn guts. _Yech!_ ” Leliana cringed as she peeked at her feet.

 _“Ostagar!”_ Morrigan reminded impatiently. “Are we going or not?”

Alistair found Tess’ eyes again. “Yes, I think we should. Return to Ostagar, then ride to Denerim.”  

  
  



	56. One Down, Two to Go.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair fights against his reputation as _Maric's son_ in front of Arl Eamon. Returning to Ostagar is supposed to be a tactical vacation; liberate Ferelden from Darkspawn instead of wasting a week on horseback. But finding Cailan's corpse hits Tess harder than expected, and Alistair has trouble adjusting when she mourns. Jealousy kicks in with a spark Alistair forgot he possessed before the Deep Roads tried to claim them. Alistair must reevaluate his return to Ostagar and let go of the past if he wants to control his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING*** Angst; jealousy, anger, anxiety. 
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Hereafter, by Jesper Kyd](https://youtu.be/UZk7r0EWguY)
> 
> NSFW imagery at end of chapter.

Alistair’s party arrived in Rainesfere hours after Teagan. Though on horseback, Alistair had trouble navigating through a mass of people camped around the town gates even with Pádraig straining his voice _MAKE WAY for the KING!_ Not ordinary citizens though - soldiers, _hundreds_ of them, most so busy preparing armor and weapons or training to notice the horses. Pádraig explained the soldiers were collected from around the Bannorn, an army to ride with Alistair to Denerim, and while many knights remained at their holds, there were more scheduled to arrive that day. _This is_ **_your_ ** _army, Your Majesty,_ Pádraig smiled.

The visit to Rainesfere was brief. Alistair summarized his plan: he and the knights already with him would spend the week clearing Ferelden from Lothering to Ostagar and contain the Darkspawn there, then everyone could ride the short route to Denerim without losing a day from the original plan. Eamon protested, but Teagan agreed without hesitation, brushing away his brother’s concerns as if irrelevant.

“It’s a bold plan that would gain Alistair more support from doubting houses than any campaign would produce. Immediately upon returning from the Deep Roads, Alistair retakes Lothering and Ostagar, liberating in days what Loghain swore to do over a year ago. _One man_ with only a handful of warriors, reclaiming the land with his own hands without waiting for the Landsmeet to twiddle their thumbs.” Teagan’s approval was strong.

“And what if Alistair dies? It’s foolish to rush into unknowns. Alistair, please reconsider this. Playing hero when you can’t see past the fog is a dangerous feat,” Eamon advised. Alistair wasn’t the only one who stiffened.

 _“Watch_ it, brother,” Teagan warned as he poured himself a drink.

“I’m not playing hero, Eamon.” Alistair shook his head. “Ferelden is my home, and what I returned to after the Deep Roads was not the freedom I expected after almost dying for my country - for _Thedas_. That battle was _hours_ away from your home, Eamon - _my_ home, I grew up there, did you forget? What good is taking the throne if I have no country left to protect? Alistair, king of _Denerim?_ Highever and Amaranthine become rest stops along the last safe Imperial trade route? There’s no need for a king if Redcliffe falls because there won’t be enough land left to govern. Ferelden is _my home_ and I intend to _keep_ it. I will not sit idly on the back of a horse when I can do something to help. I _can’t_ sit idle!”

“Alistair, I am not asking you to be idle, I am asking you to be safe. Two weeks is not long, and it took the Darkspawn all this time to hold Lothering. The land will remain unchanged if we play it safe,” Eamon said.

“Trotting on the back of a horse when the Darkspawn can be pushed back _is_ sitting idle. _I_ _won’t do it!_ They’ve come too close for comfort!” Alistair’s voice rose and chest puffed. _Too close to Tess,_ he wanted to add; _Protector_ drove his veins. “We’ve spent the last nine months of our lives _drenched_ in Darkspawn filth. I want my country _clean_ and _alive_ , I won’t tolerate them on my land!”

“The life of a king is worth more than land, Alistair. If you put yourself at risk, you put your country at risk too.” Eamon sighed. “Heavens, this is Maric all over again. _He_ abandoned duty to make himself feel important _as well._ ”

 _“I’m_ _not Maric!_ Stop comparing me to him!” Alistair’s voice strained in the effort of not yelling. It felt like Eamon insisted on proving him unstable; Alistair would _not_ indulge him. “People still gossip about Maric at the palace. I’m not leaving my country on its own instead of handing over maps! _I’m taking charge!_ I’m _trying_ to _change_ things! If I sit back and do nothing, my country falls! Then it won’t matter my father ever won back the land!”

“It is never that simple, Alistair. Really, Teagan, is this what you’ve been teaching the boy?” Eamon huffed.

“This isn’t politics, cousin,” Tess interjected. “This isn’t us against Orlais and political parties _possibly_ compromising our borders. This is _death_ ,” she stepped forward. “This is _women_ being dragged underground and turned into _monsters_ to create more Darkspawn! This is _men_ being dragged underground for _food_ for those broodmothers! We were _there_ , _we saw!”_

“Tesslyn, you-

 _“Your Majesty.”_ Alistair turned to see Pádraig make himself comfortable against the wall. He took a noisy bite from an apple and chewed from one cheek. “It’s _Your Majesty,_ Arl Eamon,” Pádraig reminded. This was still a strange experience for Alistair, people defending him - defending someone Alistair loved - without being ordered, all in the name of _friendship._ It felt different when Teagan did it, maybe because Teagan was _uncle_ , but still it swelled Alistair with pride. He was grateful others stood up for the woman he knew Tess to be.

Eamon sighed, exasperated. “Teagan, these preparations of yours are premature. This has gone to their heads and now the entire country is at risk again!”

 _“ENOUGH!”_ Teagan had never yelled in front of Alistair before, not like this; irritation in court was always mild. Eamon had insulted Teagan - the surest way to set Teagan aflame; Alistair remembered Tess attempting it when they met him at Redcliffe a year ago. “Brother, you will remember this is _my_ home, and in Rainesfere, _Alistair is King!_ His decisions are final! I have hardly needed to school him. Alistair is brilliant and sharp, and I trust him to do what is best for his country and himself. You will do wise to remember he is _already_ a good king. Had he not taken initiative, you might have perished with Redcliffe, or whenever Loghain’s spies saw fit to dispose of you.” Teagan took a deep breath and looked around.

“The _Anderfels_ horses, then?” Pádraig piped.

“Yes. Take them all.” Teagan silently counted on his fingers, his eyes darting in thought.

“Excellent! Because that’s what I told them to pack.” Pádraig met Alistair’s gaze with a smirk so merry Alistair couldn’t help but smile back.

“And your knights could use a reform, brother,” Eamon remarked.

“What for?” Pádraig asked. “Because I assume my King and Queen need the best on their Grey Warden endeavors? Or is it because I remind nobles how to address Her Majesty?”  

“There is nothing wrong with my knights, Eamon.” Teagan downed a shot of brandy with a hiss and a wince. “Take a squad with you, Pádraig, and when you’ve rounded your men, you should resume sleep. You also, Alistair and Tesslyn. Your mages have access to my stores, have them concoct that sleeping potion you spoke of. The servants will pack up while you sleep. You’ll need the rest. You can ride out when you wake.”

As simple as that. Another bath, another romantic hour before Alistair and Tess soon lost a week of privacy, then potions took them into deep sleep. They awoke, ate, dressed and rode out of Rainesfere before noon. It was relief Alistair needed; Eamon would have to be pushed from sight if Alistair was to rule sanely.

A small army rode out from Rainesfere like a storm cloud. The Anderfels horses rushed them to Lothering, two days compared to the five marching would have taken. While the land bathed in autumn’s chill, travel and camp were packed so tight even the furthest from fires roasted. Two rows of tents, horses in rear, compact for safety as well as for warmth.

Tess and Alistair froze at the tent Pádraig directed them to. The only tent fully erect and at least three times the size of the tents Alistair normally shared with Tess. Husband and wife stalled for different reasons.

“Pádraig,” Alistair called out. He stopped his friend from striding by. “Pád, wait. Why is it so _huge?”_ he gestured to the size of the tent.

“Eh? Huge?” Pádraig cocked his head with a puzzled frown. “ _I_ think it’s _small_ , rather. Which I apologize for, but I don’t want it _too_ obvious you’re the most important people here.” He met Alistair’s confused glare. “Standard regulations. The King always has the largest tent.”

“Yes, but the _pillows_ , Pádraig?” this was Tess’ concern. Alistair peeked in to see the ground tarp littered with throw pillows and folded quilts. Tess turned to Pádraig with a single raised brow. “With _all_ these tents around?” she stated in doubt. Pádraig grinned and backed away in a deep bow, excusing himself with _Your Majesties_.

Alistair stepped inside; for once in his own tent he did not need to duck. “What about _with all these tents around?”_ It hit him just then. His eyes flew to Tess. “These pillows are for…?”

“Yes.” she nodded, following him in. “The pillows are for comfort.” She closed the tent behind her. “Your friend is demanding we have sex. While everyone is here, _right here_ , trying to sleep... When he knows how loud we are.”

A grin burst from Alistair. The idea was embarrassing and utterly thrilling. “I guess we’ll have to be quiet then, won’t we?” As hesitant as Tess appeared, grinding her foot to the floor and fingers fumbling, daring green orbs made their way to his. A hard smirk lit up her face while she tied the tent flaps without looking. Hopefully the hustle and bustle of the other tents setting up would muffle their voices.

When the last tent was set and the commotion settled, the small regiment ate as one. Alistair, Sten and Zevran educated the knights on the various Darkspawn and how to defeat monstrosities Rainesfere men had never seen. Wynne offered advice but she sounded like a history lesson and seemed to forget the soldiers weren’t mages, Shale’s solution was _Squish them all,_ and Branka scoffed _Bah! Toss a smoke bomb and let them kill each other._ Tess was the only other with advice the soldiers heeded: _Duck,_ she said when someone asked how to defeat Shrieks when you can’t outrun them, _Duck, lest you are stabbed by two at once and lucky enough to survive to warn others;_ Alistair reached for her hand, and Pádraig bowed before his Queen. After food and lessons, Shale and Branka kept watch away from the tents, pacing in the darkness to watch for signs of darkspawn scouts. Pádraig’s knights - _Alistair’s_ knights, Pádraig reminded him - took watch around the perimeter of tents in pairs on each end. They took no chances.

Alistair did not recognize Lothering. Morrigan couldn’t even recognize the charred remains of the town she visited every few months for years prior to meeting Alistair and Tess. The soldiers they’d saved days ago camped on the bridge, the only part of the town not drowning in black filth that burned Alistair and Tess from the inside and set Po off in a constant growl. None of the reports prepared them for just how bad, and perhaps it was such a shock because they _knew_ it had been green once, unlike the Deep Roads which were Tainted upon arrival. From its state now, the only proof life had ever existed here was from memory. Only the river remained because its source was elsewhere, though that meant downstream held more death. Leliana in particular was moved, kneeling in prayer long after dark at the end of the bridge while the party took camp with the soldiers already stationed. And more than she was suspicious of the honesty of Loghain’s soldiers and their new dedication to Alistair, Tess sympathized for Leliana. Tess was once welcomed in Lothering as well, resting in the Chantry without question as one of the locals. Though it was under pretense, it had still been her home for a time. Alistair watched his wife leave his side to kneel beside the praying bard. When Tess moved a hand to clasp Leliana’s, Alistair’s thoughts flew to Cailan: they were headed to a place Tess last saw the man she almost wed. Alistair knew more lamenting lay in wait; the kind of mourning specific to _Tess._

The darkspawn were clever on the surface, more than anyone gave them credit for underground; the closer to Ostagar, the more crafty. Those on open land had learned to adjust to cloud cover, daytime numbers always higher during overcast. They were well hidden, or hid leg traps in places lookout guards were expected. The rogues and hounds of Alistair's party spied the traps, but the idea of more ambushes made Morrigan uneasy. She insisted they go around Ostagar and enter from the rear, claiming though they’d lose a day they would also take the Darkspawn by surprise _since they clearly expected company from the road,_ the witch added.

Tess decided the route. She had never been as deep into the Wilds as Morrigan suggested nor entered Ostagar from that end; where Cailan’s soldiers and the other Grey Wardens had camped before the battle. Tess could not navigate where she had not tread, another effect from her last relapse. But she could retrace every step she’d made when she arrived with Duncan. Determined and busy with her memory, Tess led their party and the soldiers on foot. While Alistair walked with her, Pádraig dismounted his own horse in respect and Sten his to ready for battle, with Leliana and Zevran aiding Tess in disarming traps.

The road into Ostagar curved through the orchard Alistair and Tess once hunted in, turning into a bridge past long-dead apple trees dotting the mountain slopes towards the gates. Traps did not exist there as if the Darkspawn feared heights and avoided the bridge. The Anderfels horses were so large only two fit at a time, where regular horses fit by threes. The rogues and mabari lead; Shale and Branka separated the party from soldiers. Confident they would not be taken off guard, Alistair looked around, peered over the edge as far as he dared, and this time, anger overpowered his fear of heights.

 _Dead, all of it._ A few living trees scattered down the mountain sides, extending out to the far side of the marsh, but everything in the marsh was smothered with Darkspawn filth. Trees were bare blackened stakes reaching toward the sky. Once green and clear and flowing with life, now even the water tried to peel away from the scorched pool edges. But as Alistair opened his mouth to complain of the corruption, the hand in his slipped away. He turned to find Tess hesitate; her eyes darted below her, mouth moving but no sound, feet frozen in place.

“Tess?”

She met his eyes with a frown of affliction. _“Find Alistair.”_

“What?” Alistair searched his wife, trying to hide a spill of panic she might be slipping away again.

 _“Find Alistair,_ he told me. _Duncan_ told me. _He will help you with what you need,”_ Tess held Alistair’s gaze. “Right here. He told me at _this spot._ I remember, I was counting the patterns as I walked over them. I was trying to flush Cailan’s visit from my head. _It was right here.”_ Her brows pinched deeper. “He brought me here to find _you_.”

Alistair held his hand out. Eyes locked, she laid her right hand on his. He understood why the memory was so important to her. Duncan could not have known the significance of his first task to Tess, but Alistair’s life without Tess from that day forward was inconceivable. Looping his thumb on the back of her hand, the goal here now was no longer liberate his country by chance while curing a week of boredom. Alistair’s new purpose for returning to Ostagar was to purify the memory of the most important day of his life; of _their_ life together.

 _“Vashedan!_ I see them! How do you not sense them anymore?” the Qunari took off running off with his greatsword ready to the side.

“Their filth is kind of everywhere, Sten! Even their _shit_ is Tainted!” Alistair ran after Sten with the soldiers able to press pass the horses. “It all buzzes the same!”

“That must really be awkward, no?” Zevran sprinted past Alistair. “Can you imagine if they ate spicy Antivan food? Like hot coals in the ass! Do not ask how I know this!” he yelled, jumping into an attack.

“Flaming ball sack!” Oghren cried out before headbutting a hurlock. “That happens in Orzammar too! It’s like a deepstalker spit venom in your ass and dug around with its claws!” He gave a wide swing and stuck his axe behind a knee, then whirled down on a foot. “And keeps digging till it finds your balls and pulls ‘em out the bleeding hole! Never order the House Special!” Bolts of ice and a fist of stone flew over the dwarf's head from beyond Alistair’s sight.

“Oghren, you're an idiot. How many times have I told you not to eat at the tavern?” Branka thundered to a group of Darkspawn archers.

Sten jerked his weapon from a felled genlock. “I remember that night. I do not wish to repeat it!” he exclaimed before turning to another genlock.

“That’s enough! Really! Thank you!” A shower of sparkles against his opponents told Alistair Tess was behind him.

“I feel like I missed the best parts of that city!” Pádraig piped up. Alistair almost lost his footing when laughter shook him.  

Tess made a noise similar to Morrigan’s auditory disgust. Alistair turned to see her dive over the ledge and plow into a hurlock, a flash of gold reflecting the sun as it tumbled under her force. He yelled for his wife but she did not answer. Arrows and ice flew above while Alistair fought to reach her sounds of overwhelm; friendly fire stopping enemies of their Taint from harming Tess. Ballistas run by genlocks, that by a miracle missed husband and wife by a foot no matter which way turned, were targets for Shale’s hurled rocks; Branka joined with massive fists after smashing an archer's lookout. Genlock rogues materialized from thin air, so many at once they might as well be Shrieks, but this time Branka, the dogs, and the Anderfels steeds aided where people could not. Rapid attacks kept Darkspawn on their mangled toes. By the time the second half of the soldiers pushed through horses to join in, the fight was finished.

Alistair slid down the broken bank to Tess. She shook him off each time he tried to pull her up. Only after the third time her arm slipped through his grip did Alistair stop himself. “Tess, what are you doing?” He watched her dig at the dead hurlock’s forearms, desperate for something Alistair could not see.

A soiled hand smeared black blood across her face. “They have to come off! _They can’t wear these!_ These are _his!”_ She said with a tight jaw. Alistair paused, catching his breath while he studied her.

“Whose? What are his? Who’s _him?”_ Alistair asked.

 _“Cailan!_ They’re bloody wearing his armor, Alistair! _Look_ at it!”

Alistair knelt beside his wife and tipped his head. Beneath all the smudge and dirt, it took him longer than expected to recognize the lines on the gauntlets below. Blotches of clean gold induced flashes of a better Ostagar and the one man Alistair still didn’t know if he pitied or envied for being King.

 _Cailan indeed_. And Alistair did _not_ like the effect his brother had on _his_ wife. _Almost obsessed_ , Tess wedged a dull darkspawn dagger in between a gauntlet and its arm until she wedged it loose. Determined and unable to distract as she grunted and dug. She gave a triumphant gasp as she yanked it free.

Alistair took the arm guard from her. The darkspawn had welded it closed around the hurlock’s arm; Alistair’s gut flipped now. He was not convinced he was insulted for the same reason as Tess, but he felt disrespected all the same. Cailan may not have been his favorite person growing up; Alistair still remembered the first day officially meeting Cailan at Redcliffe, how Cailan ran off toward the armory without a second glance to his little brother; and Cailan’s personal morals ran looser than Alistair felt were honorable. But Cailan had otherwise been a good man. _A good king_ , good to his country, doing his best to make amends with Orlais to help Ferelden flourish despite the past. No man deserved to have his killers wear his armor like a prize, especially one who died fighting so Alistair and Tess shouldn’t have to.

Alistair shuffled around his wife and stopped her. He put the freed gauntlet in her hands, and only when he forced her to stop struggling did she meet his eyes. Emeralds on the brink of tears.

 _Feelings too fond for another man. Feelings concealed from her husband for how long?_ Alistair did not like this at all.

 _I’ll get this,_ he wanted to say, _I’ll find this man and end him for good. There will be nothing left for you to look back on. Nothing left of him to make you cry anymore. Nothing left for me to fight through. I shouldn’t have to win back my wife from a dead man._

Instead, he told her, “I have this.” He wiped the smear off her face with his palm, and then pulled back. His fingers trailed down her arm until he found her hand. He squeezed; she froze, looked down, then met his eyes. Alistair had her _left_ hand, her _giving_ hand. The hand he used to lead her by. He hadn’t meant to grab _that_ hand; a reflex out of jealousy perhaps. But the effect was instant, _potent_. Tess’ full attention was back on Alistair with hope not present a moment ago. “I’ll get this one,” he told her. “Take a drink, rest up. We’ll get these off him.” Tess nodded and pushed off, and Alistair set himself to work.

This was not to redeem Cailan though, not to liberate what once belonged to a good king. This was Alistair making good on his word in exchange for his wife’s unending focus. Bad enough he had to contend with the Archdemon, Alistair wanted the influence of other men out of her mind, and if removing armor from Darkspawn corpses was the key to Tess letting Cailan go, this is what Alistair would do.

The Tower of Ishal stood before them now. Their backs to the hurlock who’d confiscated Cailan’s gauntlets, Alistair joined Tess in staring up at the ancient tower. They’d almost died in there just over a year ago. Unlike that fateful night, the top of the tower was now crumbled and open to the elements. _Flemeth._ Morrigan had said the old woman became a large bird to pluck them from the tower.

“Mother told me twas once impressive,” Morrigan spoke from out of sight. “It must have been so in the heat of battle on that stormy night.” Alistair couldn’t tell if she was criticizing or trying to sympathize.

Alistair remembered the mage who’d fought with them, wondered if _his_ end had been swift, anyhow. He wondered if the hounds made it to safety. If the darkspawn had overtaken everything outside, the inside must also be defiled now. Part of him wanted to check the tower just in case, clear out the monsters from a home darkspawn did not deserve. The other part of him yearned to let rest in peace the memory of leaving an old lonely life behind to begin anew with the woman he loved.

Tess beside him sheathed her daggers with a frown. “No.” She shook her head and repeated her mutterings until her bow was tight in her hand. “No. Don’t need it.” She crossed in front of Alistair and headed down the path towards the bridge. It wasn’t until Alistair noticed her grip; so tight her knuckles were white; that he remembered she’d lost the bow _she’d_ made in the tower top during the battle.

 _Don’t need it,_ with a death grip on the bow _Alistair_ made for her.

Alistair swelled inside. Tess denied herself a chance to reclaim some of her past - _for Alistair._ She had treasured her old bow beyond words, a tool she’d relied on for years - but now she treasured her husband’s gift more. _Tess dismissed part of her past for him_ , without Alistair even asking her to. He hoped it led to her letting Cailan go.

The small victory was smothered too soon. The bridge was now home to Cailan’s corpse. Stripped of clothes and armor and nailed to planks by spears, upright like a scarecrow. He must have been Tainted upon or after death, because he had not rotted, no pecking holes from desperate creatures, no maggots. Cailan had withered. Once hosting a clear, creamy complexion, now the shriveled king was sun-damaged, his skin like leather left out too long, blotches of tan and brown, some places so dark it appeared Cailan’s body received frostbite under the winter sun. Blonde hair now looked out of place over the darkened corpse. If Alistair had not seen his own wilted reflection in Orzammar he would not have recognized the man hoisted before him.

“I assume this man was important, yes?” Zevran asked.

“I think it’s King Cailan,” Pádraig answered.

“Ugh. Yes. They just left him here,” Alistair said, trying to sound repulsed by the body of his relative.

“Magic is at work here. He should be nothing more than bones now,” Sten observed.

“Or the Taint. Maggots don’t like it.” Tess sniffled. _“Damn him!”_ she whispered. Alistair stiffened at the sorrow in her voice; _the memory of this man must perish._ “I never wanted this! I never wanted him _dead!_ I just wanted him out of the way! I wanted him to leave me alone.” She accepted a handkerchief from Pádraig and wiped her eyes. Alistair hated this feeling. There was nothing he could do for his wife. Seeing Cailan alive might remedy her sadness, but then Cailan would be another powerful obstacle again. Plain and simple he wanted this man out of the picture, no more interfering with Alistair’s relationship; out of Alistair's life in life _and_ death.

“He was your brother, Alistair? Blood-kin?” Zevran verified.

“We never acted like it,” Alistair tried to hide the bitterness settling on his tongue. “He never acknowledged me as his brother until hours before the battle.”

“He deserves a pyre, Your Majesty,” Pádraig suggested. “He was royalty and a good man.”

Tess nodded. “Yes.” She wiped her eyes. _“Please_ , Alis- _husband?_ He did not deserve what they’ve done to him.” It seemed Tess didn’t expect Cailan’s death to hit her so hard; it was always easier hearing about death than seeing it, though.

 _Burn my dead brother?_ “Of course. We’ll send him off with a blessing this time.” _Leave nothing left to occupy her thoughts._

“‘Twill have to wait!” Morrigan cried out, sending a crackle of lightning towards the other end of the bridge.

 _An odd feeling to be more annoyed by the presence of a dead man than unable to sense enemies._ Alistair readied his arms and aimed to intercept a genlock reanimating skeletons. Blight magic was worse than blood magic in Alistair’s opinion.

“Anyone else find it odd genlocks use magic when dwarves can’t?” Branka wondered as the genlock mage disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

 _“Find it odd_ , or _feel jealous?”_ Zevran teased over the sound of clanking metal.

“That’s what you get for livin’ in the Deep Roads two sodding years!” Oghren called.

“I agree with both conjectures!” Shale hollered, hurling a chunk of broken bridge toward hurlocks joining the fight.

Branka’s heavy foot flattened a skeletal mage; easy, it seemed, for a giant of metal and stone, though the others struggled against the strength of Blight magic. “Shut up, all of you!”

The genlock mage reappeared in another cloud of smoke behind the party and ran. “Stop it!” Alistair yelled to Shale as the genlock grinned and veered towards the tower courtyard. Alistair hadn’t seen half the bones it summoned; he didn’t want it to pull something worse from the Fade. But none could follow, the genlock mage vanished once more in a black cloud before anyone could reach the end of the bridge.

“Was it like this during the battle?” Pádraig huffed when the last pawns fell.

“You mean were there undead as strong as hurlocks and hurlocks as strong as Qunari? No.” Alistair shook his head. “But I think Branka makes a fine point.” _Branka scoffed._ “Oghren, why can’t _you_ do magic?” Alistair asked, catching his breath against an intact part of the parapets.

“Oh- _ho!”_ Oghren laughed with a flask to his mouth. “But I _can_. Just ask _Branka_.”

Branka growled like grinding rocks as other chuckled between sips of water. _“_ Why don't you all kill each other!” The massive golem muttered about checking on the rest of the horses while she stomped away.

Humor waned fast for Alistair as he caught sight of Tess moving aside for Branka. His wife stood in front of the withered body again, even from such distance Alistair saw her brows turned up and bottom lip protrude. The battle or jokes had not distracted Tess from _that other man._ Alive, Cailan posed a real threat - a threat to steal the first sense of _wholeness_ Alistair had ever felt. Cailan dead seemed no different; the fact Cailan couldn’t demand Tess marry him instead meant nothing.

Alistair understood she needed to mourn; _he_ might have needed to as well if Tess’ reaction wasn’t so strong. But this was an insult worse than darkspawn wearing the armor of a good man. This was like Cailan luring Alistair away to help the mages with _heavy lifting_ just to sneak Tess into his tent; this was Alistair sweet-talking the elder female Grey Warden cook because Tess had specifically asked for cheese, only to watch her exit the privacy of another man's tent. This was Alistair waiting _again_ with the dog of the woman who made him feel _needed_ while she focused her attention on a man she’d sworn she hated. Any brotherly relationship Alistair felt compelled to mourn was crushed by the uncanny reenactment of Alistair’s last day here.

Alistair was grateful Wynne suggested clearing Ostagar before starting funeral rites. Practicality was his new excuse for wanting to hurry and burn his brother, and it gave Alistair something to hit. A new piece of Cailan’s armor was found on different hurlocks, and with each secured, resentment grew stronger inside Alistair. Tess was driven to fits of rage when saw the golden armor sullied by monstrosities.

 _Had she done this for Alistair? Had she been driven to rage to protect him?_ Right now, Alistair could not remember.

By the time they cleared Ostagar to the rear entrance, Alistair was angrier than he’d felt in a long time. His shield was caked in frothing dark blood and ghoul flesh, mangled brains and bone marrow. Po and Oghren snarled in irritation because Alistair had stolen so many of their kills. Wynne did not scold his aggression for once; her fellow mages - _family_ \- had died by darkspawn, and she was more than happy to avenge them. The others assumed Alistair was infuriated because the darkspawn gathered at this monumental place like flies on shit. Alistair let them keep their thoughts; he could show his ire without sounding jealous of the dead man on the bridge. 

Tess was the only one who did not notice his rage, and this dug a deeper hole. She was so intent on honoring Cailan’s death when she hadn’t in life that Alistair was pushed out of mind; he _felt_ it, as if she consciously did so to keep Cailan her focus. The thought of Tess caring for other men unnerved Alistair. _Frightened_ him, if he was honest with himself. So much time had gone by with _just the two of them_ , every fight to keep her safe so he could sleep next to her at night, Alistair had no clue what he’d do if her past feelings made her question how she felt about him _._ He could not risk losing her, nor risk a seed of doubt planting in her heart.

Yet he feared it had already. _His wife - HIS! - summoning reserved strength and speed he last saw when she took lyrium, all for another man - a dead man who couldn’t care about her devotion anymore._ Alistair tried imaging each hurlock he cut Cailan’s armor from was Cailan himself, though it did not wean the spite. _Maker, he hadn’t felt like this since they met Zevran and Shale._ There was no way he’d tell Tess he only fought for Cailan’s armor to scorch her past, but he wasn’t sure how long he could hide the truth behind his aggression. _No one should affect his wife this much - this part of her was HIS. He_ had given her _all_ of himself, and no other had the right to take his only peace away from him, especially a dead man. Alistair refused to bury this thought. _Couldn’t_ bury it.

While the battles were small and short, they were many, and when it seemed they’d rid Ostagar of surface darkspawn, Cailan’s armor was scrubbed clean with potions they had no use for. Trying to open the chest where Cailan’s tent once stood sent them all over looking for a stray key when everyone able to pick locks failed. There was no pause, no more time to recuperate. Alistair needed to hold Tess’ hand, the hand used to give herself to him, he needed _his wife_ to acknowledge to _his_ needs, _his_ feelings about all this. He needed her to show him he was still more important than another man she refused to marry years ago.  

Finding the _key_ to opening Cailan’s chest didn’t provide a break either. When she nicked her finger, Tess remembered Cailan told her where to find the _key_ when he’d taken her into his tent. Alistair would have been better off not hearing her say those words; it _anchored_ his jealousy over the already-festering enmity.

“You! You’re the key!” Tess tried to drag him over, but even without having bulked up he was too large for her.

“What?” Alistair moved his feet anyway.

“You’re the key! It’s a blood magic lock! He said it had been Maric’s, and then his, and now it’s yours!” she babbled as she hurried him along.

“My father dabbled in blood magic?” Alistair couldn’t imagine Maric - a _king_ \- allowing such a thing; not that Alistair knew the man well enough to say he wouldn’t.

Branka scoffed. “Must be a family interest.” Alistair glared at his massive golem but could not argue; Branka’s presence disputed Alistair’s concerns of his father approving blood magic.

“It’s a lock-”

“It’s far different from creating golems, I assure you,” Wynne took over for Tess, “and I might add it’s quite simple. A few drops of blood to tune the spell to certain blood. Like any other barrier, only it can be taken down without magic if your blood matches the blood that powered it.”

“Yes, what she said,” Tess rushed.

“What if it’s empty?” Alistair asked his wife.

“Then we’ll take it with us anyway. It would prove you’re Maric’s heir regardless, and if not for that then just to keep it; no one else can open it.” She searched his eyes.

“Did he say what was in it?”

Green darted so fast Alistair was amazed she didn’t fall over dizzy. “Documents!” Her eyes landed on his. She braced his chest to lean in and speak. “I think. He said for you to open it, and to get word to Celene.” Ashy brows smeared with darkspawn blood dropped into a frown. _“Shit,_ that means I’ll have to face her again.”

“I thought you liked Celene?” Alistair studied her.

“I left without permission to leave. Sort of. I asked to visit my parents with the promise of return, but I never went back. It’s… _was, hopefully_ , a bad habit. But _please_ , just open the chest. If there’s a possibility we can still send for aid for the final fight…” her voiced trailed off and her hands slipped from his chest before he could grab them. “Alistair, I can’t do it. I _need_ you to _survive_ that with me,” she whispered.

Alistair sighed. He had no idea how to sneak the entire Orlesian army over the Frostbacks, but Tess’ fear mirrored his. And the fact she still worried about losing him helped - encouraged him enough to do as she wished. So much fuss over Cailan today; it was good to hear she remembered she needed _Alistair._

A slice to his fingertip, that’s all it took. As soon as Alistair smeared his blood at the seam, the chest shimmered and sparked, then the reflective coating evaporated to reveal dull steel. As the last shimmer disappeared, the lock clicked open. Alistair raised the lid to find loose scrolls and a single sword inside; not as impressive as he expected with Tess' urgency.

 _“Oooh!_ That is a sexy sword!” Zevran perked up when Alistair pulled it out. “May I have it?”

Alistair glanced at his friend, then admired the sword. Bone lined with runes that still held power. The runes gave the impression the sword itself glowed. Alistair gave a practice swing away from others; sharp and oiled enough to glisten in sunlight and lighter than Alistair expected from a bone weapon. “This is awfully long, Zev, longer than your daggers.”

“We can measure our swords in private, Alistair, not the battlefield-” as usual, the elf’s sexual joke brought laughter.

“Privacy can be just as much of a battlefield, if y’know what I mean,” Oghren smirked.

“If I jump off the bridge, will I deactivate?” Branka asked.

“This is a valid inquiry. I shall test it with you,” Shale offered.

“And I!” Morrigan agreed with the golems.

“Not a chance, all of you.” Alistair ran his finger along the runes, trying to ignore the frown on Tess’ face as she read a scroll. _Back to caring too much about Cailan. What good did it do to worry about a dead man?_ Alistair was tempted to slice his finger and exaggerate the pain to gain her attention again.

“Come now, Alistair, I would look _magnificent_ with it, yes?” Zevran had not been eager for a weapon before.

“Oh, why not? If you can wield it, sure, I guess,” his voice dripped with discontent. His wife so invested in everything of Cailan's made Alistair sour, bitterness lingering on his tongue.

“Alistair, _no!”_ Tess stopped him from handing over the sword.

“What?” he asked his wife. _This bothered her?_ Alistair’s mind ticked. _She paid attention to him_ **_now?_ ** _Because he tried to get rid of something of Cailan's? Fuck._ But if this is what turned her focus back to Alistair, he could keep this up. “Why not? I only have one sheath, Tess.”

“That’s _Maric’s_ sword! You can’t just _give it away!”_ as if Alistair was out if his mind for considering it.

He shrugged. “But I’m not going to use it and Zev wants to, so why not?”

“Yes, why not?” Zevran echoed.

“Because it’s _his_ \- it’s your _father’s,_ Alistair,” Tess stated like it was an obvious answer. “It’s a sign of _lineage_ , of _entitlement_. Maric wielded it, Cailan wielded it -”

Alistair scoffed. “He certainly didn’t wield it the night he died. He even polished it.” No way would Alistair wield a sword just because his father and especially his brother had. Tess urging Alistair to follow in Maric’s footsteps also reminded him of Eamon criticizing the similarities. He made sure she saw his pout before frowning at the sword. “And I’m _not Maric_ , I’m not striving to be like him.” He did not want _her_ comparing him to his father and brother, but Tess looked guilty for the first time since ignoring him for dead Cailan’s armor.

“I didn’t-” Tess sighed. “I _didn’t mean it_ like that.” She paused. “Cailan knew he would die, remember? He probably wanted to keep it safe for _you_. He _did_ tell me to have you open this.” She tapped the chest with her boot. “The point is, no one else in Ferelden has wielded this sword except the last two kings. It’s a family heirloom, and if _you_ carry it to the Landsmeet there will be little to claim against you. Where else would the heir get this sword?”

“Ah-” Pádraig spoke up, “Your Majesty, I have to agree with the Queen. It would make a statement at the Landsmeet, to say the least. You look enough like Maric, wielding his sword may actually spook some of the nobles.”

 _Dammit._ Alistair had a feeling Tess would retract her attention as soon as he agreed. He thought for a moment, then sighed. “All right, _that_ I may use it for, but for now, honestly what’s the harm in letting Zev play with it?” Alistair held Maric’s sword out to the elf once more. “Here, Zev.”

“Playtime! Awesome!” But before Zevran could touch it, Sten snatched it away.

“Let me see this.” Sten turned the sword over, weighed it in his hand, balanced it on two fingers. “This is dragonbone,” the Qunari said, “lightweight for such a large creature; this allows for flight. Yet stronger than steel.” He held it again the light. “And embedded with dwarven runes. Interesting. I could not trust a man who leaves such a weapon behind.”

“Don’t worry, Sten, I never trusted my brother.” Alistair shook his head.

Zevran made a noise in his cheeks. “Hand it over, Sten, the new King says it is _my_ turn first.”

“You would let another wield a weapon intended for you? I find this disrespectful.”

 _Wonderful, more reminders how Alistair wasn’t measuring up to Cailan._ “Gossip around the castle was Maric and Cailan had a _thing_ for elves, so _really_ , what’s the difference? _I_ just happen to offer a sword that can’t accidentally produce _babies_.”

Zevran shrugged. “You never know, Alistair. That Taint of yours does strange things, no?”

“Oghren, _please_ tell me you have alcohol left?” Tess grumbled while her eyes skidded across the scroll.

Oghren belched. “Runnin’ low, sorry.”

Tess muttered before thrusting the scroll at Alistair. “You should read this.”

“No.” Alistair shook his head and tossed the unrolled scroll back into the open trunk. “Let’s just get this over with. I want to leave this place.” He felt Tess’ eyes on him as he stepped away.

Ostagar was too much. Alistair couldn’t handle it. He tried to take his anger out on the Darkspawn when what he really wanted was for Tess to assure him Cailan meant nothing to her. Killing Darkspawn didn’t help at all, and they only found a few pieces of Cailan’s royal armor. Tess wouldn’t want to leave until they scoured the place, but how long would that take? He didn’t want to sleep here, the memory of Tess following Cailan out of his tent originated here. _Here_ is where his wife forgot she’d married _him_ instead of Cailan unless Alistair manipulated an argument, and as far as he knew, he was out of Darkspawn to smash in place of his brother.

_What is wrong with me?_

The last time he let anger carry him away, life fell apart in a blink. He didn’t want Honnleath to repeat itself. Alistair didn’t want to sleep in separate tents again, he didn’t want her relapsing again. _Who gets jealous over a dead man?_

_The boy who never had a thing to his name till he fell in love; till he gave away his heart._

Alistair widened his steps to distance himself from the source of his anxiety, but the most familiar Taint fell in line with him. “Where are you going?” Tess clutched his hand. Fear of him leaving her wasn’t strong enough to stifle envy right now.

“Nowhere. Just for a walk. I need to think.” Alistair forced himself not to look at her. _How could he tell her it hurt? He wanted his brother out of her mind, but he didn’t want her resenting him for not letting her say goodbye. He didn’t want his wife deciding he held her back._

“Alistair.”

He dared to meet her eyes, knowing she would make him feel guilty for feeling like he did. It worked, as always. She looked like she didn’t know what she’d done; she couldn’t know, he was too much of a coward to tell her. “I just need to walk right now. I need to _think_ , Tess. _Alone.”_

She retracted before him, frowning; she _knew_ it was her fault. He wished he could tell her it wasn’t what she thought.

Her hand slipped out of his before he could squeeze it. Alistair watched her step backward before he looked away. “I’ll be back. Just give me a while.”

His feet took him around Duncan’s old bonfire; the Darkspawn had barricaded the ash pit like a taboo monument. Alistair hadn’t thought about Duncan in ages, but as he glanced behind him, he pictured Duncan standing there with the bonfire aglow as he was that last night. _Tess fussed so much over Cailan today - did she even care Alistair couldn’t say goodbye to Duncan?_

 _Maker,_ but Duncan’s words out in the Wilds...something about _Don’t try to make babies_ and _I hope marriage isn’t on your mind already._ Alistair had broken both of those promises to Duncan within months. And for what? A woman who couldn’t give him children? A woman who begged him to order her around like a servant because she _couldn’t think new thoughts?_ A woman who’d secretly held in a lifetime of love for a man she told Alistair she hated? That’s what it look like to Alistair, _a lifetime of love she had lied about._ Would Duncan be disappointed in him right now?

He sighed as he looked around. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. Duncan was gone, Ostagar was gone. The old king was gone and Alistair was about to take his place. Repeating _dead king_ did not ease his mind. Maybe it was Ostagar itself? Alistair remembered walking down this path with Tess a handful of times, past the hounds, past the smith; he’d been jealous of that man as well, running his hands over Tess to _measure_ her. _Jealousy was ruining him._ What did he do last time he was this upset?

 _Alistair took charge._ That’s what he’d done. He’d exploded and took control of the party and _he_ gave the orders.

That’s what Tess wanted him to do again. Take charge.

Alistair paused his feet. _This was where they’d met._ He looked around as he walked up the stone ramp. Behind him Taint and scum ruined the aesthetics, but before him remained one of the least defiled places in Ostagar. Maybe the Darkspawn sensed a Joining took place here? No sign of the silver chalice, but the podium still stood. The pillars that separated this stage from the overlook behind had been knocked out, and the blood stain from the recruit Duncan stabbed remained, otherwise nothing had changed. What were those recruits names? Right, Ser Jory and Daveth; Alistair scoffed, remembering he’d wished to exchange Tess for someone else.

_Trade Tess for someone else._

“Oh, but you’ve already done that, haven’t you, Alistair?” he muttered to himself, remembering the Deep Roads and his quest to live in dreams. Tess said she had a bad habit of running when life got hard, but Alistair did the same. No matter how upset she’d been with him in the past, she’d stayed, though, and _Alistair_ was the one to leave - no, _replace her._

His heart pinched. As if he didn’t hurt enough because his wife mourned another man, he was reminded of all the times he wished to replace her? He _never meant_ it, he’d never wanted her gone. But it was what he feared right now, he feared _she_ wanted to replace _him._

 _Replace him with a dead man._ Alistair scowled. He knew he couldn’t be physically replaced, but a dead man had been her sole motivation since they’d arrived. Was that not the same? Alistair had wanted to purify the memory of meeting his love, but all she wanted was to honor Cailan. How in the void could he tell her to _stop?_ He’d look like a fool, a selfish fool overrun with adolescent jealousy because the woman _he wanted_ reminded him she’d had her own life before they’d met. _All right, so he needed her to let go of her past._ He needed to make her _want_ to let it go. But how? Would a pyre for Cailan be enough? How could he _make_ her want to forget her past?

Another hum circulated through his limbs a few times before Alistair recognized Tess’ Taint; comforting yet almost indecipherable from the stale, angry Taint already around them. He turned his head to find Tess standing at the foot of the ramp. She stared with a frown, and a wave of familiarity washed over Alistair.

_This is how they met._

Alistair even stood the same way when he’d first laid eyes on her. An insignificant bystander at the time, but he’d been well aware of her presence and her _stare_ as he finished goading the mage. Back to _now,_ he blinked to keep his eyes from leaking; this moment had changed his life. Though they had not connected until after her Joining, _this moment_ changed his _fate_. And her words before all the battles today - Tess recalling Duncan’s orders to _find him,_ to find _Alistair_...despite the scares of the day, reliving the first time he saw his wife flooded his heart. _This_ was not what Alistair expected when he’d decided to return.

Leather boots slapped against stone with heavy steps as she ascended towards him. Alistair remembered the way his weight shifted when he’d faced her. Tess slowed to a stop out of reach. Eyes locked, blinking only to hold back tears, they stood in silence. Alistair couldn’t remember what she looked like without scars, but he remembered she was beautiful. She was beautiful still; Maker knew he loved her more than he knew how to say.

“Nothing like a Blight to bring us all together.” _It had been one of the_ **_worst_ ** _pick up lines in his life._

Tess broke down in tears and flung herself into his arms. Alistair’s eyes watered as he buried his face in her hair. Arms wound tight, they stood drowning in emotion from the turning point of their lives.

“I was so nervous!” she choked. “I _scolded_ myself, Alistair! I’ve never made such _horrible jokes_ before! I can’t believe you laughed at them!”

He couldn’t help a smile. “I _loved_ that, though. I swore _I_ was the only who made such bad jokes. I couldn’t believe there was someone else like _me.”_

“Maker, I was _such a wreck!”_ she sobbed. “I was trying _so hard_ not like you! Just watching you with that mage, I _knew_ you were _different._ I saw Maric and Cailan, and you even sounded like Maric then, but _you were different._ I didn’t want you to be someone I could like.” Her arms tightened and she burrowed her face at his collar. _“I was such an idiot!_ Why did you laugh?”

“Men in dresses?” he remembered with a chuckle. “The woman I fell madly in love with introduced herself by accusing me of cross-dressing?” He pulled back to see her face.

Her eyes squeezed shut. “Maker, I am _so sorry_ about that!” she squeaked.

“Did you ever tell Duncan that one?”

“No! _Heavens_ , no! He might have left me in Highever and recruited Po instead!”

Alistair stroked his fingers across her face, tucking hair behind her ears, wiping away tears to trace scars. “Do you still wish you’d died there? Or jumped?”

Another stream of tears as she met his eyes. “No.” She shook her head. “I wish Duncan had taken me sooner.”

Alistair almost said _Me too,_ but he stopped himself. Cailan flashed in his mind again, that carefree grin and blonde hair flying around his face as he whirled to watch Tess walk. If Tess had arrived sooner, Cailan might have seduced her. Alistair sighed louder than intended and he straightened, letting his arms fall limp at her back. Like a reflex to his withdraw, she released him.

“Did I say something wrong?” Green swarmed over his face.

“N-” but she knew when he lied. He’d never been able to hide that from her.

“Alistair, _please, what did I do?_ ” she begged him. “Is this about the sword? I’m sorry, I just thought…”

“No. Not the sword.” Alistair rubbed his face. “But the sword is part of it.” He still couldn’t tell her he wanted everything to do with Cailan gone, not for absolution but to purge the man from the back of her mind. “Shouldn’t we burn Cailan with his weapon?”

Her eyes darted. In an instant, her face scrunched from brow to lip. The notion of ending the _idea_ of Cailan overwhelmed her. _Alistair hated this! She was supposed to fear_ **_Alistair_ ** _leaving her memory, not Cailan!_ She pulled back, shaking her head and stammering. “No. _No! No,_ it’s _yours!_ You _have_ to keep it!” her voice cracked with panic. “It _can’t die_ here! It’s the Theirin - _the Theirin sword!”_

 _Shit, this is hard. How could he manage this?_ He reached for her hand but she backed away. “Tess.”

“No! We _need_ it! What if they don’t - they _have_ to! They _have_ to put you on the throne! They’ll see Maric’s sword, and-and they’ll _want_ to!”

“Tess, _no!”_ Alistair grabbed her hand and pulled her in, and as soon as her eyes followed the spirals of his thumb, he took her other hand and did the same, pinning her palms to his chest with each circle. “I can’t go to Denerim and pretend to be like Maric and Cailan, Tess. I _can’t._ I’m not them, I don’t think I can be like them.” He paused, searching his brain for ideas. Didn’t Teagan say he was having a new banner made? “I have my own armor, I should have my own sword.”

“No! But you’re a _king,_ Alistair! It’s _different! They have to see you’re the son of Maric! What happens to me if they don’t make you king?”_

“It’s _tradition,_ though, Tess. Warriors die with their weapons. They’re extens-” Alistair huffed. Zevran had told him this about Tess after Honnleath, about using the end of her hand as an extension of himself. “Extensions,” he finished. “Just like your daggers are to you, and your bow. Who could ever wield your daggers like you can, Tess? It would be an insult to try. What’s the point of collecting Cailan’s armor if we’re going to tell his corpse his sword would look better in _my_ hands? Am I supposed to wear his armor, too?”

Tess paused, then raised her eyes to his. _Is this how I make her want_ **_me_ ** _again?_ “But the Darkspawn…”

“They’ll burn too, we already planned that; we’ll wipe them all out. Tess, I don’t want to go through life being seen as a man not able to live up to his father and brother. Or _you - you_ deserve a man sure of himself, not someone who tries to hide in the reputation of others. I want my _own_ sword, my _own_ armor. I can’t be _Alistair_ if I spend my life trying to look like _Cailan_.”

Tess shook her head. “I don’t want you to be like Cailan,” she insisted. “I want you to be _Alistair.”_

_Did it work?_

“Then you’ll let me lay him to rest with his sword?” he asked. The creases on her face deepened; she couldn’t see past the fear of Alistair not being crowned. “That’s the best we can do for him, Tess. Lay him to rest with his sword and armor. Then we’ll go back to Rainesfere, I’ll get my own sword, and we’ll ride off under my _own flag, just_ like Teagan said. We can send Cailan to the Maker _properly_. We have the _chance_ to send him off properly. I wish I could do the same for _your_ family.”

Her mouth drooped in a deeper pout. Tess nodded before Alistair could tell himself he convinced her. When her right hand slipped from his hand, he moved his fingers to her left. In her own silent way, she was asking for guidance, asking for orders on what to do and how to feel. He remembered this so clear right now; how had he forgotten it in the Deep Roads? Maker, this had _worked_ for them before.

“We’ll search for the rest of his armor,” he told her, “then we’ll build him a pyre, dress him, and say a blessing before we go. It’s the right thing to do.” _Convince her he knew best because he wanted her to all to himself. No -_ **_remind her._ ** _Yes. Remind her she was_ **_his_ ** _and who she was to him, who they were to each other._

 _Ah, fucking Cailan._ **_Alistair_ ** _had needed_ **_Cailan_ ** _to remind him who he was to Tess._

Tess nodded. “The right thing.” She reached up and wiped another tear. “He would have wanted it this way. A glorious death.”

Alistair huffed with a smile. “He loved that word, didn’t he?”

She groaned, rolling her eyes between sniffles. _“Everything_ had to be glorious.”

“Then let’s send him off gloriously.” Alistair searched her eyes.

The pyre didn’t start right away. The search for the rest of Cailan’s armor led them into the Tower of Ishal. The same hole in the kitchen floor remained from the battle so long ago, a route they had no choice to take to finish their quest. Down into catacombs infested with Darkspawn and Tainted spiders, until they broke through a door that opened to the battlefield the Grey Wardens and the king’s guard perished and rotted on; the land soaked up all the poison since. They found the genlock mage who’d resurrected the dead, and after defeating an undead ogre who wore Duncan’s daggers like amateur piercings, they killed the Darkspawn necromancer and retrieved the last pieces of Cailan’s armor. Alistair was so focused on _burning it all_ that not finding Duncan’s body swept from his mind without second thought.

Alistair stood tall beside Tess now. Hands clasped in front, Tess sniffling beside him, so close to the fire he heard every hiss and crackle.

He'd helped Tess clean the armor while branches were woven into a bed. Pádraig and others took Cailan’s body from the display, and the dead king was dressed in armor now many sizes too large. Alistair laid Cailan on the pyre. _Skin and bones_ , thinner than Alistair recalled his own reflection in Orzammar. He centered Maric’s sword on Cailan’s armor and hooked the shield straps over skeletal hands.

Part of Alistair didn’t want to remember his brother this way. The other part couldn’t wait until Cailan was nothing more than ash.

Now, the fire blazed before them, feeding on a body long dried out. Cailan burned within his armor, flames dancing up and around like leaves blowing through a hollow log. Alistair spied Tess for reaction while Wynne said a blessing for the Maker to reach down and take back His child into unending serenity. Leliana asked the Maker to let the spirit of Cailan remember those who loved him, to comfort them in their dreams, to ease mourning and carry understanding of the Maker’s will as He sees fit, to show the Maker allows heartache in one place so peace and love may bloom elsewhere. Tess choked on a sob and buried her face in Alistair’s neck.

_...The Maker’s will…_

Alistair questioned this subject time and again since he’d met Tess. Meeting Morrigan in the woods so Flemeth would rescue _them_ from the tower; refusing to slow down so the Maker _made_ him stop in Haven; ignoring his wife in the Deep Roads so the Maker _made_ him fall prey to dreams that almost ended his marriage so Alistair would understand the weight of his choices. Here now, with Tess soaking the undershirt below his collar, Alistair thought back to the last day here. He’d said similar things, hadn’t he?

 _…I have something she needs,_ he’d told Duncan. That was as good as declaring the Maker’s will.

Tess had said it too, today and back then. _Duncan brought me here to find you…I was ready to give up...then the Maker delivered me right to you…_ and her words after her Joining: _Maybe this is the Maker’s doing?_

The more he thought, the more truth it held. The Maker seemed to know they’d need each other. Perhaps the Maker made Alistair’s time at Redcliffe miserable so he’d wind up somewhere Duncan could recruit him; maybe the Maker made Tess miss her family and decide to retire, and then sent Howe to destroy her home so Duncan could bring her to Alistair. It was a heavy thought - it made Alistair realize just how much was out of his control.

His life spinning out of control led Alistair to _seize back_ control, though, with Tess and the life he wanted for her as his wife. _It’s not what we deserve, but what we need._ Alistair needed Tess more when he felt control slipping away. Like today. He watched Cailan’s shriveled corpse with a frown, pondering this gravity of another's man influence he could not wield. Tess made a noise when she peeked; flames engulfed Cailan’s head like a charging fire spell. She clutched Alistair so tight he was forced into a slouch. _Control a man no longer breathing still had over his wife._ Control Alistair wanted back. He watched as old skin blackened upon the logs, and the slack of freedom that came with every charred inch surprised Alistair. Surprised to find himself taking pleasure in a good man burning, his _brother_ burning.

No.

Surprise he’d forgotten just how much he’d wanted Tess to himself. There was a time he almost killed Zevran and Morrigan for such jealousy, and wanted to kill Teagan.

Tess breathed deep to compose herself, and stepped closer to the fire. Alistair heard her voice but only picked out two words: _Goodbye, Cailan._

_Goodbye._

She was doing it, letting go. Alistair's mind swirled and breath quickened.

_Goodbye._

_Maker, it was like a love song. She was letting go. She was choosing Alistair._

Knowing his wife would never again stress over Cailan brought him satisfaction he’d not heard of before. Cailan’s control over her life, over _what_ - _could-have-been_ , was finally ending. One more part of her past erased, a wider slot for Alistair to wedge deeper in. And it struck him now - _he’d_ needed to say goodbye to Cailan as well. Not out of honor or a sense of duty, but for _Tess,_ he realized. _Alistair_ needed to see Cailan’s body off so _he_ could get a hold of himself, so he could stop worrying about Cailan interfering because he had other obstacles to get through. _He_ needed Cailan gone so he could protect Tess from the forces that awaited them in Denerim. _Closure_.

One step closer to it, anyway. Just two left now. _Howe and Loghain._

 _One down, two to go._ What Alistair had been striving for since he met her.

 _This_ was his reason for returning to Ostagar.

 

*** _NSFW***_

_Alistair and Tesslyn; emotional and physical changes as of Return to Ostagar **:**_

_** ** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> art by me.


	57. Guidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pieces are clicking. The puzzle is coming together. Effort from all corners making sure Tess and Alistair secure the throne and save Ferelden. But with the revelation of a united force in his favor, and new obstacles thrown in his face in Denerim, Alistair must step up his game if he wants the Landsmeet to see the King he is ready to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood music:  
> [Gryphonheart, by Jo Blankenburg](https://youtu.be/aokAizBEdPw)  
> [Tempest, by Jesper Kyd](https://youtu.be/05UCMN68Rko)

_You must kill Flemeth._

Morrigan's motive behind suggesting they attack the Darkspawn from the rear at Ostagar was revealed while setting up camp. With Cailan’s pyre just hours behind them, now Morrigan asked for liberation of her own. She’d found her mother’s old grimoire back in Kinloch Hold and studied it over the year. According to the tome, which none but Morrigan could read, Flemeth planned to possess their witch. She informed the journey with the Wardens was to finalize her preparation in _body, mind, and soul,_ then the _demon_ or _spirit_ which lived in Flemeth; _Morrigan was unsure;_ could transition from Flemeth’s body into Morrigan’s without complication and extend its life through Morrigan as it had through the ages. _This was the secret to Flemeth’s immortality as the legends told._ After talking the plan over with the Wardens’ original party, they decided to play it safe, no matter how much any of them disliked Morrigan. The disaster at Kinloch Hold was still too fresh for Alistair and Tess; Alistair moreso, with the dreams of their unreal children haunting his sleep.

There was also the matter of Cailan’s documents from the blood magic chest. Tess claimed they were important, but it was another weight dragging Alistair down. Between his dead brother, Loghain, Arl Eamon, and Morrigan now the target for a possession _which put_ _all of them_ at risk - not to mention Tess’ deal with Orlais, _and_ ending the Blight - it was like all Ferelden was trying to drown him. Alistair could no longer deny kingship was little more than court. These were _real problems_ that affected his country now, and later if he didn't correct them. He only hoped his future held less Darkspawn and abominations.

It was unanimous: Morrigan's mother must be stopped. No one was willing to risk another abomination outbreak, especially with the Blight enduring. Tess was concerned. Alistair saw too clear she feared Morrigan might become the monsters from Kinloch, and Tess would have to kill a friend; _Alistair_ worried about the damage an abomination of Morrigan could do after Tess had urged her to hone deadly spells. While Wynne was an exception; she explained her own condition and how she survived the golem attack in the Deep Roads, how the _spirit of Compassion_ in her was there to help her aide others; what resided inside Flemeth could not be relied on. The area around Flemeth’s hut was free of Darkspawn - _Alistair remembered an enchantment on the land -_ and if such a strong enchantment lasting this long wasn’t suspicious enough, the old woman proved Morrigan's concerns valid. First a cackle and a bribe, then when they refused, she transformed. Not the _large bird_ Morrigan said Flemeth became to rescue the two Wardens from the tower of Ishal, but a _dragon_. Not as terrible as the Archdemon and not as majestic as the dragon guarding Andraste’s ashes. Flemeth was a dragon of spite. Sten, Oghren, and a handful of others took heat from the dragon’s mouth, while Alistair and Padraig gained matching scars on their backs. Others were smart and fired from a distance. The golems delivered the final blows, and when Shake turned around after shaking blood off a huge fist, the seams of her rocks glowed like hot coals; Branka mentioned her ass plates were melting. Had Morrigan been present with her ice magic, injuries would have minimized, but the witch stayed behind to prevent Flemeth's _demon_ from hopping bodies upon death.

 _Never a reprieve._ Wounds were tended without trouble in camp that night, but with one threat gone, another issue fell into Alistair's lap. After Tess fell asleep, Alistair read the documents from Cailan's blood magic chest. _Private, intimate._ Not romantic in the least, but Alistair knew why Cailan kept them locked away. Letters between Empress Celene and the late King Cailan. There were always two plans: if Cailan survived the battle at Ostagar, he'd dismiss Anora and marry Celene, uniting Ferelden and Orlais into the largest country in Thedas, and with the combined resources, the new union would govern the others, in time wiping out Tevinter influence entirely, freeing the elven race and eventually granting them land once stolen by the Tevinter Imperium. Plan two: if Cailan died at Ostagar, which he had, Celene promised her army and resources to Alistair with Tess as Queen, and gain the island and trade routes; a plan Tess had offered but Cailan secretly approved. _That_ wasn't surprising, though. What stood out to Alistair was Tess’ service to Celene. Celene knew of Tess’ background, knew of her reputation, and admired her regardless. Everything Tess had told Alistair about Celene - the chains, the rhymes, the conditioning - it was all for _Tess_ , so Tess could return home with the determination and dedication to _herself_ so Ferelden would no longer see a troubled, spoiled noble brat but the goddess Celene believed existed in all women. Celene had forced Tess into submission so Alistair could announce her as his Queen and the people would _revere_ her, not loathe her. She molded Tess into the perfect Queen for Ferelden.

Only Celene never finished her project. Tess was granted a vacation to see her parents, during which - according to the dates on Celene’s last letter - coincided with Duncan recruiting Tess and Cailan dying at Ostagar. What made the letters emotional for Alistair was the reason for Celene's conditioning. It was the same reason Alistair had begun training Tess for. _The same reason;_ so Tess would see her own greatness. Granted, Alistair had a selfish coexisting motivation as well - if Tess loved herself, she could love Alistair better; _he took care of her so she could take care of him._ But without knowing, Alistair accidentally picked up where Celene left off. He knew enough politics now to suspect Celene also had other motives; train the kind of queen she could influence, a queen Ferelden would trust handing over land to Orlais, ensuring the empress’ union with Ferelden one way or another. There were _too many_ coincidences, though. So much work, such a grand scheme, greater than Tess even knew. Was Teagan involved with Cailan and Celene? He seemed to know more than Tess now. Yet they had all let Tess think she ran the show. All so the throne was secured to Alistair and Tess. Even Grey Warden life was honing what Cailan and Celene conspired.

So much work from the outside to bring them together and make them perfect caretakers of the people. All this _Maker’s will_ talk and _grand schemes_ made the bigger picture seem less frightening. Alistair watched his wife sleep, brushed his fingers across her cheek to tuck her hair back. They'd had such hard lives, her in particular. But this new information made pieces fall into place like a child’s puzzle. Through every obstacle, it seemed there had always been someone watching out for them. Allowing hardships early on in life so when the time was right, they were tough enough to handle royal obstacles like nothing more than spilled milk. Everything they needed _and wanted_ was in place _just waiting for them_. Alistair had been joking when he told Tess the Maker sent them to each other; a silly boy trying to flirt, but it was true. It _felt_ true. Growing up, he had never desired to rule a country, but being king would provide him his own home, his own family and the means to protect and provide for them, friends like brothers, _freedom_ to do as he pleased; _king_ just happened to be the job guaranteeing all that. Alistair couldn't see any of that falling into place for a downtrodden stable boy without the Maker shuffling pieces. _Everything he wanted_ and so many people _including_ _the Maker_ were involved in making it happen. It was overwhelming. He felt like he should pray, but Alistair had no clue what to say. He drifted into sleep cradling his wife, whispering _Thank You_ into the night.

The morning brought a change in Alistair most had not seen. The revelation of the letters from the night lightened his heart. The Maker led him and everyone around him through life and continued to do so; Alistair recognized this now. For the first time since Tess told him of her plans, Alistair did not worry what would come. They thwarted a powerful witch from being possessed by a demon, and now it seemed the Landsmeet had been _planned in his favor._ Alistair was eager to return to Rainesfere and ride to Denerim. He was eager to see what else Cailan secretly left behind for him, including meet - and end - Loghain Mac Tir.  

The scars received from battling Flemeth the dragon did not bother Alistair, nor the Darkspawn filth, as the party and his soldiers stormed out of the Wilds and returned to Lothering. The Darkspawn had not tried to retake Lothering either. The sky was clear, the threat subdued; things were better than Alistair hoped for. The arrival in Rainesfere was proof for Alistair, if nothing else counted, of the Maker’s hand in everything - _of Alistair’s sovereignty._

Tess slowed to a stop with her eyes on the large banner over the soldiers outside the town gates. Matching flags stood in rows near a set of guards. Teagan glanced to the banner with a smirk as he strode to meet the Anderfels horse party; Eamon wore a polite smile as he mimicked Teagan in a bow.

“I hope you appreciate how difficult it was to hide this from you,” Teagan boasted.

“It’s my _father's_ crest.” Tess sniffled and wiped her eyes with a deep breath. Alistair studied the flag. Two mabari on hind legs facing each other - _the same emblem on Cailan's shield_ \- the Theirin family crest. _Alistair's crest_. Only now in place of a scepter and war axe were two green stalks, woven from around the feet and reaching into the paws of the mabari. The same crowns above the dogs’ heads that represented Cailan’s kingship were present here as well; not just Theirin, but _Kings_.

 “ _Your_ house, Tesslyn. You are a Cousland, the daughter of a great family.” Teagan paused. “Do you recognize it, Alistair?”

Alistair nodded. “It's the Theirin heraldry. But with the Cousland coat intertwined.”

“It is the crest of a _new_ family,” Teagan announced. Husband and wife looked at him. “The united houses of Theirin and Cousland. This symbol represents your marriage. _Everyone_ will know what it means. _This_ is what we'll be riding into Denerim under. _This_ will be the new flag all over the castle.”

Alistair stared for a moment before Teagan’s words sank in. Then his chest tightened. “Tess, this is…” He looked at his wife to see her wipe under her eyes. “This is _ours_ ,” he said. “This is _us_.” Not just _theirs,_ though. The mabari paws gripping stalks; Alistair saw _protection_ and _possession_. _His_. This flag was proof to the world Alistair owned a name valuable to Ferelden and held in high regard to foreign nobility. _Alistair had a Cousland._ They were both the last of their lines, and here was _his_ namesake making sure _hers_ never left his reach.

 _Mine_.

Alistair had his own House now. Tess was _his_ wife; his, and his alone. There was no room for any other House within the new crest. It was another sign; he _felt_ it, this was the Maker guiding forces once more. Alistair had _earned_ his House, he’d worked hard to cultivate his marriage. He had earned his wife, and by doing so he had earned Ferelden.

“Everyone will know who wields this sign,” Teagan said. _Damn, that sounded good._ Alistair could see it now: everywhere he went people dropping into bows. Not that Alistair wanted a whole country of servants, but _the recognition._ Everyone knowing upon sight that _Alistair was king_ and _he had married a Cousland_ sounded good. The _power_ that came with the image on the flag. Two people, in particular, came to mind - Loghain and Howe. Alistair wanted Loghain to see the King he betrayed was replaced by _another_ son of the old friend who’d exalted him to his title in the first place, and he wanted Howe to see the House he destroyed was preserved and protected by royalty. _Power_ Alistair could wield over two enemies who had a dangerous control over _his_ country. Alistair had never been so eager to reveal his lineage to the world.

Pádraig took it upon himself to ensure the comfort and security of his King and Queen on the road, with Zevran’s help of course. The two rode on each side of Alistair and Tess, and at night during camp, Zevran stayed close on guard while Pádraig directed his men and the golems for patrols and setting up camp. Sten was not needed for duty with _so many_ soldiers - almost six hundred; while over a thousand more stayed to enforce _King Alistair’s_ rule from their hometowns - so the Qunari insisted the Wardens train with him before supper each night; _Do not let the comfort of position leave you soft for the enemy._ While Eamon protested Tess training; _unbefitting for a lady, not to mention queen!;_ Pádraig commanded his men not on duty to train as well; he would not captain a weak army, and those refusing to be fit for royal protection would train until they dropped. The mages and golems helping train excited Pádraig, as he told Alistair during a break for water. Until the Wardens showed up in Rainesfere in Winter, most his soldiers had never come close to anything as gruesome or tough as Darkspawn, golems, or Qunari, even in stories. Alistair’s party provided perfect practice for Pádraig’s men to become the best soldiers possible.

“You don’t have to do this, Pád. I appreciate it, but it’s-”

“Don’t discourage his dreams, Your Majesty,” Teagan interrupted Alistair with a grin, pausing from his own training for water with the two men.

“Yes; please don’t,” Pádraig joined in with a smirk, “it’ll break my heart. I’ll end up _bawling_ all over the Archdemon.” He gave a fake sniffle.

Alistair laughed into his waterskin. “Fifty sovereigns to really do that,” he bet.

Pádraig spit his water, and Teagan coughed out a laugh. “Emptying the royal vault before you even find it? Make it a hundred while you’re at it. I’d like to see that too, come to think of it. Make sure the Grand Cleric blesses you first, Pádraig. _Holy_ tears,” Teagan teased.

“One hundred sovereigns to cry on an angry dragon?” Pádraig’s eyes darted as he considered the proposal. “Could I even make that much _slaying_ one?” Alistair choked on his own sip when he met Teagan’s gaze.

“Look at all of you over here!” Tess stumbled over panting. “Giggling on the sidelines like girls just come of age at a tournament.” She caught her breath and wet her mouth, sliding sweat-matted hair off her forehead. “May I have some that, please?” she gestured to Alistair’s waterskin.

“Giggling like girls?” Alistair echoed as he put the skin to her lips. She gave a breathless laugh while the pouch emptied behind her smile. “Do I need to remind you who the _man_ is in our marriage?” He grinned just for her.

She shook her head. “But I get to be a man at least for _one_ night. _Ruby_ said so.” _Ruby? Oh. The little dwarf from Hot Lava._ Tess slid in for a kiss, leaving Alistair to fight the burn on his cheeks as his wife bounced away. _The Ferelden Queen, and the Velvet Trench._ Alistair finished his water, avoiding the eyes of Teagan and Pádraig while he watched his wife spar with Zevran and two knights. _That’s where her mind was tonight? When they were surrounded by hundreds of people?_ Alistair cleared his throat, and without looking at his friend, he asked: “There are _pillows_ on the floor of my tent again, right, Pád?”

From the corner of Alistair’s eye, Pádraig grinned. “ Of course there are. What sort of friend do you think I am?”

Alistair coughed. “The perverted kind.”

Pádraig chuckled. “It’s shameful how quick I agree to that. _Oh!_ Speaking of sexuality!” Pádraig clapped his hands together.

It was Teagan’s turn to clear his throat. “Manners, Pádraig,” he reminded.

“Right, apologies. Speaking of sexuality, _Your Majesty,”_ Pádraig corrected himself.

“Much better.” Teagan’s smirk cascaded into a laugh, and Alistair gave in with him. “I find myself delving into this topic too much with you already, Alistair. You’ll forgive me for resuming practice.” He ducked away in a bow.

“What, no _oil_ this time?” Alistair called after his uncle.

“Do I want to know?” Pádraig asked.

“Not unless you’re a perverted sort of friend.” Alistair shook his head with a grin.

“Well, in that case…” Pádraig shrugged as their eyes met. They shared a moment of mature giggling before Alistair calmed enough to ask what Pádraig meant by _Speaking of sexuality._ “Oh, that. I assigned a private guard for your wife.”

“You what?” Alistair gave him a double-take.

“I don’t know the whole story, but I grew up in the Bann’s home, I remember Her Majesty from when I was a kid. I remember the day she changed her mind about Loghain. She used to talk like she’d _angered_ him. And then that business with Arl Howe…I’m not sure it’s wise to take chances, Your Majesty. I assigned her a private guard.” Pádraig’s gaze wandered to the training bodies. “Two dozen men, twelve on her at all times in Denerim, the rest watching for suspicious behavior.”

Alistair didn’t know what to say. The mood shifted in a heartbeat from silly to profound. He had no idea Pádraig had been conducting this. “Pádraig…” Alistair didn’t know how to say what this meant to him.

Pádraig took a deep breath before returning his stare. “I filtered through my men for weeks, started before we found you in the Deep Roads. None of her guard fancy women. One is married, but for political standing only. They are my finest swordsmen and archers, and loyal to you and the Maker. No one will touch her, not in Denerim, not ever. She will be safe with them.”

The captain of Alistair’s army had taken it upon himself to assign an elite guard to protect Tess from the biggest threats within Ferelden. Something snagged inside Alistair, maybe something bad would happen in Denerim; Pádraig must have had the same foreboding because he took precautions before it was necessary. Alistair hoped they would not need such measures, but at the same time, he felt this was the Maker’s hand. Another piece of the puzzle to ensure Tess and Alistair’s safety on the throne. Alistair would just make sure they stormed Denerim with enough force to make Loghain piss himself.

And _storm_ they did. Teagan was to thank for these preparations. Leading with the Anderfels horses, five-hundred-eighty-five soldiers plus the Wardens party and two noblemen rose with the sun and rode hard the fifth day. With the new Theirin-Cousland banner poised right over Alistair and Tess and flags dotting the lining ranks of the stampede, not a single gasp was heard as city guard and townsfolk jumped aside and pointed to the heraldry. Heavy hoofs echoed around off stone wall, dust flew and hung like a cloud so thick Alistair couldn’t see his own feet; they were _thunder_ with one purpose: startle _Loghain’s_ city. The army burst into Denerim like a crashing tidal wave straight through to Eamon’s manor. When they slowed at Eamon’s private gates, Alistair distinguished voices: _It’s the Heir!, Didn’t the King die at Ostagar?, There’s another son?, Maker it’s true!, But I thought the Couslands were dead?, Maric has another son! I knew it!_ While residents gathered to glimpse the son of Maric, Alistair took note Loghain _the Regent_ did not meet them at the gates. He was nowhere to be seen; no doubt the rushing army bearing a Theirin-Cousland flag vexed the man who’d fallen to desperate extremes to kill his opposition.  

“So!, _Arl Eamon.”_ Alistair stared as he slid from his horse. “Shall I make my bed in the stables again?” Eamon’s gaze whipped to Alistair. “Just like old times, right?” He smiled, but not in good humor. An intense turning point in Alistair’s life was when Tess encouraged him to stop lying to himself; Eamon had not been merciful raising Alistair as Alistair tried to convince himself.

“What?” Tess whirled to face Eamon as soon as her feet hit dirt. “You made him sleep in the stables _here as well? Under Maric’s nose?”_

“He was to be _hidden,_ Tesslyn-”

“Your Majesty,” Pádraig called out his routine reminding to Eamon.

Eamon rolled his eyes. “Yes, _Your Majesty,”_ the old man agreed to this dated scolding. “Maric’s orders were to hide him from Loghain. He did not wish to insult the memory of my sister. Alistair resembled his father and brother from the time he was a small boy.”

Teagan sighed in disappointment. “Oh, Eamon, _really?”_

“You _rotting - sack - of - hog -balls!”_ Tess slapped Eamon with her riding gloves with each syllable.

“Tesslyn! _Ow! Will you stop!_ This is no way for a _\- Tesslyn!”_ Eamon objected.

“You should consider studding her gloves,” Zevran said, removing his own gloves. “She hits that hard _now._ Just imagine if there were spikes.”

Alistair winced, imagining how it felt to whipped with spike-tipped leather. But as much as it swelled his chest each time Tess took revenge for Alistair’s poor upbringing, that nagging nudge from back at Ostagar began again. Not as strong as when she killed for Cailan’s vengeance, but it was sliding back in all the same.

“Keep it up, cousin, I think you missed a few spots. His neck is still white on that side,” Teagan encouraged, handing his reins off to a servant. “Come, Alistair. It seems your wife is preoccupied at the moment. Let’s settle in with a brandy, shall we?”

 _“Save - me - some - rum!”_ Tess gritted her teeth while Eamon tried to block her gloves.

Alistair wasn’t sure if others encouraging her to give her all to Eamon bothered him, or if the fact she already was. “Come on, Tess. Save his punishment for inside.”

“He’s - free - to - _start - walking!_ We’ll both - get - inside - that - way!” she grunted. Tess gave another rough swat, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. “Eamon, I _swear_ on the Maker, _how_ you ever held Redcliffe so long-!” She huffed.  

Alistair watched his wife. Had she hit hard enough to do any damage, Alistair would have pulled her away immediately. But he wished her away from people who stole her attention, _and_ he wished to be away from the gawking bystanders at the other side of the estate’s gate; _Is that him?,_ and _I can’t see him!,_ were just as bad as Tess homing in on another. “Come on. You can spike his drink later. I’m sure Zev or Morrigan will help even.”

“Indeed. I spy a number of life-threatening herbs already.” Morrigan agreed.

“I admit it’s strange to see such carelessness in noble landscape, Arl Eamon,” Wynne added. “You realize most of these will kill cats and dogs? And that one _there_ kills  _horses!_ Maker! I’m almost afraid to see your produce garden.”

“See? Even Wynne wants to help.” But when Tess didn’t turn away from the old Arl, Alistair gave a silent sigh and began walking. Pádraig snatched the reins to Alistair’s horse and passed them off. Alistair widened his steps, and he suppressed a smirk of satisfaction as the gaps between slaps of leather stretched. _Tess was conscious of Alistair leaving her._ He did not care two coppers for Eamon other than a political resource anymore, but since the return to Ostagar, the knot in his gut reappeared whenever Tess gave attention to another man. Though now she just argued with Eamon, she was still _there_ and not _here._ This wasn’t fear of her leaving; Eamon stood less of a chance with Tess than the man who killed her family. It was her fixation, it was her letting the influence of another man control the choice to be with her husband - _this_ is what Alistair wanted to end. It seemed there was more to take care of than Loghain and Howe.

Another few strides. The knot in Alistair’s gut tightened, her fading Taint allowing panic to hover over him. Then with a crunching of gravel, her Taint rushed back to his. Tess clutched his right hand with both of hers, _she sought security again,_ catching her breath as she settled in and matched his pace.

“Next time, just come when I call.” Alistair smiled, trying to mask the jealousy.

“Oh, Alistair, he deserves _so_ much more,” she shook her head.

“Like I said, you can always poison him later. For now, we both need a drink. Do you see all those people at the gate? Did you hear them?” He made a noise of disgust. “Which room in here was yours?” he asked, shoving heavy estate doors open.

“I don’t have my own room here. My family had a manor here, closer to the palace.” Her face fell, and Alistair did not need to ask why. Teagan divulged Howe had been named Teyrn of Highever and Arl of Denerim just after the incidents, in addition to retaining his title of Arl for Amaranthine. The state of the Cousland manor in Denerim was unknown other than Howe’s men patrolled it night and day.

“If the Landsmeet doesn’t happen right away, maybe we could take it back.” It was risky, but whereas Alistair never felt at home anywhere growing up, Tess had lost hers twice over, with her Denerim estate confiscated. The thought of it burned Alistair inside, he _hated_ not having anything for his wife, and people stealing places she deserved to sleep only ached him more. It reminded him of failing in the Deep Roads. “We have enough men do that.” Tess nodded though her face still drooped. Alistair pulled her in tight and kissed her head. “Don’t worry, love. Things will change here. I _feel_ it. Everything will change.”

If only he could predict the strength of his words. Those who did not fit inside the manor camped around the estate property; soldiers and tents packed like canning season. When those inside settled in rooms with drinks, with hot supper on the way and frantic maids bustling over the Arl’s unexpected return with so many guests, Alistair was surprised anyone heard the doors burst open.

“Arl Eamon!” Alistair didn’t recognize the voice right away, but Tess paled and dropped her glass. “You have quite the festival outside your house. Where are the flame-throwers and dancing wildlife?” Three bodies entered the dining hall. _Loghain Mac Tir._ Alistair didn’t know the other man and he couldn’t place where he’d seen the woman, but every fiber in his body seethed at the sight of the Loghain.

“Tesslyn, walk with me. Right now,” Teagan hissed, taking her by the arm. But she was already trembling. Rigid joints, tight jaw, teeth about to break each other, Tess ignored Teagan. Her fingernails dug into the tabletop so hard she left marks. _Anger_ , not fright.

“Ah.” Eamon stepped forward. “Loghain. I’m humbled. You should have sent word, I’d have been prepared for more. Two more glasses!” Eamon announced to his servants, referring only to the men it seemed. “Surely an occasion when the _regent_ takes time to personally welcome me back to the city.” Just enough emphasis on the right word to let Loghain know Eamon thought him a traitor.

Alistair admitted to himself this is where Eamon’s talent with governing lay; the man talked smoother in the face of politics than in private family discussions.

 _“Tesslyn, now!”_ Teagan insisted in undertones. Attempts to pull her away failed. Shaking but immovable, rooted in a lifetime of pent-up desire for justice.

“Might I remark upon that _ridiculous_ banner at your gates,” the other man drawled, “Is this a festival for the deceased?” The crooked nose matched the sneer and aire of conceit about the man.

 _“GET OUT!!”_ Tess screamed. She lunged, but Alistair and Teagan caught her before she landed a blow. “Let me go! _Let me go!”_

“Tesslyn, that’s enough.” Eamon stepped between her and the intruders, though.

“Tesslyn? _My, my._ I almost didn’t recognize you. Shame what happened with your parents. If you don’t mind my asking, what _have_ you done to your face?” So much pleasure taken in such a sensitive question. Alistair identified the man from behavior alone.

“You lying son of a bitch! _YOU KILLED THEM!!”_ She screamed at Rendon Howe, twisting and jerking to be let free. _“Don’t you dare talk about my parents!! We trusted you! My father trusted you!! And you gutted him!! Get out of here before I return the favor!!! You lying shit-faced demon!! You deserve every arrow you put inside my nephew!! You deserve your guts spilling out like you did to my father!!! I WILL KILL YOU RENDON!!!”_

The woman stepped up, armor so polished it reflected like the sun. “That is a brash accusation. You are foolish to threaten the Teyrn in front of witnesses.”

Tess laughed hysterically. “Do they have you down on your knees as well, Cauthrien? Did he tell you what comes next? He’ll strap you to his bed and _poison_ you between your legs, then he’ll send _him_ to chop up your parents! _You chose the wrong side! GET OUT!! ALL OF YOU!! I WILL KILL YOU!!”_ Clanking steel in familiar footsteps rushed Pádraig into the room with a look of alarm. _“Teagan let me go!”_ Leather scraped against stone in Tess’ attempt to shake loose and run.

Alistair had no idea how to react. Loghain saw the Cousland crest with Alistair’s on the flag and brought the man who murdered her entire family. Loghain knew it would unravel Tess. _Maker, he did this on purpose!_ Loghain was trying to discredit her. How far could Alistair go to protect his wife without earning them both a beheading at the Landsmeet?

Loghain made a noise of disappointment. “You know, hardships usually _change_ people, Tesslyn. I expected you to grow up by now. Don’t listen to her, Cauthrien. The girl has dabbled in addictions and deception since she was twelve. Don’t forget she’s part of the order that betrayed the king at Ostagar.”

There was no need to hold Tess back anymore. “Why you-!” Pádraig reached for his sword but someone stopped him.

No need for swords either. Alistair’s voice echoed through the room and reverberated under his feet: _“ENOUGH!!”_

“Teagan, _let go!”_ Tess tumbled both of them to the floor.

 _“NO,_ Tess! Get her out of here, Teagan, Pádraig, Sten - take her upstairs!” Alistair ordered before wheeling on the intruders. “Don’t forget your place, _general,”_ he glowered, interrupting as Loghain opened his mouth. “I know you know _exactly_ who I am, which means _I_ am your threat. Talk to my wife like that again _either of you,_ and your heads will be _trophies_ over my mantlepiece! _Neither_ of you is king, and without Cailan, Anora’s reign ends!” Shuffling and shrieking waned down the halls as Tess’ elite guard carried her away to safety. “Right now you are trespassing in the home of a noble, and I have six hundred witnesses who will not hesitate to return every courtesy you have shown the Couslands and my family.” Tess’ fading Taint only added to Alistair’s agitation, but it worked in his favor. _“Don’t forget,_ Loghain, you are _still_ suspect in my father’s disappearance, and _now_ you’re responsible for Cailan’s death. And rumor through the Bannorn is _you_ ordered Howe to kill the Couslands. Don’t you think you’re in deep enough?” Alistair stood so close he felt Loghain’s breath.

“Perhaps there’s a bit of Maric in you after all.” Silvery blue orbs searched Alistair at  eye-level. Though Loghain kept a straight face, Alistair saw every twitch around adrenaline-infused pupils.

“And _you,_ Ser-”

A _schiing_ and a flash of light as Pádraig thrust his sword to stop Cauthrien from speaking. “Address the king informally again and you lose your head.” Pádraig’s voice was dark and low like Alistair had not heard before. _“_ On your orders, Your Majesty.” Pádraig’s head turned towards Alistair but his eyes remained locked on the female.

Alistair was tempted to let Pádraig cut her to teach Loghain and Howe a lesson, show them how much power and loyalty he held at a simple word. But not at the expense of his friend. He might know a better show of it anyway. “Not today. _Remember_ this as my first and final act of mercy,” he warned the three. "There are _larger_ problems in Ferelden, and I will _not_ waste time on petty criminals. If you interfere again, you will _beg_ for a beheading. Shale!” his voice echoed once more. “Escort them out. They’ll need a chaperone home. Take Branka with you.”

The stone floor vibrated and shook the walls as Shale stomped through the crowd. Heavy stone banging like a stampede all her own. Shale scoffed at the sight of Loghain, Howe, and Cauthrien. “So _these_ are the pigeons ruffling feathers. I don’t like them,” Shale decided without pause. She posed and smashed her fists together; all three intruders flinched. _Yes. This_ is the show of power Alistair wanted. “I could _rid_ the need for an escort _right now.”_

 _“Tsk tsk._ Shale, where are your manners?” Zevran stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, twisting a dagger against his finger. _"King Alistair_ made a reasonable demand. I have been to your destination before. Come, _I_ will lead the way.”

“An elf not in rags. How could _you_ possibly know where I’m to be _escorted?”_  Howe spoke with snide after facing the door.

“What’s this? You do not recognize your investments? _Tsk tsk. What a shame._ _I_ remember both of _you,”_ Zevran said. He sheathed his dagger and stood straight. A smirk played at the edge of his lips while his eyes narrowed. _“Come_. Let us get _reacquainted_ on the _lovely_ walk home.”

Alistair followed Shale and Zevran as they forced Loghain, Howe, and Cauthrien down the entry hall and through the doors. _This was all wrong._ These men were not supposed to show here. _Howe_ was not supposed to show. Loghain was a different story, but Alistair could only imagine the horror that flooded Tess upon seeing Howe. She did not speak of her family often, Alistair knew it was her way of avoiding that nightmare so she would not try to jump anymore. These men who controlled her were _dangerous._

“I’m impressed with how you handled that, Alistair. Ah - _Your Majesty,_ ” Eamon stepped up beside him.

“You weren’t so disappointing yourself.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Eamon brushed aside Alistair’s sarcasm. “I admit I thought there would be a bloodbath. I’m glad to see you have a strong sense of leadership.”

Alistair glared at the old man. “I’m _King_ , Eamon. _Maric_ made me a king. I may have been naive as a child, but I am ready now. And I did _none_ of that for _you._ What you saw there was me protecting Tess. Just like I told you a year ago, _Tess_ is the reason I will keep this country safe. If this was _my_ home, they _never_ would have made it through the gates.” He spun and marched straight up to the spare quarters Tess was assigned.

“King Alistair!” Pádraig called. Metal clanked as he jogged to fall in step beside Alistair. “Your Majesty, forgive me. I got carried away. I’ve never liked Cauthrien, I think she’s a joke of a captain. Follows men with influence around like a starving stray.”

 _“No,_ Pád, _thank_ you for that. I don’t even _know_ this Cauthrien and I _hate_ her, just for _following_ those sodding shits.” He sighed at the door to his and Tess’ quarters. The elite guard stepped aside so Alistair could pass through. He could hear Tess sobbing, her Taint frantic inside his veins as he felt it surge and fade like she was zipping across the room. “Listen, I need to calm her down, or _no one_ will sleep tonight. Make sure no one leaves or enters the gate. Only Zevran and the golems are allowed through, and if _they_ don’t come back, send a patrol to search for them. Watch the property walls, watch the servants.” He sighed again. “I may end up retiring for the night. _Thank you_ , friend.” Alistair meant it. He clapped Pádraig’s shoulder before shoving open the door.

Tess was in his arms before he knew it. Sobbing, quaking, gasping, clinging with white knuckles, stammering so fast Alistair couldn’t understand a word. Teagan clamped Alistair’s shoulder on his way out, Morrigan and Leliana left without a word. Wynne said calming spells were applied and Leliana prayed, but she was unsure what could be done at this point. Alistair locked the door when the room cleared, and he took Tess to the bed.

 _Maker, she was a wreck._ Eyes and lips puffy from tears, hyperventilating in what a seemed a solid state of raw panic. It must have been like seeing her family dying all over again. _Alistair would kill both those men._

His thumbs pressed hard circles on both hands, alternating one to draw her rune on her cheek just like so long ago. Her pulse ran so fast it emanated its own aura, each beat of her heart pushing another gust of her spirit against him. Her breath came like bellows on stubborn coals. Alistair sang; something he had not done since Maker-knows-when. None of this worked. She had not been this hard to calm in a long time.

As the fire crackled like cymbals to her thrumming blood, Alistair removed his armor and clothes, undressed till a breeze from the open window dried the sweat of intensity from the ruckus in the hall. Still gasping and streaming, Tess watched him as he freed her of leather and cloth. One article at a time, feathering his fingers down her arms, hands, legs as he revealed his wife to him. _Skin, breath, and touch._ He pulled her into his arms under the blankets and cradled her in his lap. Slow rocking, tender swirls on the back of her hand, pressing her palms against his chest to feel his heartbeat. _I’m here, I have you. Breathe with me._ Humming Chantry tunes of comfort and devotion.

Skin sweat together by the time Tess calmed. Still clinging to him, her breath came in lingering waves like it did when she slept. The absence of tiny snores let Alistair know she was still awake.

“I loved him.”

 _There it was._ Alistair tried to mask a sigh with a deep breath. “Which one?”

“Loghain.” She sniffled into her handkerchief. “I wanted so much to be like him.” She paused for a deep breath of her own. “I remember the first time I saw him order his army. I was eleven. I wanted to be a warrior like Fergus, but I wanted to _command_ people like Loghain did. He was _so confident._ He was like a storybook war hero. And then… then when San Amoldo began training me, Loghain would come watch my sessions with father and Fergus. It was _his_ , the Crow. Amoldo was _his_ prisoner. We were there when the Crow was found. Sent to kill some ship merchant in Gwaren for a bad deal. We were there when Loghain threw Amoldo in prison. I was twelve then, and I asked father to let me be trained at supper. I pointed out Loghain had women soldiers. So when Amoldo arrived, Loghain urged father to let Amoldo work off his service, let him train me. Loghain used to watch, and then after Am-” she sniffled again. “After Amoldo died, when Loghain came to me…promised he could make sure I’d never have to marry Cailan. I leapt at his proposal, Alistair. He had it all planned out, it took a year of pushing me in with all the families, becoming friends with all the daughters…I used to hate them, did you know? But I did it for _him._ I _idolized_ him. I thought he had all the answers. I didn’t understand death then, I didn’t understand what it did to people who survived, I didn’t…I thought it would be easy. An easy escape from Cailan. I believed him when he said it would be perfect. I believed _in_ him. He’s a _general_ who saved the country from a terrible war, I thought he knew what was best.” Hot breath and cool tears mingled down Alistair’s chest, chilling the nerves at the base of his chest hairs.

“There’s no way he could have known was best for _you,_ Tess.”

“I didn’t know that then. I saw a great man, and I saw him _so proud_ of me the first couple girl- _kills._ I wanted to marry him. I thought he was saving me.” More tears and a shaky breath. “Then I screwed up. With Dinea; she was my best friend. It was hard for me. I tried to make it painless and quick, but she didn’t die right away. Her parents heard the struggle and tried to break down the door, and I panicked. I cut her throat instead to stop her from thrashing, and I ripped her eye- _her eye out-!”_ she choked on a sob that rocked Alistair. “And then he made me rush the rest before word could get out. And then the la-the last one, after he had me…I thought he was _helping me_ , but he _hurt_ me. He be..the man I wanted to marry _betrayed_ me,” she whispered. “I thought he’d always be there to help me, but instead he _hurt_ me. He let me think he was helping me when I was really helping _him._ ” She wiped her face with the cloth and sat back.

“Maker, Tess...”

“I’ve always been so afraid of that happening again. I’ve always been afraid of being hurt by someone who promised to be there forever, promised to _help_ forever. And what Teagan said about Loghain ordering Howe to kill my family…I can’t go a single day without remembering what he’s done to me.”

This was too much for Alistair. He was grateful he knew the story better, but it didn’t help _him_ any. But her words also reflected a lifestyle she wanted from Alistair. Suffering in the Deep Roads and his reason and resolve to never command her again flashed in his mind. _Stories like this._ From the Cailan’s correspondence with Celene, what the Empress had done was mild compared to Loghain, actual help in the form of conditioning. Rather, conditioning happened to work for Tess after all she’d been through.

But now she told Alistair _I’m afraid of being hurt by someone who promised to help forever._ The whole reason she wanted him to dominate her was because she said it _helped._ Alistair couldn’t remember the person he was before he met her, and he had no idea the man he’d be in the future. What if a few years of ordering Tess around turned him into a man like Loghain?

Alistair couldn’t do it. Forget jealousy over attention. Alistair would get rid of Loghain and Howe to get them out of her life, but he _could not_ bring himself to treat her like Loghain had. She’d said Loghain had been a _great man_ before she screwed up. What if Alistair got too carried away with commanding her life and stopped being a great man as well? _What if Alistair became Loghain?_

_Maker, this is making me dizzy._

Alistair had no words for his wife. He cradled her, shed tears with her; tears of fear for the _monster_ he feared he’d become if he accepted her submission to him. Above the friends he’d made, Tess was all he had. Only Tess would be there in the end; they were Tainted, he could not rely on anyone else when his time came, no one would understand. They planned to retire in their Calling in Cadash thaig, and Po would not likely survive that long to join them. Alistair _could not_ become a monster. His end _had_ to be with Tess.

Tears put Tess to sleep long before Alistair was ready. His mind was overworked. He slipped from the bed when she snored steady and deep, tucked her in, dressed in his silly noble night clothes, and slipped out. The elite guard stood and paced down the halls as Alistair made his way to the sitting room for a hard drink.

Overwhelmed was a bit of an understatement. On top of the Blight and needing to end civil war, he could not brush away the fear of turning into a man like Loghain. The severity of the fit Loghain had caused Tess, the deception the man bred; Alistair was repulsed by such cruelty. Was this country really worth saving? How many other nobles in Ferelden were like Loghain and Howe? He also couldn’t believe Tess hadn’t told him sooner. Perhaps the outbreak could have been prevented if he’d known how she felt. He’d always assumed she loathed him, an empty relationship, a young girl not aware of the consequences. While that was sort of true, she also said she loved Loghain. _Loved._ It wasn’t _more than love_ like Alistair had with her, but Alistair once used _love_ before he’d understood there could be anything more, and it had not made the word less valid. _Would Tess resent him if he killed Loghain?_

A growl ripped through his throat as glass clanked against his teeth. Sharp brandy spilled over his tongue and burned down his throat. It felt there wasn’t enough liquor to drown Alistair’s problems right now, not even Eamon’s potent brandy.

"You must control her.”

Alistair turned to find Sten standing just inside the room. “Excuse me?” _Not more, not from Sten._

“You must control her, Warden. She is becoming a person others look up to; the soldiers talk of her - _one_ Warden, not two. She is the only Grey Warden mentioned in the tales from the elves, dwarves, and mages. She is a leader in the eyes of the races, yet she cannot lead a war like this. We cannot expect to defeat the Archdemon if a _mere human_ breaks her will simply by entering the room.”

Alistair scoffed. “Who am I to control her? She has proven herself when it matters. Any rash actions are self-preservation. You saw what happened, Sten.” He gestured to a scenario with two men and a captain no longer present in the manor. “She is already seen as a leader; _good._ I’m _glad_ people finally respect her; she’s had a tough life, she’s _earned_ that respect. Who am I take that away? She _deserves_ to be looked up to. I can’t stop that. I don’t want to anymore.” He shook his head and washed down another full shot.

“Tales from those who do not know the whole story cannot compensate for living up to your Grey Warden motto. Tales cannot make her understand the need for sacrifice-”

 _“It won’t come down to that!”_ Alistair slammed the shot glass on the table. He glared at Sten before tossing back two sloppy shots in a row. “You don’t understand how deep this goes, Sten. _Who am I_ to tell her _how_ she must behave when this people like _Loghain_ and _Howe_ are what happens when she does what she’s told? Who am I to take that freedom away? Who am I to control her?”

Sten stared back. “A King.”

Alistair froze. He remembered their talk - _King_ was no different than _Husband_ and _father;_ Queen equaled _Wife, Mother_. Alistair didn’t know how to interpret the sensation in his chest and gut. Kingship bared itself to him - as the wife of a king, he knew Tess must behave a certain way; _this_ part Alistair disagreed with, _controlling her every move_ was the path he feared would lead him to destroy her like Loghain had. But Alistair was her _husband_ first and foremost, and he understood it would always be his job to keep his wife in check with her own reality, to remind her who she is, _support._ Just like Sten told him in Honnleath.

“I do not mean suppress her like the nobles here restrain their women. I mean she must live up to glory. She is already part of legends that tell of a fierce Grey Warden. But today’s actions must never happen again. She must be as fierce as legends say in the face of _all_ adversaries. You must harness her rage. Teach her to clear her mind when facing nightmares. Meditation, seeking self. She must recognize _when_ to strike. Life must be treated as the battlefield. Otherwise, she will fail, and your country will fall when you fail with her.” The two stared without blinking for a sluggish moment. _“Control her._ Remind her who she is. _Shape her_ to her destiny. _Redeem her.”_

_Redeem her._

_Yes. Alistair could do this. He could turn Tess into THE Warden._

  
  



	58. No Point Calming Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anora's servant interrupts breakfast with a sketchy plea. It is too late to avoid the problem, the Wardens must act. But Anora is the least of Alistair's worries...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING*** Violence (choking); Angst, anxiety; drinking to numb. 
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Let it Go/Vivaldi's Winter, by The Piano Guys](https://youtu.be/6Dakd7EIgBE)

The morning brought a surprise no one could prepare for. Eamon interrupted breakfast with an elf discovered on his typical morning walk through his grounds; _not to mention the labyrinth of tents,_ he added. Too well-dressed for a servant or an alienage resident, sleek dark hair tucked into a neat bun. Alistair’s first impression was a noble, although elves were not eligible for nobility in Thedas on account of their genes dying out when mating with humans.

Tess growled so loud Alistair felt it vibrate through her arm. The full table for sixteen turned their heads to her. Meeting no eye, Tess grabbed the decanter of hard spiced cider. Her nostrils flared as she made a show of filling her goblet to the brim.

“Go back home, Erlina. You can tell Cailan’s widow the Queen of Ferelden is _not interested_ in taking tea with the new Teyrna of Gwaren,” Tess announced with a scowl. A servant of some kind, if Tess thought she brought an invitation.

“I beg your pardon, but _Anora_ is still queen,” a thick Orlesian accent dominated her voice. Alistair tensed.at the elf’s words. “The Landsmeet has not-”

Alistair’s chair crashed to the floor as he stood. “Mind how you speak to my wife.”

Pádraig sipped loudly from Alistair’s left. _“Now_ may I kill someone?”

 _“Please,”_ Tess approved.

“This is not the time for conflict,” Eamon intervened. “Tesslyn, Alistair, Teagan, we have an urgent issue. Please join me in my study. Breakfast can wait.”

“I am not done eating yet, Eamon.” Tess shoveled a large bite of food in her mouth. “Whafever Amora’f hammaiden wamshay, she camshay whowum eafeem,” she said through exaggerated chewing. She washed her excessive bite with gulps, following with a belch that echoed out of her metal goblet like a horn. Eamon rolled his eyes while others like Zevran, Morrigan, Oghren and Pádraig sniggered. Teagan pretended not to notice though the rim of his mouth tightened to hide a smirk. When the new elf grimaced in disgust, Tess’ lips curled up in satisfaction.

Pádraig recovered Alistair’s chair. “Sit, please. Enjoy the show, Your Majesty,” he whispered with a grin he could not fight.

“Are you finished?” Eamon’s brows raised, not blind to her intentional charade.

“My _plate_ is still full.” Tess gestured before her. “Blame your cook; _she_ thinks I’m _too_ _thin_. And _then_ blame the Deep Roads. _Then_ blame _Loghain_ for dismissing the Orlesian army and deserting Cailan, because without him, your cook would not need to count my ribs.”

Alistair sat and squeezed his wife’s thigh under the table. Her voice rang of bitterness, but none could blame her. Without Teagan and Pádraig, the party would not be here now for Eamon to question attitude.

Tess swished the next swig in her mouth, glaring at the elf through another hard swallow. _“What_ could be _so important,_ Erlina, that _precious Anora_ can’t afford time to ask herself?”

Erlina hesitated while her eyes flew to the elite guard and the Wardens’ party. “I would prefer to discuss this in private, my lady.”

Alistair slammed his goblet on the table. _“Mind how you address my wife,_ or my golems will escort you out like they escorted Loghain and Howe.”

“I will not call another Queen,” Erlina stood firm.

“Then goodbye.” Alistair motioned for Shale.

At the first few thundering stomps, the elf panicked. “Please! My queen is in trouble! She sent me to seek help!”

Tess stood this time. Her eyes roamed over Erlina from across the room, suspicion all over her face. “Anora is _never_ in trouble, and I am the _last_ person she would summon help from. Do not come in here with lies!”

“She is not coming to you as a noble, my queen needs-”

“Anora is _not_ queen. You are _speaking_ to the Queen. _Tesslyn_ is married to the son of Maric,” Teagan spoke up.

“I-” Erlina sighed and muttered under her breath. “Very well.” She straightened.

“Anora is _not_ in trouble. I bet my life on it.” Tess sat back down and refilled her goblet.

“Please, it is best to speak in private, I do not know who-”

“Not a chance,” Pádraig interjected. “These men remain at Queen _Tesslyn’s_ side at all times. Whatever you wish to say, say it in front of us. _If_ the King and Queen decide to trust you, the people you see here will perform the task.”

“Is there never a clause to excuse the guard?” Eamon asked, eager to discuss whatever the elf had to say.

 _“Never_. The safety of Her Majesty is non-negotiable.” Pádraig popped a bun in his mouth. Alistair was forever grateful for such a friend.

Erlina grew more frustrated by the moment. _“Fine.”_ She took a deep breath. “My qu-”

Pádraig cleared his throat loudly.

 _“Anora,”_ Erlina corrected herself, “suspects her father, Teyrn Loghain, of involvement in the king’s death-”

Tess laughed in spite as she drank. “And just how long did it take her to figure that out?”

“Tesslyn, please, let her finish. This is important,” Eamon urged.

Erlina continued as if she’d not been interrupted. “The new flag arriving in the city disturbs the Teyrn. He speaks to himself, rants and paces, he says unkind things about the king that makes my qu- that _worries_ Anora. So she goes to Teyrn Rendon -”

“Pádraig, _kill her. Please. Now.”_ Tess’ knuckles were white at the edge of the table.

Pádraig pushed his chair back and unsheathed his sword, _always ready,_ but Alistair stopped him. “Wait.”

 _“Alistair!”_ Tess hissed.

 _“Wait,_ Tess. She might have information,” he told his wife. He clamped his hand over hers. He looped his thumb, holding her stare until her pupils dilated and her shoulders relaxed. “We don’t need to accept it, we just need to hear it,” he told his wife. “If something goes wrong, she’s yours to deal with. Alright?” Tess mumbled agreement, scooting closer to Alistair, holding his fingers as he massaged her left hand. “Continue, Erlina.” Alistair reached for his drink with his shield hand.

“The Teyrn tells us he must handle a problem in the kennels and a servant will escort us to spare quarters so we may speak in private. Anora is so anxious she cannot speak, so I left to fetch water, but when I came back there was a spell over the door! An enchantment of some kind. I could not hear her fists against the door, I could not grab the handle! She could hear me and I her, but I could not reach her! She tells me to find the Wardens. If anyone can help, it is you!” Erlina pleaded.

“Give me one reason why I should believe that _lying sack of shit_ can perform _magic.”_ Tess’ nostrils flared again.

“He has a house mage. The mage follows the Teyrn everywhere for six months,” Erlina insisted.

“The Circle just _gave up_ a mage?” Alistair said in doubt.

“Not likely. This smells fishy indeed,” Wynne agreed.

“I do not know where he found the mage, but he arrived with him months ago. _Please help._ I can sneak out guard armor; I am a _servant,_ after all, no one will notice a servant carrying armor. You could go in disguise and rescue my quee- _please rescue her!_ I fear for her safety!” The Orlesian accent intensified her desperation. Her eyes darted in thought when no one agreed. _“Please!_ If you save her, she will help you at the Landsmeet!”

“We may have no choice but to trust this,” Eamon rushed before Tess could speak. “Ferelden adores Anora. They _will_ listen to her. If she will advocate for us at the Landsmeet, we need to collect her.”

Tess ripped herself from Alistair and the table, throwing her napkin on her plate so hard the fork jumped. “This is _bullshit_ , Eamon! Anora will _never_ advocate for us! You think _she_ will stand there and just _give up the crown?_ Anora would rather _die_ than be demoted _. You_ know her as well as I do! She is full of lies and does _nothing_ unless personal gain is involved! _Just like Loghain!”_

“I agree.” Teagan wiped his mouth and removed himself from the table. “Anora is a crafty woman, brother. We cannot trust her to speak for Alistair. Knowing Anora, she will promise her vote and twist our words at the last minute. And with Rendon at Loghain’s hip these days, there was no need for Anora to visit his manor. I believe we are being set up.”

“Then what?” Eamon challenged. “If this is a trap, it is too late for us. Her servant has come to us with a plea to save the Queen - _the people see her as the Queen, Captain, don’t correct me!”_ Eamon scolded Pádraig. “We have no choice but to trust Erlina _and_ Anora. If Anora dies in Rendon’s estate because we refused to help when her handmaiden called, Loghain will pin her death on me - or all of us. That is not a risk I’m willing to take.”

“And you couldn’t just _leave_ the suspicious elf outside?? You _had_ to open your gates? When you _know_ Anora will fight us at all costs? Because _that’s what Anora does! She fights any who challenge her reign!_ ” Tess paced behind Alistair and made a noise of frustration. Alistair pushed his chair back to grab his wife. “Eamon, _now_ we _are_ responsible for her death! _All because you couldn’t leave well-enough alone!”_ She screamed through her teeth and wiggled one hand free to chuck a goblet across the room; it clanked against the wall after spraying others with spiced alcohol. _“Why are you so stupid?!”_

Sten caught Alistair’s eye as Pádraig ordered Erlina to wait in the entry hall. The Qunari gave a nod; Alistair frowned. Tess had every right to be upset; Eamon screwed them over and set them up _again_. But now _Anora’s personal maid_ saw Tess unhinged. This is part of what Alistair discussed with Sten the night before. She needed to act like the hero the elves and dwarves and former werewolves boasted of. Tess _must_ be a woman who could challenge the daughter of Loghain. Continuing this fit only gave Anora and Loghain more fuel against Tess and her past.

Alistair stood, clutching Tess’ hand. “Excuse us.” He began to lead Tess when Pádraig stopped him. Alistair watched his friend shoo everyone from the dining hall; through complaints and grabs for platters and drink, Pádraig cleared the room. Alistair caught a last glimpse as the door closed husband and wife in alone.

“Tess, this can’t happen,” Alistair told her.

“We can’t trust her, Alistair! _And stupid Eamon!”_ She said through her teeth.

“She’s Anora’s private maid?”

“Yes. She followed Anora from Gwaren when Anora married Cailan.She’s been with Anora since she was fourteen, she knows Anora better than anyone.”

“You threw a cup at her. At her or Eamon, it doesn’t matter who - you threw a cup and _she saw it._ Anora will know.”

“I don’t care! I won’t save that woman! _I put her on the throne! Me!_ If I had said _Yes_ to Cailan, Anora would have grown up just another prissy noble. _I made her queen!_ And she _openly_ supports her father! I won’t help her!”

“But Eamon’s right, Tess.”

 _“What?”_ she hissed.

Alistair sighed. He sat on the edge of the table and held out his hand. “Come here.”

 _“Eamon’s right?”_ she echoed like she hoped she’d heard wrong.

“You’re _both_ right. Now _come here,”_ he hardened his voice to a tone he knew she obeyed. She was too wound up, though, unable to stop pacing, wringing her hands, grinding her teeth. _“Look_ at me.” Emerald globes searched him. “You are _right_ , Tess. I hardly need to tell you otherwise. Eamon _should have_ left the elf alone. But he _didn’t._ It doesn’t matter how much we hate Anora anymore. _Because_ Eamon brought the elf in, _he’s also right_. On the chance Anora _is_ in danger, you and I can’t afford to be blamed for her death. Loghain already has half the country believing we’re to blame for Ostagar. Those same people will _believe_ him if he says we killed Anora. Then where does that leave you and me?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to think about that.”

“I don’t either. We have to make the best of this. We don’t have a choice anymore. Tess, you _know_ this. And you _know_ we have to decide something.” Alistair paused, listening to padded leather slippers scrape over stone every time she turned. “What do _you_ think we should do?”

Only a moment before her face scrunched and panic struck her. “I can’t…you _know_ I can’t-” her eyes glossed over and she cringed from her own mind.  

“Tess, you _can._ You _have_ to, I’m _making_ you."

 _“Why?_ Alistair, you _know_  I can’t-- _think out there_ anymore. _Ahead._ You can’t leave this up to me. I don’t know, I _can’t!”_

“No, no. Tess, _listen._ ” But he knew she could hardly hear him over the noise in her mind. _How had he done this before? He couldn’t remember._ He remembered he’d trained her long ago, had her ready and waiting each evening with a drink in hand. _How had he done that?_ Alistair remembered nothing significant, no large or sudden demands like this.

 _Small commands._ Simple things; sometimes _no_ was all it took. _That_ was it.

“Tess, _stop.”_

“What?” she searched his eyes.

“Stop worrying. Stop pacing. _Just stop_.”

“You’re asking me to do something I _can’t_ anymore.”

“But you don’t need to fret over it. I _told_ you I’d give options. And _I’m_ here. _I_ worry for us. Do you remember that? Do you remember what the circles are for?”

She nodded. “It helps me think, helps me focus.”

“But you’re _not_ focusing, Tess. You screamed and threatened yesterday, and you threw a cup just now.”

Her face fell. “Alistair, I _can’t think_ around him. He doesn’t even have to be here, just _things that belong to him._ Things that remind me of him. His _daughter,_ that _elf. I want to hit everything!_ And just knowing Rendon is here and _I can’t pay him back-”_

 _“Stop._ Right now, _stop,”_ he lowered his voice. Tess’ eyes flew to his. “The circles are for _you._ When I start drawing, that is _your_ cue to hand over your worries. You let _me_ worry, so _you_ can just be _Tess._ So you can be the woman I married, so you feel good enough to take care me each night. You remember _that,_ don’t you?” She nodded again and finally took his hand. She watching his thumbs move as Alistair marked on her hand. “I take care of you so you can take care of me, so _I_ can _keep_ taking care of you. But you’re _not doing_ that, Tess. You’re _not_ _letting_ me take care of you, you’re not letting me calm you. It took _hours_ last night. I understand what happened can’t just be brushed aside, but _I’m here._ You’re not supposed to hold things in till you explode. You’re supposed to _talk_ to me, get it off your chest and let _me_ do all the worrying. You have to tell me _before_ you explode. You aren’t _Tess_ when you let yourself slip away like this. When you hold things in, you _hate_ yourself, and _everything_ throws you into a fit. _You have to talk to me._ I’m your _husband, I more than love you._ You _know_ that. I’ve _always_ tried to help you, from the day we met. I _always_ want you happy. I need you like that _now._ If we can’t keep our heads, Loghain and Howe _win._ I did not come all this way just to lose you here.” Though her pulse ran slower under his touch, Alistair knew she was still overwhelmed. Howe and Loghain here _together_ burned so many fuses, it was no surprise Tess was little more than explosives waiting to be lit. “Right now we have a situation. A _serious_ one. I’m making _you_ decide because this is _your job. You are Queen,_ her offense is against you, _you_ decide her fate.”

“Alistair, I _can’t._ I don’t know _how_ to think that far anymore. I can’t figure out _possibilities_ anymore. I don’t _want_ to help her, but…not wanting to do something isn’t _planning_ anything.”

“You _have_ to plan something, Tess. _You_ know Anora; I don’t. You’re the only one who knows how she’ll react to us. I’ll give you the options _I_ see, I told you before I’d do that. But I need you to think first. Has Anora ever honored a promise to you?”

“We never got along. Alistair, this is an _understatement,_ Anora and I _physically fought_ growing up. I bloodied her up, I chipped a tooth, and she gave me a black eye and bruised my ribs. We were not friends, we _never made_ promises to each other.”

“Okay, then has she ever been _different?_ Is there someone else she admires besides Loghain? Someone we can bait her with?” He pried. She shook her head again. “What is she afraid of?” A shrug and another shake. _“Food allergies,_ even? _Anything_ we can use?” She winced in apology, and Alistair sighed.Alistair sighed. “That’s a lot of unknowns.”

“I know she’s power-hungry. Cailan let her do all the ruling. She’s vicious when she wants to be right, but she knows how to phrase things so not to implicate herself. She can turn a founded accusation into an attempt on her life.”

“Fantastic. Our options are _Save the Fake Queen_ or _Ignore the Fake Queen.”_

“If you’re letting _me_ choose-”

“And what if that elf is telling the truth?” he cut in. “What if Anora is really in danger, and we ignore this?”

“But what if we’re being set up like Teagan said?”

Alistair had no ideas for that yet. “Unfortunately we’ll have to deal with that if it comes up. _If.”_ He sighed again, studying his wife. In the time he’d lectured, her breath evened and limbs relaxed, the lines around her eyes smoothed. “Thank you for calming down when I asked. _This_ is what we need, Tess. _This_ is how we work together.” He paused. “It’s what you’ve been asking me for, remember? It can’t always be drinks at sundown and tying you up, but it will _work_. It _has_ to.”

“It’s _easier_ when you tell me, though. Like you used to. Like the with the berries, and leaving court early to get ready.”

“We’ll work on that. Right now, we need to work on keeping _Tess._ You are brave and funny and exciting. You’re _amazing._ I want you to feel good about yourself so you can help _me_. Help me take care of you, Tess.”

“Can I call you _husband_ again? When we’re with others, I mean. And _Alistair_ when we’re alone?”

He’d forgotten about that as well. “Yes,” he nodded. “I’d love that.”

“Do I still get to decide Anora’s fate?”

A chuckle bubbled in his throat. “What do you think _I’m_ going to suggest?”

She grimaced. “That we save her.”

“Just to be safe,” he reminded her.

Tess frowned and shut her eyes. “I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I. _But_ …?” he prompted.

“But _not_ saving her could be worse,” she mumbled.

“Exactly. Look at me?” Her eyes flew open again. “That elf will report everything you do to Anora, you know that. _You_ need to make the call. Go out there and tell her what you intend to do and tell her _why_. _Show her_ Anora has something to fear. Show her who the _true Queen_ is.”

She drifted for a moment. “But what if I can’t?”

“I’ll be _right here_ at the end of your arm.”

“What if she asks questions I can’t answer?”

“Then answer in questions. Prove a point in questions _she_ can’t answer either. You did it with Harrowmont, you did it with the Dalish, you did it with Branka. You stood up against Loghain at _Ostagar_. Do it again _now_ against his daughter. _Make Erlina question her loyalty to Anora._ Save your frustration for later; we still have two men to kill, don’t forget. You’ll want to make sure they suffer.”

Tess was not as smooth with Erlina as Alistair wanted, but calming was an improvement. The elf reacted how Alistair hoped all the same - surprised _Tess_ agreed to rescue Anora, _speechless_ when Tess countered Erlina questioning the change of heart with _I’m sure Anora would do the same for me_. It was enough of a pause to read the elf’s face; Anora would _not_ do the same for Tess. Tess and Teagan were right, Anora planned to use the Wardens for personal gain, nothing more. Alistair would make sure to keep his eyes and ears open from now on.

Erlina excused herself to secure guard uniforms. While she could not eavesdrop, they made a plan: Pádraig and two of the elite guard would join Alistair and Tess, and if they failed to return by sunset, the rest of the elite guard plus the Wardens’ party would break through. But Erlina had an answer ready when she returned sooner than expected with only three sets of armor: Howe hired soldiers each day, the manor was so busy no one noticed her walk out with what she could carry. Five were conveniently reduced to three; as if the plan wasn’t suspicious enough. There was no time to waste, though. If they planned to return by sundown, they needed to proceed with what Erlina afforded them.

Morrigan scoffed in amusement when she walked in on Alistair, Tess and Pádraig suiting up in thin steel armor. “You _cannot_ be _serious_. You plan to _frighten_ your way to safety then?”

“Let me guess: you’re talking to _me_ ,” Alistair said.

“A _smart_ guess. Tell me, Alistair, _who_ do you see in the painting behind you?”

Alistair turned - and froze; Tess, Pádraig, Eamon, Erlina and Teagan followed suit.

“Dammit,” Teagan muttered.

The portrait of Maric in the entry hall; Cailan's portrait hung in library. Alistair only glanced at it before, but now he stared. _Alistair was Maric._ The fact Alistair’s hair held a reddish tint opposed to Maric’s sunshine locks meant nothing. They both donned long hair and beards. Alistair’s reflection in mirrors matched the man in the portrait.

 _“You_ cannot go, Alistair. Twill be all of five seconds before someone shrieks in terror at _the ghost of King Maric!”_ Morrigan emphasized.

“If the peasants and merchants recognized you, so will trained guards.” Teagan  frowned. “Forgive me, Alistair, I did not consider this. Your personality makes you very different from Maric and Cailan, I forget you look like them.” He sighed heavy. “I’m only grateful you haven’t left yet. We can still figure this out.”

“Tess isn’t going alone, Morrigan, forget it,” Alistair said.

“She needn’t go _alone,_ but _you_ cannot accompany her. Tesslyn _must_ go. She is the only one who knows the manor.” Morrigan paused. _“I_ will accompany her.”

Alistair’s turn to laugh. “Not a chance. The last time you took my wife somewhere, she came back with a burn on half her neck.”

“Twas not _I_ who burned her!” Morrigan snapped. “I am _young_ enough to pass as a recruit, and as this is my first time in Denerim, _I_ will not be noticed! Unless you believe _Sten_ or _Wynne_ are suitable escorts. A _Qunari_ won’t seem suspicious in the _least_. Perhaps Shale or Branka?”

“No. End of story. Pádraig, send some men in.”

“Anora asks for the _Wardens,_ though. She will _recognize_ you. She will not trust strangers even if I am with them; it could mean I am captive,” Erlina protested.

“In the event we are disarmed, _I_ have no need of a weapon _and_ I can remove magical barriers,” Morrigan said. “I am _never_ vulnerable. I am _suited_ for this task, unlike _other_ ventures I have suffered for your sake.”

“Do it,” Teagan approved. “She’s right, she is an unknown. We need that advantage.”

Alistair’s brow hung low. Morrigan _was_ right. Aside from admitting _that_ , there was the matter of the Taint. Tess already looked terrified. The presence of her Taint disappeared after about forty yards, and its thinning was hard enough to deal with. Tess locked up when it dimmed, and Alistair lost sight of everything around him. He likened it to having one's innards ripped out and stretched till they detached. His jaw and knuckles quivered at just the thought.

“No. _No!”_ Tess said through her teeth. “You don’t - I can’t do that. I _can’t,_ I _have to stay with him!”_

Alistair’s entire gut felt like a searing metal. The bitter taste of nausea lingered in the back of his throat. _He hated himself already._ “Tess, we hav- we have to try. They’ll recognize me. That won’t end well. Even if I shave and cut my hair, I still look like Cailan, you said so yourself.”

“No. No! No no no no nononononono…” the words blended together till they trailed off as one sound.

Alistair removed what armor he’d put on and collected the armor Tess chose, then led her to an empty corner of the hall.

“Alistair, I can’t do this!” she pleaded.

He clenched his jaw to keep still. “Yes, you can. You _have to.”_ He gathered her in his arms as tight as he could and kissed her head. “I’ll wait at the gate, I’ll watch for you, I won’t move.” Attempts to calm would not help right now. Separation would still happen. Even when they fought, they remained in full-strength of each other’s Taint. “Take Po with you, it won’t so be bad. You’ll see. If anyone asks, you got-got your scar in a mabari training accident.” He felt under the wrist guards for the handkerchief. “Don’t take this off.”

Alistair did not know how he managed to dress Tess. His fingers trembled as bad as hers, slipping over buckles, almost unable to tie up excess straps so she wouldn’t snag on anything. They had _never_ been apart. Eighteen months together, within reach at all times; and now she would be out of sight. Dying together was bearable; living without her, even for a few hours, would be torture. Alistair did not know how to say goodbye.

Fingers clamped like welded metal as Alistair turned to hand his wife to Pádraig. Only Pádraig was passing his armor to Zevran.

“What’s going on?” Alistair’s voice was gravelly, broken. He imagined he looked as bad as he sounded.“I need to be here, Your Majesty,” Pádraig said, concern shaping his face as well. “If something bodes ill, I need to command my men.”

“Do not worry, Alistair.” Zevran tied his hair down over his ears and slid a helmet on. “No one will hurt her. _I_ will be there, yes?”

“As if _I_ will not be present!” Morrigan huffed.

“I _don’t trust you_ with Tess, Morrigan. Last time you were alone with her, you fed her lyrium and chopped her hair.” Alistair had not forgotten the days he learned how heartbreak felt.

“You trust me _enough,_ or I would not be here!” the witch retorted. “What you fail to remember is Tesslyn is _more_ than capable of infiltration _on her own._ We are headed into _her territory, noble_ territory. Tesslyn knows _exactly_ where we may pass unnoticed. _And_ , should all fail and this _captive queen_ expose us, I am _more_ than capable of freezing a manor! A mage is _not_ _expected_ in the ranks of security, they will _not_ be prepared. If you think I will risk my own life by abandoning hers, you have learned _little_ of me over the year!”

“I will be escorting them in as new transfers,” Erlina added. “They are expected to be unfamiliar with the grounds. And now, since we have stalled, we will be arriving in time for a shift change.”

“Just how do you know all this?” Alistair glared at the elf.

“The roster was not far from the armory,” she explained; an answer too quick for Alistair's liking.

The whole thing was wrong. Fear of the Landsmeet sentencing Tess to a beheading before his eyes propelled his feet; otherwise, Alistair may have rooted in the hall to keep Tess in his arms. _He was her Protector, he had to be with her!_ Yet his voice told the guards to lower the gate so he could not run after his wife. A last kiss through metal slats before Morrigan pulled Tess from his reach.

Pressure rose inside as the warm buzz faded. It was quicker than Alistair expected, He could not remember a time when her Taint faded and he could not see her. Flat crosshatch bars rattled in his hands, shaking his head as he leaned against cool metal. The rattling merged with the lump in his throat, tumbling down like a ball of sandpaper when he swallowed.

_What am I supposed to do?_

He’d never prepared for this. They were supposed to be together _always_ , he was never supposed to worry about what to do _without her._ _Hours_ had no meaning right now. _She was gone_. No warmth, no buzz. No skin. No smell. Even in the nightmares when she’d died, he did nothing. Separation rendered him unable.

_What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do? I don’t know what to do. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know-_

“King Alistair.”

The voice caught him off guard. Not Tess, but a voice he knew. He opened his eyes and blinked many times.

“Your Majesty?”

Alistair turned his head to find Pádraig holding out a bottle of Eamon’s brandy. His knuckles burned when he released the gate; never had to pry his own fingers off something before. Without a word, he took the brandy from Pádraig, and after battling the cork, he shoved the bottle to his mouth.

He heard Teagan’s voice in head with the first full swallow, _Sip, don’t chug._ But he relished the burn. It was as close as he'd get to Tess' Taint heating his veins right now. Potent drink sanitizing his mouth by fumes alone, liquid fire forced down gulp after gulp until Alistair almost threw it back up. He forced another mouthful, fighting his gag reflex once more.

“Would training help, Your Majesty? Take your mind off things?” Pádraig offered.

“It’s not that.” Alistair wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He held up his hand to show off the tremble. Tightening his fingers into a fist and stretching them out did nothing.

“Anxiety? I’ll fetch a potion.”

“No.” Alistair shook his head. “It’s not…I don’t expect anyone to understand.”

He felt Pádraig’s stare. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Alistair’s head shook again, but not because he tried. He couldn’t stop shaking. _Too_ _sudden a disappearance._ “We’re _Tainted._ Remember? It’s like a…like a _swarm_ when I’m around Darkspawn. But other Grey Wardens, it’s different. It’s… _safety_ , someone always there to watch your back. It’s in my blood, it’s _part_ of me. A poison I can feel every day. It burns when I’m angry, or when Tess is. And it’s _different again_ with _Tess_. I don’t know if it’s because…” _My love. Because she shares my body, my heart._ His eyes locked again waiting for his wife’s return. “She’s always been _right here._ Eighteen months, she’s _always been_ here. Only left my side in Haven to fetch water.” He trailed off, eyes watering, drink sloshing in the bottle. Glass collided with his teeth when he chugged more brandy. “My _hands_ are gone, Pádraig. _What am I supposed to without my hands?”_

“For starters, try to not to trip, you'll never catch yourself in time.” Teagan joined them. _"Come,_ nephew. You’ll go _mad_ staring at this thing.” He rapped on the gate before taking Alistair by the elbow. “You will not sit here and fret over what’s out of your control. Worrying will not hasten her task. As many times around the grounds as necessary. You also, Pádraig. Mind how much you drink, Alistair, there are tents to side-step.”

Voices everywhere. Not a single one distracted Alistair from the absence in his body. Scenery blurred around him, causing Teagan to steer him by the elbow. Eamon’s brandy, as strong as it was, did not last long; this cursed Taint made sure of that. Alistair's feet moved step after step, but he had no idea where. Teagan gave up when Alistair couldn't stop tripping. Tent after tent needed to be rebuilt because Alistair was blinded to obstacles in front of him. After awhile, he was led inside the manor to pace there.

The Chantry bells didn't ring fast enough. One hour went by, then two. Teagan again attempted distraction. He went over the plan, tried to engage Alistair in talk of Anora, what to expect when she arrived, but Anora was a worse subject than feeling limbless and alone. A third hollow hour chimed.

Then -  _finally a buzz._ Faint, but there all the same, creeping closer each moment.

 _“Tess!”_ Alistair whirled so fast he knocked Teagan and Pádraig together. The hall carpet slipped and slid backward under his feet as he took off sprinting.

A bark. _Po, not Tess. Maybe Tess?_ The large doors opened before Alistair reached the entry hall. Po entered alone, dashing straight to Alistair and sliding to a stop. Jumping, pawing, tugging, barking so fast Alistair couldn’t pick up the different tones to figure out what the hound was trying to say. Then Po whipped around and crouched. A growl of warning.

 _Threatening_ barks as two women ran panting into the hall. Erlina and a lanky blonde. Alistair’s heart sparked back into action with rage reserved to protect Tess. He’d only seen this woman once, she came to visit the Grey Wardens in their barracks at the palace the day after Alistair’s Joining. She’d appraised Alistair like a steer to be slaughtered. _And she came back without Tess._

Alistair had Anora against the wall before she could cry out. Feet dangling above ground, eyes wide, pupils small - surprise, not fear. Anora expected no one to care Tess was missing.

_“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY WIFE!”_

  
  



	59. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Grey Wardens are an exclusive Order. The Taint, a vile poison that allows an edge against Darkspawn, connects every Warden to each other. They are not reclusive because of secrets, though they certainly have their share, but out of fear. Fear of departure, separation. From surviving the Joining until the Calling, each branch of Wardens live together. Security, familiarity, a warm buzz that becomes a walking hearth amongst a world of strangers. They feel out of place, alien with the untainted. No matter where they go, a fellow Grey Warden always means_ **home.**  
>  _But that does not mean they cannot find family outside._  
>  Tess must rescue Anora without Alistair. Anxiety, revenge, finalization; a longer day than Tess can handle anymore. But with the help of Morrigan, Zevran, her trusty mabari, and a new Grey Warden, Tess discovers her ability for vigilance and victory without the comfort of her Order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING*** Angst - separation anxiety, mental breakdown; Graphic Violence - gore.
> 
>    
> Mood Music:  
> [ Hello/Lacrimosa, by the Piano Guys](https://youtu.be/WZjFMj7OHTw)  
> [The Lion's Heart, by Audiomachine](https://youtu.be/Mvlm7lKunjI)

**Morrigan:**

_Tis a curious discovery: a weakness I possess may not be weakness after all._

_Mother called it so, and believing such aided me when I ventured on my own. Yet Tesslyn appears the exception. I must wonder, is it truly hindering a quality when it gives a friend courage?_

_When I met Tesslyn, I felt a power in her she did not seem to understand. Tis not magic I speak of, yet it felt as if I had been placed under a spell all the same. I revered mother growing up; tales of greatness achieved by logic no human I had seen possess. But Tesslyn was like a book mother kept hidden from me, a mysterious tome in a language I was not aware existed. Indulgences of the flesh drove her to accomplish impressive feats. I watched her in the Wilds that day, an inconspicuous raven following a lone woman. Nothing but daggers and a desire to be rid of her male companions. Twas a ruse, her distaste for incompetent men, for after mother rescued them, she has not separated herself from that fool Alistair. And yet I am constantly witness to an aspect of greatness summoned by her obsession with him._

_I have felt the anxiety of separation myself. It does no wonders to explain Tesslyn’s symptoms, and this is what I do not understand. Naming that which ails you allows power to conquer it, but not with her._

_While I refer to her outwardly as such, I cannot be certain she and I were friends before. She is my closest experience to friendship, yet in observing other humans, a lack of murder attempts does not make two people friends; Zevran certainly appears proof murder attempts_ **do** _lead to friendship. Today is a different story, however. A distinct connection to out weigh any previous time I thought we had bonded. Today, I believe I have found not only a friend - the least of which I expected when mother sent me off in their care - but perhaps a sister as well._

 

**Tess:**

_Not here. Not here, not here, gone gone gone. Alistair’s gone, Alistair’s gone, Alistair’s gone, gone gone gonegonegone-_

_“Tesslyn, if you do not cease your dancing, they will arrest us!” Morrigan hisses. “You are drawing attention to yourself!”_

_Dance? The flaming wasps in my veins suddenly deprived of food and shelter? “He’s gone. He’s gone, and I_ **need** _him. Alistair’s gone, he’s go-no, he_ **can’t** _be gone!” I can feel my fingers through the gloves. The steel guards on the back of each digit clank and rub together while leather twists and pulls. I can barely see, my eyes won’t stop searching for him, so much movement._

 _“No, you_ **can** _and you_ **will** _survive without him. It has not even been half an hour! You display behavior of a criminal fearing capture! What is next? Knocking over crates? Walking into walls? You look as if you’ve committed murder and left clues in your haste to dump the body.”_

_“You don’t know what this feels like!” It hurts, my veins have been cut open, it feels like I’ve been bleeding out since she dragged me away from Alistair at the gate. But she doesn’t understand, she thinks it’s infatuation. She doesn’t understand my Taint._

_“You seem to know a great deal of these behaviors for someone who grew up alone in the woods,” Zevran says. His right hand has not left the hilt of his dagger._

_“I am a free mage in a city with Templars at beck and call! I do not wish a tattoo on my forehead!”_

_Po nudges me again. Alistair sent him along to make this easier, but Po’s Taint is so weak compared to his. Right now Po is simply my guide dog, pushing me back into our tiny group every few steps._

_Never in a million ages would I thought I’d be saying I cannot live without someone. I don’t know how. Alistair and his Taint have been my entire world since I woke up from my Joining._

_“Come, come, my dear. You know this place, yes?” Zevran grabs my right hand to stop the noise from my gloves, and I see where we are. I remember when this held a nosy Kendell family, women gathering at the gate or the southern balcony to spy on neighbors while pretending to enjoy life as the Arl’s wife and daughters. I ended both girls in one night and attended their pyre the next day. “We will see dear Alistair before you know it.”_

_“I doubt it is customary for guards to hold hands.” Morrigan gestures towards the manor doors where guards stand before a crowd of protesters._

_“Then hold her arms with me, and we will say nerves shook her to illness on her first day, no?” Zevran retorts. Morrigan scoffs and rolls her eyes, but takes Zevran’s advice anyway. Now with each arm linked around others, Morrigan and Zevran tremble with me._

_“Will you stop that!” she scolds me._

_“I can’t. It’s not me.” I know I cannot explain this. “Why are people here?” I ask Erlina, trying hard to steady my arms as I’m guided behind a wagon into shadows against the manor wall; my knees and insides shake instead._

_I hate that this happens. I hate that my Taint can render me so incapable. It is too much like lyrium._

_“The new Arl does not honor his contracts. He has not paid anyone for over a month, and now that he has returned, they demand their dues.” Anora’s handmaiden motions for us to hurry._

_Howe. That lying, murdering son of a bitch. “Is he here?” As if rescuing Loghain’s daughter is not bad enough._

_“He is, which means he will be surrounded by guards. We must be very careful. Do not speak to anyone, do not make eye contact.”_

_“But if we don’t, they’ll know. Guards have to acknowledge each other.” I remember the patrols of my father’s home. Always make eye contact, always say the other guards’ names; the easiest way to catch a thief._

_“You are new recruits, you are not expected to know names yet.”_

_Etiquette from years ago floods my mind, providing momentary relief from the lack of excess heat in my veins. “No.” I shake my head. “No, first order of operation, you must know your superiors. We may get away with addressing lower ranks as Guardsman, but if a knight or captain approaches us and we do not address him by rank and name because we do not know him, we must accept punishment or else it’s the dungeons!” Zevran stares at me. I blink and blink and blink to separate the amputation of Alistair’s Taint from overpowering my memory. Alistair would tell me to think right now, to remember._ **“Always** _know your chain of command! For if you don’t and the King approaches, it’s the gallows!” The thought of being hanged and never seeing Alistair quickens my breath. Watching him as I drop, the rope cinching up. I can already feel it scratching, digging into my neck. Morrigan yanks my hands away when I reach to massage the imaginary burn at my neck._

_Zevran makes a noise with a grimace and touches his own neck. “That does not sound promising.”_

_“We will not be hanged! Do you not trust me to aide you? Do you not trust your own ability? Everything you've accomplished, Tesslyn!” Morrigan whispers._

_“That was so long ago. They’re just stories now,” I say._

_“Then let us hurry and be done with this. We will fetch this fake queen-”_

_“Anora is still Queen. The Landsmeet has not declared her unsuitable,” Erlina interrupts her._

_“I_ **cannot** _believe I say this, but you are lucky Alistair and his biggest fan are not here,” Morrigan shoots back._

_“If you are confusing me with Pádraig again…” Zevran begins. He makes a show of clamping his mouth shut when she glares. “Of course. We must hurry, that is the important thing.”_

_The sensation of draining returns before the bickering stops. We hide in low bushes out of sight so Erlina can coax guards from the servant’s entry, but the bushes shake with me. Leaves and twigs break off in my hands, causing a male voice to call out for whoever arrives to show himself. Morrigan spins me by the shoulders and hushes me. I hear Erlina wail about something by the fountain._

_“What is the point of these uncomfortable uniforms if they do not let us infiltrate?” Zevran whispers._

_“Roster guards,” I breathe. “They make sure only authorized persons enter.”_

_“SHH!” Morrigan’s eyes bulge. I close my eyes and try to breathe deep like Alistair tells me when I’m upset. The only way I can muffle my clanking fingers is to clutch Morrigan’s arms. This is the first time she does not protest._

_“Let’s go! Now! Hurry!” Zevran hisses. He grabs my arm and rips me from Morrigan. Running feels good right now, even a sprint brings a rush of heat to my limbs. “If they had locks on these things, they would need no guards!” The door flies open at the push of his hand, and he shoves me inside._

_It’s dark in here. It takes no time to adjust other than excitement rushing from my head, reminding the rest of me I’ve been drained. Dark like the Deep Roads. Easier to see in here than outside. Morrigan crashes into me as Zevran and Po leap in. The door closes, and Morrigan mutters she can’t see a thing. A pair of eyes reflect light from the kitchen ahead; Zevran’s eyes illuminate his brow and nose as he turns my way._

_“At least it smells better here than down there.” He remembers the Deep Roads too._

_The door opens again. Zevran catches me when I trip and lose balance trying to turn from the blinding light. “I thought I’d never be rid of those two!” Erlina leans against the door, catching her breath like she ran from Amaranthine._

_“Tesslyn, are you sure you know where to go?” Morrigan peers into the kitchen from the other side of Zevran._

_“Yes, I know every room in this house. I killed two girls here.”_

_Erlina makes a noise as she strides past us. “My Queen will be interested to know this. There is still a bounty for the killer of the Kendell daughters.”_

_My teeth grind against each other. “If I hadn’t killed them, Anora would never have been queen._ **I** _would have married Cailan. You should be_ **thanking** _me for your chance to sleep in the palace,_ **servant**.”

_“It is remarkable how chilling your voice sounds when you say that word,” Zevran tells me._

_It is far easier to pass through the manor than I imagined. The scullery maids do not recognize me; noble ladies aren’t supposed to bear wretched scars upon their pretty faces, are they? No one notices my fingers clenching and clanking. No one notices growling as we pass by the kennel. No one one seems to care I have a mabari and an elf and we’re being led by a well-dressed servant. No one notices when I veer towards the sound of prayer - in hopes of finding a Templar and lyrium;_ **anything** _to awaken the burn in my veins again - nor when Morrigan yanks me from the room, armor clapping and clanking along._

 _There are_ **so many** _guards here. So much noise, so many bodies. What does Howe want with them all? There aren’t enough beds here for all of them. It’s like he’s trying to build an army._

_Even more curious, only one guard stands at the front doors. I cannot help but stare as we walk by. Nothing but his eyes move, following my gaze with every careful step. Erlina puts on a show, announcing we have arrived at the main doors, says this is a “most important exit” and “the Teyrn is strict about who enters. He is a busy man and cannot delay his other holds for a foolish mistake like allowing just anyone to barge in. Would you mind telling these new guards the punishment for disregarding the Teyrn’s safety?” Erlina asks the guard who matches my stare. She is a better actress than I gave her credit for. This may complicate things._

_The doorman’s eyes roll over the five of us before answering. “A week in the stocks. If you’re lucky.” His eyes fall back to me. I don’t recognize him. Does he know me? We assumed I would not be recognized because of my scar, but what if he saw me when we rode in? What if he’s from Redcliffe? Or one of the soldiers holding Lothering? I wet my lips and swallow, grabbing Po’s collar to mask my tremors. “Mind your hound. Just had the carpets replaced.” His eyes remain on me as Erlina leads us away, I feel it. I have a grim feeling about this._

_We turn into the next hall and out of sight from the door guard. The Teyrn’s quarters lie straight ahead past the library and gallery. Erlina turns down a short hall to my left. A rainbow of color shimmers in waves over the door._

_“He made no attempt to conceal it,” Morrigan whispers. “I wonder how many enjoy this game?”_

_Po makes no sound when I stumble over him. Erlina presses against the barrier. “My lady, she is here! I have brought the Grey Wardens.”_

“ **One** _Grey Warden,” Morrigan corrects. I glance behind, but we are out of sight and hidden in shadows. This seems all too convenient._

_“Only one? I - very well, good job, Erlina. Don’t panic. All right! Warden? Can you hear me?” The voice turns the taste of my saliva bitter. Anora must not realize the other Warden is me. She has never addressed me with such equality before. A chilling vacancy in my veins, and…half the reason our places are not switched stands behind the magical barrier._

_“Queen Anora?” I wonder how long before she recognizes my voice._

_“Yes! Oh, thank…the Maker!” she is not convincing. I can almost see Leliana’s reaction:  shock on her face, then a frown, "Thank the...Maker? What sort of believer hesitates her praise?"_

_“How do I know it’s really you?” I ask. Sodding void, why did I ever agree to this? Trapped is the best place for this sow._

_“You’re not serious? How am I to prove myself from here? I doubt my crown fits under the door.”_

_“Why did you wear your crown to discuss treachery from your father?” I ask. Stall, I can do. I haven’t a clue how to sneak the face of a woman more famous than I past guarded doors, but I can stall her till I tire. She is like the screeching of rusty metal to my ears, and hog mud to my eyes. I am in no hurry to rescue this shrew. “Isn’t that something you’d want to keep private?” I can’t believe I’m daring myself to shout so others hear the conversation._

_“It’s a symbolic habit, I’m afraid. Like I said, how can I prove myself from behind a sealed door?”_

_“Maybe…a secret knock? Surely you have one of those. How else do you know which maid enters your private chambers?” From the corner of my eye, I see Zevran smirk._

_“A secret knock? You must be joking. No, there is no royal secret knock.”_

_“That’s a shame. I think Cailan would have enjoyed that.”_

_I can almost hear her eyes dart in thought. “Oh, so help me…Tesslyn, is that you?”_

_“Do you want the truth or a comforting lie?” I ask._

_Anora breathes aloud like she’s trying to calm herself. “Had I known…”_

_“What? Surprised it’s me? Or were you expecting Alistair?”_

_“I am not eager to see either of you, frankly. But_ **you** _are the one here. So what is the plan?”_

_“This is it.” I look at Zevran and Morrigan. “Right? We can go back now? We found her like we agreed.” The corners of Morrigan’s mouth curl up._

_“What? No! The plan is to rescue my Queen!” Erlina looks at me like I’m mad._

_Morrigan hums in irritation. “Your_ **Queen** _is safe. Unless you lured Tesslyn here just to set her up?” She has never referred to me as queen before._

_“Queen?!” Anora cries through the door. “No, no. It’s fine. Titles can be dealt with later. I sent Erlina for help because I am unable to unseal this door.”_

_“And what exactly hindered your_ **maid** _from seeking the mage who set it?” Morrigan challenges. She scoffs after hesitation from Anora and the elf. “Oh, stand back.” Morrigan wedges between Erlina and Po and takes a deep breath, removing her gloves. Then begins a show I did not expect on this wretched trip:_

_A gradual glow glistens like moving water under an aurora. Maker, this is beautiful. It wraps around her fingers until her hands are engulfed, sparkling ribbons, wisps of the heavens. It’s like she submerged her hands in a pool of rainbows and stars. A noise slips from my mouth when she slides her hands over the barrier; ripples extend past her fingers like she’s skimming liquid. I have never seen her do this sort of magic before. It is breathtaking. I think Shale would like this._

_I don’t need to ask her to repeat it. Morrigan charges her hands brighter this time. I can’t help but stare. It sings a faint tune, almost like the lyrium gardens in the Deep Roads, but flowing, constant. A dance I have never seen before. I pull off a glove and stick out my finger; it doesn't feel like liquid, though I feel it rippling. Tiny waves crash against my finger and continue around. I want her to do this to me. Can she? Alistair and me could stay awake all night touching it. We’d never need candles again. He would love this. Alistair should be here, he needs to see this._

_The shimmers and ribbons and sparkling mist disappear before my eyes. Doesn’t even fade out, it just vanishes. Where did it go? Did the door eat it up?_

_Morrigan huffs. She frowns with one brow raised towards Erlina. “Tis a blood magic barrier. You never told us we were dealing with demons!”_

_“Demons?” I echo. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no! “No no no, no demons!” I say through my teeth. Circle tower, desire demons, abominations, undead, swells of bubbling flesh, no no no nonononononononono!_

_“Blood magic?” Anora repeats._

_“How are we to trust you? A secret mage and now blood magic? Tis a dangerous path we have already tread, crediting your father, and I believe I speak for us all when I say we have dealt with enough demons to last lifetimes! And yes, I suspect a demon behind this door!” I’m grateful Morrigan is here. I don’t have words like this._

_“I am no demon!” Anora insists. “I am not a mage, how can I be a demon?”_

_“One need not be a mage to be possessed,” Morrigan informs her._

_“So you’re going to leave me in here? To rot? What if he tries to kill me?” Anora asks._

_“Twould be a shame, but I am_ **positive** _we will manage without you. You have not raised a finger to help us on our_ **other** _endeavors to stop this Blight.”_

_“Ohhhkay! All right, all right!” Anora breathes. It doesn’t sound like she planned to hear this. “Just…let me think for a moment.”_

_“How long is this moment? I am getting hungry,” Zevran says. “Can you smell that roast?”_

_I nod. “And the bread. Dark rye is my favorite,” I whisper._

_“I’ve had that!” he beams. “Not bad with smoked cheese, and roasted peppers, and onions. Mash it together and spread it over toast...” He winces. “I must stop talking about what I can't have.”_

_“The other mage!” Anora exclaims. “If you kill a mage, the spell breaks, right?”_

_“In_ **theory** _, yes.” Morrigan frowns at the door now. “Though if you are possessed, which we cannot know for sure until we free you,_ **you** _are doomed regardless.”_

_“Well, I don’t feel possessed.”_

_“Do tell me how you know the difference?” Morrigan rests her hands on her hips._

_“I’ll…tell you what!” the shrew behind the door sighs loudly. “Go find the mage who set the barrier, and if I_ **am** _an abomination when you return, you are free to kill me._ **In** _the best interest of Ferelden.”_

_I frown. Her tone and insinuations aren’t soothing my nerves.“I think she’s mocking us. I’m losing motivation to sneak you out, Anora.” I wish Alistair was here. He would know how to handle this._

_“The Grey Warden_ **had** _to be_ **you** _, didn’t it?”_

_I’m glad I’ve taken Anora by surprise, anyhow. “You can thank Rendon Howe for that. If I don’t find him first.”_

_“Enough game already!” Anora sounds close to steaming. “Please -_ **yes** _, Tesslyn, I am_ **begging** _you - please get me out of here!”_

_I catch Morrigan and Zevran’s eyes. “And if he’s not in his quarters, then what?”_

_“Then try the dungeons. There was talk of prisoners!” says the daughter of the man who hurt me in their home._

_But that doesn’t give me answers. Dungeons are death lying in wait; guards ready to use tools strictly for pain. This is all wrong. This new part wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to walk in, get Anora, and walk out. I’m not supposed to be chasing anyone to release a barrier placed by blood magic._

_I miss Alistair. I need him here. He always knows what to do. He always makes everything fine again. I need my husband._

_The Arl’s personal quarters are minimal compared to the rest of the manor. The private dining hall now only hold three seats; Howe and I can’t imagine who else he thinks important enough. Only one room and a locked niche that holds Howe’s shield and other things I don’t consider treasure. Not a guard on sight to stop us if we wished to take it all. Zevran secures a solid gold bar to his belt; if not for selling, then a spare weapon in case he is disarmed._

_Howe is not in his bed chambers. The fire is lit, a glass of wine and an open book sit neglected on the desk, the bed looks untouched, and soot is strewn before the hearth. I can only assume Howe hasn’t been in here for hours. Zevran suggests we shuffle through Howe’s belongings for hints on what he might be planning while we have the chance. Morrigan doesn’t bother keeping the desk in order, and Zevran finds nothing in the chest he unlocks, but the trunk by the door holds parchment sealed with the Grey Warden crest._

_“How did he get these?” I ask aloud. Ostagar blurs through my mind, blazing trees, men on fire, smoke and blood and screams. Was he there? Did Rendon help Loghain at Ostagar?_

_I get my answer as we follow the decline toward the dungeons; in case of emergencies, the Arl may escape to safety through the dungeon. But Howe is not using it for safe passage. My blood surges. The biting, raw burn that I’ve grown accustomed to since my Taint settled in is here again. Just like when Alistair is near._

_My feet go before I can clear my eyes. Morrigan calls after me, but I don’t stop. Alistair is here!_

_No. Wait. In the dungeons? Alistair is in Howe’s dungeon? How did that happen? Maker, no! Did they take him as soon as I left? No! No no no! This can’t happen! I shove another door open and run, Po at my side like he’s racing me to the corner._

_Not Alistair. Bare arms with dark hair reach through bars and snap the neck of a guard who demanded I show myself. Not the arms of my husband. Morrigan and Zevran reach me as a raven-haired man limps out of a prison cell in the armor of Howe’s guard. Po tilts his head with a whine of question, but we both already know the answer._

_I’ve never met another Grey Warden before. Duncan was not around when my Taint settled in, and Ruck in the Deep Roads was Tainted far beyond Alistair’s strength. Alistair’s Taint has simply always been present for me, but Po’s is so much more diluted. I didn’t know the Taint was not different for everyone._

_“I thank you for the timely distraction, friend.” He’s Orlesian, not much older than Teagan. Dark circles hang under his eyes as if he’s been awake for days. His eyes wander over the four of us before lingering on Po and then me. If my Taint isn’t painting arrows in the air for him, it must be my expression. I can’t stop staring, I can’t help it. I thought the warmth and feeling of home was singular to Alistair. But it’s_ **all** _Grey Wardens? “Ah. Perhaps I should address you as Sister instead.” He ducks his head in a small bow. “My name is Riordan.” Blue eyes narrow while he studies my face. “You must be Duncan’s newest recruit, yes? You match the description in his records.”_

_“T-Tesslyn.” Security and nostalgia are the only words I can think of to describe this feeling. Maybe hearth, comfort. This man’s presence is a welcome surprise and unexpected revelation. Alistair once told me Grey Wardens are reclusive and exclusive to each other. Back then, I figured it was to keep their secrets. Now I understand what he meant. This hangs another heavy weight on my mind._

_I am a Grey Warden; Maker, this weighs _ **so heavy**_ on me right now. I don’t feel comfort and safety in the presence of Morrigan or Zevran, nor Teagan or Pádraig, yet I do with this stranger. I _ **belong** _with Grey Wardens, not normal people anymore. This means Alistair does too._

_Am I doing the right thing by making him King? Am I dooming Alistair to a lifetime of emptiness? Am I depriving my husband of always feeling at home?_

_Morrigan’s staring at me. I can feel her eyes as I blink to clear my own. I pull the documents with the Grey Warden seal from my belt and hold them out to this Warden Riordan. “What are you doing here? Are these yours? Are there other Wardens coming? How aren’t you dead? Everyone at Ostagar-” I pause to wet my lips, and Riordan cracks a smile._

_“So much for good timing. I wish I could answer all your questions now, Sister; I’m sure you have many more. I am in need of good medical care, though. I heard rumors of two Wardens-” Po barks, and Riordan smiles again. “Three Wardens, of course, forgive me.” He looks at me again. “Unfortunately I am the only Warden here. I came alone scouting to see why King Cailan did not send word for the Empress to advance her troops. Ostagar provided me with more answers than I cared for. But as we are the only Wardens in Ferelden, we must join forces. The Grey Warden vault here in Denerim has been turned over. Do you have somewhere we can meet?”_

_“Arl Eamon’s estate in the market district,” I answer._

_“Excellent. I will see you there, Sister.” Riordan tries to hide a limp as he heads towards the Arl’s chambers._

_He’s leaving? No more heat? No more hearth?_

_“Wait!” I grab his arm to stop him, and he turns to me again. “Can’t you come with us? Morrigan’s a mage. We have potions.”_

_“I’m afraid not, Sister, I apologize. I will not be much use to you until I have been thoroughly tended to.”_

_“But…you don’t have to fight. Just…walk behind us?”_

_Riordan’s face falls in sympathy. His hand is tender on my arm. “I see there is much we need to discuss. But I need more care than a mage under cover. Do not despair, Sister. You survived the Joining; your mission here is nothing compared to what you are meant for.”_

_I don’t try to stop him. I don’t try to follow him, I just watch him walk away. Heat and the feeling of being held bleed from my veins all over again. I can’t press on, my feet won’t move. What’s the point? It feels like I’m being abandoned._

_“Oh, no, not this again!” Morrigan grabs my hands as they clank and scrape anew. “He is right, Tesslyn, you know he is. What we are doing here is trivial opposed to everything we have already accomplished. Tis a lazy job compared to what awaits with the Archdemon.” She grabs my chin and forces me to look at her. “So, something about Grey Wardens, is it? We must hurry, then, so you may return to them. Dare I also say don’t forget this Howe who killed your family? You want revenge, do you not?”_

_Revenge? Howe. Yes. Yes, of course. I frown and nod. “Hang him by his guts,” I say. My jaw is tight, though. I’m sure they’ve noticed me tightening my muscles and relaxing, then repeating it again and again. I don’t know what else to do to bring the heat back._

_“Now_ **that** _sounds like a good time. Don’t you think it's time we proceed?” She asks. “We wouldn’t want to give him time to escape us.”_

_I nod again “Yes. Out-run him. Okay.”_

_“Much better.” She releases my hands and my chin._

_Yes, better. Better? I have no idea. I desperately want Riordan to come back, but if Howe is here, he is further in, opposite the way Riordan went. Alone. I have to do this alone._

_I don't like being alone._

_Morrigan is more right than I considered. The more dungeon we explore, the more we all agree Howe needs to die with as many organs removed as possible. Bones scattered about the stone floor, as foreboding as it feels to step over spines and feet and skulls picked clean, is nothing compared to the rest. Howe has left some of the bodies to rot. Stuck to spikes against the wall, hanging from nooses, curled up in cages. Stinking bodies, dripping blood, faces so mangled I can’t recognize anyone. Stone slabs hold up saws and knives, long pins, scissors, all resting in pools of blood, fresh and dried. Piles of chopped bodies stain corners. It’s the Deep Roads all over again, Bownammar. I’ve had too much of this life. Too much blood, too many insides. Howe will be my last kill. I can’t handle anymore of these smells._

_There is a noble on a stretcher. Nude and left to starve or freeze with the stench around him. Oswyn recognizes me despite my scars. His father is Sighard, Bann of Dragon’s Peak, the land between Denerim and Gwaren. Oswyn isn’t sure how he ended up like this. His friend in Loghain's army told him of the orders to leave Ostagar before the Darkspawn overwhelmed Cailan, and while waiting for his friend to meet up another night, a drink from a stranger landed him a place on the stretcher. He’s surprised to hear this is Howe’s manor. Imprisonment of nobility is illegal unless stripped of title and torture deemed fitting. Howe killed my parents, the Kendell wife and son have disappeared and Howe is in their home, now another noble lies on his torture rack. Maker, he’s trying to break the system, he’s ripping this country apart._

_Oswyn knows about Alistair. Refers to him as Maric’s Bastard. How many others know?_

_More live prisoners. An elderly man poisoned with the Taint, speaks of eating darkspawn to survive Ostagar; I remember Ruck again, crooked limbs, wobbling head…a vision Alistair fears me becoming. An elf from the Alienage as well, beaten and arrested for protecting his love; Maker, can this get any worse?_

_Opening the next door freezes me._

_“Well, well, look what we have here. Bryce Cousland’s little spitfire, all grown up and still playing the man.” Rendon Howe stands with his arms folded._

_In a flash of memories, every fiber in my body ignites; heart, pulse, mind, lungs, all racing, storming inside me. Smoke and fire; I can_ **smell** _it. Burning flesh, Nan and the help, all of them aflame though they’re drenched in blood. Dairren sprawled on my floor with an arrow in his heart. Oriana in a pool of red, dead eyes staring at the ceiling with three arrows down her front. Oren - sweet, sweet nephew, I’m so sorry auntie didn’t save you! - clutching his dead mother’s hand with an arrow through his neck. How could Howe order that?? Father holding his middle, trying to keep his organs in._

_This man needs to die._

_“I_ **should** _say I’m surprised to see you here, but only because I’m surprised to see you_ **alive**.”

_“Like my father disappointed you by earning your traitor father’s home? When I’m done surpassing your expectations, I’ll pass my regards on to your wife, and then I’ll show Thomas exactly how you spent your last minutes!”_

_Rendon’s nose looks even more crooked with that sneer. “Aren’t you precious? Is this where I beg for mercy from the monster I created? Foolish wench, I have been doing this longer than you’ve been opening your legs. Let me school you one last time.” The smirk disappears from his face as his brows drop. “I made your mother kiss my feet before I cut her neck. Her head dangled by a thread while she bled out. It was the last thing your father saw.”_

_I don’t know how I’m on him so fast. Every inch of my body burns like the fire he set upon my house. His shoulder bleeds at my dagger, but he’s faster than I guessed. I’ve never seen him fight before. We're both passed our primes, but I’ve got an advantage: I am still limber, and I was bred to kill. The room flashes white and purple around us while Morrigan attacks the others, blocking everything else from sight._

_Just me and the man who murdered my family._

_Flat metal bashes me from behind. Before I recover, Howe slams me against the wall. I hear my voice when my head bangs against rock, but I don’t feel pain. Not right now, not anymore, it’s become fuel for one purpose: shred him. His rapid aim is sloppy, though,  the faster he stabs, the more steel hits and grinds into the wall. He’s better at dodging, leaning out of reach every time I swing, a charade of arms and blades. Po darts behind him and Howe falls into me; I don’t waste a blink. Alistair’s rose dagger sparks its way through a steel backplate._

_Rendon howls, jaw hitched so wide it asks to be cut off. All my strength goes into kicking him away; I’m fucking glad for all Sten’s training sessions right now! I shove off from the wall and lunge, but he swings too. A breeze dances in my left arm, nothing more; it’s like I’m immune to pain right now, Maker thank You! Spinning to dodge an arrow opens another chance. Lifting my leg, I pin Howe’s left hand to my knee and drag my blade as far as I can reach. His yelps drown in growls and curses; heat of the moment has made him forget he’s already killed my father._

_I almost applaud him for holding out. Drops of blood fly out as he swings his arm. I leap back further than I need to; he’s slowing down. Wide swings, rigid arms, and the dagger in his left hand slips and twists from so much blood._

_He didn’t expect me to fight to so hard._

_I drop to a squat and spin, one leg and a parallel arm to the side. He trips the same time I slice back of his knee, and on his way down, I turn again. Rendon Howe hits the cold floor with my dagger in his kneecap._

_I push off with my arms and pounce. Before he can swing, I pin his good arm beneath my leg. He can’t bend his left arm anymore; the wound opens and gushes when he tries. Rendon can’t fight me off when I force his fingers from the hilt to the blade. I hold his gaze while I tighten his fist around the the wrong end of his weapon._

_“You aren’t capable of creating monsters like me,” I say through my teeth. “Thank your friend_ **Loghain** _for creating me!”_

_Spit hits my face. “You little bitch! Maker spit on you! I deserved-”_

_I shove down, cutting his fingers and palm on his double-edged dagger. Rendon’s own scream interrupts his rant._

_I’m not done yet. I want him to hang and I want him to feel like my father did. Alistair’s rose points straight up from Howe’s middle. He shrieks again; I honestly meant to slice his armor, but I forget my dagger cuts through metal like hide, and the front of his armor is all leather. Leather and cloth ripped away, I stab below his ribs. Blood spurts and floods with his moving abdomen. Unable to get away; gutted by the daughter of a man he betrayed. I want to ask him how this feels, but his screams bounce off the walls and vibrate the floor beneath me; I’m grateful we are so far underground, I doubt anyone upstairs will hear._

_My hands are coated with Howe’s blood when I open enough of him. Slimy, squishy, his intestines slip and slide in my hands; I try not to shudder, the smell of raw flesh reminds me of that abhorrent broodmother underground. Copper and urine are the scents rising as I yank and loop the tube of flesh around his neck. I almost don’t move quick enough before he vomits._

_The sconce will do. I drag Howe to the wall and sit him up. His guts stretch over the sconce, splattering the candle with red as it flings over the hook and tumbles back down. Twist his guts around itself, wind it around his arm till it won’t pull anymore._

_I kneel to look in the eyes of the man who murdered my family. Howe’s sweating, pale, retching like he’ll vomit again any moment, chunks of sour stomach contents painting down his chin and shoulder. One by one I fold his arms and lay his hands over his bleeding belly. “You forgot to kill the wrong Cousland.”_

_The sight of Rendon Howe is more gruesome than anything I have ever done. This man - a man I considered uncle growing up - expels another wave of blood with each gasp. Far from dead. I can’t imagine the pain he is in right now, I don’t think it compares to getting stabbed by Shrieks, nor to Alistair’s wound from Haven. Sweat pools and drips down skin flirting with death. I regret nothing. If I'd been able to plan this, I'd have done worse. This man played my parents for how long? Support and laughter, watching his children grow up with my father’s, holidays with drink, gifts, and fond memories. All to bide his time, waiting for the exact moment to strike? He didn’t have the decency to stab us in the back. He_ **wanted** _us to know he’d betrayed us._

_But now he shivers before me. Just how long till the Maker judges his actions? Does the Maker forgive betrayal of Rendon’s magnitude? I almost want the Maker to deny him so Howe will wander the Fade as a demon just so Morrigan can summon him back out where I can destroy him again._

_Blood alone I can handle, but the stench of wounded flesh struggling to heal itself brings a bitter taste to the back of my throat. I stay here any longer, I’ll be sick. I’m tempted, though. Drenched in my vomit while he dies with his guts dangling from his neck like gruesome jewelry? A more fitting punishment, I think. He is lucky I prefer my stomach settled._

_My legs wobble as I push up. I turn away to find my daggers and see my effort for revenge all over me. Blood saturates the leather on my gloves. Steel guards on the back of my fingers and wrists shine bold red in the sconce lights. Smears of blood and small bits of flesh scatter about the front of my armor from bosoms to boots, arms included. My heart beats so fast it almost rattles my chest bone, I_ **feel** _my pulse throbbing at my temples. For a moment, all I hear is my own breath and the desperate wheezing of the traitor in front of me._

 _“A_ **Crow** _taught you all that?” Zevran asks. I cannot tell if he doubts or is cautious. “I must have missed the deadline for that training. I can’t say I’m upset, though. My appetite has suddenly vanished.”_

_“Tesslyn, you are filthy. Take those off and hold out your hands.” Morrigan instructs me. She pulls bottles of heath and lyrium potions from bodies and uncorks them._

_“Tesslyn?” echoes a voice I have not heard in years. Morrigan protests as I follow the sound, but she joins me anyway._

_Oh shit. “Vaughan?” I step up to the prison bars. Vaughan Kendell; I killed both his sisters in one night. As far as I know, he has no clue it was me._

_“Tesslyn, you_ **must** _stand still! We_ **cannot** _return upstairs with blood all over you!”_

_Vaughan stares hard, wary as his eyes take in my appearance. “I assume from the lack of Rendon’s voice, you killed him.”_

_I frown. “You can’t possibly miss that monster.”_

_Vaughan gives a throaty scoff. “No one will miss that inbred.”_

_My nose wrinkles. “Eew.”_

_“Tesslyn! Your armor! You must remove it, you are worse than filthy!” Morrigan sighs, and when I do not undress, she begins for me._

_I let her. I’m too curious why Vaughan is imprisoned. His father Urien was not a popular Arl, Denerim bore little love for the man, though since he died at Ostagar, the title should have passed to Vaughan. “What are you doing in here?”_

_“I might ask you the same question,” he retorts._

**“I** _asked_ **first** _. Right of_ _rank;_ **Teyrna** _over_ **Arl**  ,” _I remind him. Using only her fingertips,_ _Morrigan unfastens and removes my bloodied hand guards with a grimace._

_Vaughan snorts without smiling. “Right.” Vaughan sighs when I don’t let up. He admits he beat an elf from the Alienage. The elf attacked his father when Urien touched his betrothed; it’s the opposing story from the elf we freed before finding Howe._

_“You mean the elf we released a bit ago?” I ask._

_“Of course you would.” He rolls his eyes. “The Couslands always favored their elves. Servants, I tell you, every one of them. It’s what the Maker intended them for.” He seems healthy for being here for so long, compared to all the others._

_“Say that again, my caged friend.” Zevran stares like he’s willing death upon Vaughan._

_“I’m genuinely surprised to see you with a personal servant,” Vaughan tells me._

_“Zevran is a friend and a dangerous man,” I warn._

_Morrigan makes noises of disgust while she loosens my cuirass, still using only two fingers and the tip of her thumbs. Vaughan’s eyes wander down my undershirt when the breastplate falls to the floor with a clank. “And instead of freeing the_ **noble** _, you’re_ **stripping** _. Is this where I need to tell you I prefer women_ **without** _mens’ scars?”_

 _A sneer hikes my lip up. “Is this where I need to tell_ **you** _how lucky you are the new king isn’t here to hear you say that?”_

 _“Of course.” He smiles in spite. “Maric’s bastard.” Just how many people_ **know** _about this? Wasn’t the purpose of sending Alistair to Redcliffe to_ **hide** _his existence? “Talk amongst the guards is_ **you’ve** _married the ghost of Maric.”_

 _“See?” Morrigan says, spilling weak health and lyrium potions over my arms. I smell it. Sweet to my nostrils, spice and wet, charred rock. Morrigan’s eyes fly to mine when I inhale deep. “We’d have_ **fought** _our way in, had we brought Alistair.” I watch the mixing potions wash a river of red from my hands._

_“Eh, there is another man over here.” Zevran stands cocking his head in front of the next cell._

_“No! You can’t just leave me here!” Vaughan cries out, and Morrigan joins his protest as I walk to Zevran._

_Another noble. I know this one too, but not well. Irminric, brother of Bann Alfstanna Eremon, left home and title to serve the Maker and the Chantry; a respected Templar. He rocks back and forth on one knee, head on his hands, muttering just loud enough for a murmur to reach my ears. Each sway is choppy, uneven and his skin shiny with sweat though he’s in nothing but smallclothes. Irminric suffers lyrium withdrawal; my bones hurt just seeing him like this._

_Waking Sea is the Eremon family domain - her shores, though, I promised Celene. I need Alfstanna to back up my family name at the Landsmeet, since Irminric as a Templar, especially in withdrawal, will not be heard amongst nobles. She used to be loyal to my father, her district of the Bannorn specializing in talented bowmen. But I have not had contact with her for years, I don’t know if I can rely on her when it matters. Though seeing Irminric in such a state impresses urgency and need for a noble’s support._

_I look over at the other noble prisoner. The Kendells were always a proud, conceited family, no finger raised unless helping others benefited them significantly. I have no coin to bribe with nor safe haven for either man to escape to. I have no land to barter. Our gems are reserved for the dwarves and their crafts for the war. I cannot even offer these men clothes to let them escape without shame._

_Alistair’s voice resonates inside my head as if he’s right here: Make him an offer he can’t refuse. You can_ **do** _this, Tess._

_“Vaughan?” The spoiled nobleman looks at me in bored expectancy. “You want out, yes? To retake your home and resume Arlship of Denerim?”_

_Vaughan perks up against the cell door. “I’m listening.”_

_“Alistair_ **will** _be_ **King** ,” _I affirm. “We’ve arrived for a Landsmeet, but I need voices. I have already married him, he will not accept the Landsmeet denying me. If you speak for us, I will grant you a boon. Gwaren is about to become leaderless, and Amaranthine very recently lost it’s Arl. If you support Alistair at the Landsmeet, if you testify against Loghain, I will free you now and grant you the title of your choice. Denerim, Amaranthine, or Gwaren.”_

_Vaughan studies me. “And if I choose Gwaren, do I become Teyrn?”_

_“Of course.”_

_“You’re joking. Right?” Zevran waves a hand in front of my face to catch my eye. “You’re about to grant this man power? When he violates elves?”_

_“Alistair will never stand for that. You know that. He beheaded that man in Rainesfere for striking an elven servant. Alistair sentences abuse without delay,” I assure Zevran._

_Zevran is upset with my decision. Morrigan cleans blood from my hair and face while I turn the key to Vaughan’s cell. The Kendell heir thanks me and promises his voice at the Landsmeet, and asks for time to decide land he’d prefer. I advise him to say goodbye to Howe on his way out of the dungeon._

_I don’t intend to honor any choice but Denerim, yet I know Vaughan well enough, he will never keep his promise if he suspects I’ll retract the offer of Teyrn. I’m sure Alistair will agree Vaughan must work to redeem his actions and make up for hardships to the people of Denerim._

_Irminric is slipping from his mind. Maker, I remember every time this happened to me. How close has it come today? I strayed from our mission in hopes of finding lyrium; all too easy a way out. Irminric gives me his ring. He does not recognize me, even thinks I’m Alfstanna at first, then he folds my hand around a ring with the Eremon family crest inscribed. Tells me to find his sister, tells me to apologize for him. How many times I remember looking out from lyrium’s trap in the back of my mind, wishing I could apologize to Alistair for all the stupid things I did when he weaned me. I already know I’ll spill tears when I find Alfstanna._

_No one in the manor is alerted to the chaos or fleeing bodies from the dungeons. No one realizes I am now in splint mail armor instead of a silverite guard uniform; Morrigan picked armor off smaller guards and pieced them together on me when we ran out of useless potions to rinse me with._

_The shimmering rainbow is gone from Anora’s cozy cage. The key slides in and clicks into place with an echo, and before I can pull the key away, the door flings open. Loghain’s daughter stands dressed in the armor of Howe’s house guard._

_“How did you get that?” I frown so deep I see my eyebrows._

_“There was a set of armor in here. A safety measure, of course. I have my own armor in the palace in case of emergency. I know you have - or had - your own, Tesslyn.”_

_“Anora, you don’t fight. You don’t need armor. Ceremonial armor does not protect women. Guest quarters do not hold a one-size-fits-all uniform in case of emergencies; visitors are expected to bring their own. When have you ever met a noble the same size as another?”_

_“Twould seem this handmaiden of hers did indeed sneak out more uniforms than she insisted,” Morrigan speaks up._

_“Listen, we need to get out of here. Someone yelled about a murder in the dungeons, we need to run before they find us.” Anora sighs, frustrated. “And Tesslyn, if I find out you killed Rendon Howe-”_

_“No need to guess, Anora. I’ll take you to the body. I hope you haven’t eaten today.” I can’t stop frowning. Maker, I hate this woman. Couldn’t Cailan’s wife have been hideous with a great sense of humor?_

_Her jaw tightens with the glare aimed at me. “Please. Let’s. Just. Go. We are free to discuss_ **everything** _as soon as we leave this place.”_

_“Fine.”_

_But it is not fine. A few steps around the corner and we are stopped. Loghain’s captain Ser Cauthrien fronts a filled entrance. Forty heavily armed soldiers; actual soldiers, not manor guards. Loghain’s men._

_My breath jumps in my throat, heart skips a beat so fast it hurts. No. No no no. Not this. It can’t end like this._

_“Stop right there,” Cauthrien says, stepping forward. “Grey Warden Tesslyn Cousland, you are under arrest for the murder of Teyrn Howe. Disarm yourselves and surrender, or we will use force.”_

_Instinct from my time in Tevinter raises my hands over my head. My jaw shakes again, my arms, my knees. It’s hard to breathe. Maker, this can’t be happening!_

_“Do not allow this. We have killed how many so far? What is a few dozen more?” Morrigan steps up beside me. I feel her fist pulsing next to me; she’s priming herself._

_“I agree. We have been ratted out. I would rather die than serve these people!” Zevran whips out his daggers and stands to my other side. Po growls, wedging his way between Zevran and me._

_“I shall give you to the count of three. If you surrender, I may show mercy and hear your excuses. If not, prepare to meet the Maker,” Cauthrien says with a sneer of domination._

_No! No no no no! I’m not ready to die! Not here! Not without Alistair! Alistair help me!_

_“No! No!” I cry. “Stop! I won’t fight! Cauthrien, you don’t know the story! We’re here for Anora, Howe was holding her captive! She sent her maid to ask the Grey Wardens for help! Killing Howe was unintended! It had to be done to get the key to free Anora! I_ **swear** _to you! I swear on my life - on_ **Alistair’s** _life, I’m telling the truth!”_

_Cauthrien steps back, frowning through surprise. “What? Warden, you already skate on thin ice. Blaming kidnap on a man you murdered in revenge is low. Convenient he can’t be here to defend himself against your ridiculous accusations. Don’t forget I was witness to your threats in Arl Eamon’s manor.”_

_“It’s TRUE!” my voice cracks. My chest is tight and tears hang on my eyelashes. “Anora is right here! Ask her yourself!”_

_When Anora doesn’t step forward, Morrigan yanks her to the front._

_“Queen Anora?” Cauthrien’s eyes dart to me like she considers my words hold truth. Good! Please! Please don’t kill me, I’m not ready for death!_

_“Ser Cauthrien!” Anora exclaims. “Thank the Maker you’ve come! I came to visit Teyrn Howe, and while he was suddenly needed to calm a ruckus in his dungeons, these brigands showed up! Cauthrien, they're trying to kidnap me! They intend to blackmail my father!”_

_“What??” NO!!! NO NO NO!!! THIS ISN’T HAPPENING! ALISTAIR, WHERE ARE YOU???_

_“A more likely story.” Cauthrien frowns at me. “On my word, men -” She raises a fist, a sign for her men to ready for battle._

_“NO!” I scream. The floor meets my knees with a jolt. “I’m not fighting! I submit! On my knees before the Maker, I submit to arrest! I am noble-born! You must honor my submission!”_

_“Very well,” Cauthrien says, her voice soft yet ringing of triumph. “Bind them. Straight to Fort Drakon.”_

_Po whimpers next to me as soldiers advance past Cauthrien. “Go!” I whisper to my hound. “Get out of here!” Maker, I can’t take it if they kill Po for helping me! Po nudges me, his eyes large and concerned as he stares into mine, then he runs. Out the room and down the hall so fast I can’t see him move from the corner of my eye. Soldiers cry out in surprise, but Cauthrien brushes Po off, says the kennel master will take care of him._

_Oh please, oh, please, Maker get him out of here!_

_“Are you mad?” Morrigan hisses. “Tesslyn! I can freeze them all!” I don’t answer her. I can’t let them find out she’s a mage, either, she’ll be made Tranquil within the hour._

_Someone grabs my wrists and jerks me to my feet. They are not gentle. Iron bars close around my wrist in a clap so loud it makes me jump. What am I going to do? I can’t keep up with the soldier dragging me. My feet stub and trip every other step. There is an emptiness at my hips where my daggers had been; Alistair’s rose, they took Alistair’s rose from me! I can’t get out of this, though. My face is wet, my nose is starting to drip, it hurts to breathe. All I see is the gallows and my crooked, lifeless body hanging, swaying in the wind. Where is that Grey Warden? Why isn’t he helping me? Where is Alistair?_

_They march us to Fort Drakon, make a display of us. Leading soldiers ahead to clear the road, then me and one soldier at each side. Morrigan scolds the soldiers behind me. I have no idea if Zevran’s with me anymore. They won’t believe he’s not a servant, he’ll be hung in the morning._

_I’m so sorry! I can’t say this out loud, but I am so sorry! I’m sorry Morrigan, I’m sorry Zevran. I’m so, so sorry Alistair. Alistair, forgive me! I never meant for this to happen!_

_Maker, take care of him. Please? Take care of my husband. Tell him I still love him. Let him sleep at night._

_My legs fail. Armor shoves up and gravel digs into my knees, grinding in when the armor moves back in place as the soldiers yank me back up. Darkness descends as I’m led into the Fort. Cold, dark, frightening, despite the chatter and bodies of soldiers strolling off-duty. Through the ballista hall, down the corridor. Dogs bark in warning when my feet are forced through the kennels. The scent of smoke and burning oil along with drying blood and spoiled flesh hit my nose. Another dungeon._

_My escort jerks me to a stop. I feel eyes on me as one stands before me to unlock the shackles. A short pause before straps are loosened and my gauntlets come off._

_“Excus-_ **hey!** ” _Morrigan protests. “Enough of this! Prisoner does not mean Here for Your Sexual Gratification!”_

_“Standard procedure. Prisoners wait in smallclothes. Prevents you from concealing weapons.”_

_Morrigan laughs loud and booming. “Ohhh, you will regret this! I_ **_wait_ ** _for you to think you’ve disarmed me!”_

_My skin chills as armor and my underclothes fall one by one. I don’t know how to stop this. I don’t know how to get away. It’s too late now._

_Too late._

_Morrigan rants. Someone mentions elf. I just sway with each tug and jerk until I stand in my breastband and smalls. Fingers tangle my hair in search of daggers._

_It’s over. It’s all over. Tesslyn Cousland, Nine: Seven Dragon to Nine: Thirty-One Dragon. Alone in a cold prison. No husband to speak for her._

_The cold ground scrapes the bottom of my feet as they shove me in an empty cell. Zevran is pushed in, and Morrigan tumbles in after; they are most rough with her. How is she so brave right now? There’s nothing left._

_“Oy! Are you mad?” the guard who shoved Morrigan around grabs my left wrist and holds it up. The green silk tie. Alistair’s knot._

_“It’s a_ **handkerchief** _. There are no battleaxes hiding in there, you idiot,” says the guard who’s been staring at me._

 _“Everything goes, you heard them! I want to_ **keep** _my head, thanks!” My body follows when he jerks my arm, and his fingers pick at the knot._

_Instant panic. “No!” I yell. “No! You can’t take this!” I pull away but he grabs me again, locking my arm in his elbow. “NO!!” I scream and kick him, try to push him away. “No, it’s not yours! You can’t have this! LET GO!!” It’s not working. He’s too strong._

_An armored hand slams into my face with a throbbing sting, but I fight him. He can’t have this! Zevran lunges with an angry cry; a massive foot kicks him away and the bars rattle._

_“Get off me! You can’t have it! It’s Alistair’s!! You can’t take it!! I_ **need** _this!!! DON’T TAKE HIM FROM ME!!!” I feel it loosen from my wrist anyway. NOOO!! Not Alistair! “Stop it! It’s mine! You can’t take it!! STOP!!”_

_The last knot comes free and a hand shoves me so hard I fall. Cold stone jolts through my hips and steals my breath. I watch the cell door slam. The lock clicks, and I see it. My green scarf. Alistair’s green scarf, growing smaller and smaller before it disappears in a pile with the rest of our armor and shoved in a large trunk. Another lock clicks. The guard who escorted me glances back with a troubled frown before following the other down the hall._

_No. No. No no no no nononoonononononononono. My wrist is gone. My veins are gone and my wrist is gone. Alistair is gone. Gone. Gone for good. They just_ **took** _him. Why would they do that?_

_Bars everywhere. Metal bars and cold stone, and the stench of stale death. It’s all over. No more Alistair. No more life. No more Tess. I pull my knees to my chest and rock. I’m not trying to rock, it’s just happening. I can’t breathe, I can’t get enough air. It stings everywhere inside, making me gasp and jump and hiccup. A slow death, slow and painful. Alone; the worst poison. My face scrunches before tears even come. My voice explodes through the dungeon like a wounded wyvern._

_Nothing. All gone. My life is done. All this time wasted. Trivial things; Deep Roads, Darkspawn, wanting to kill Howe. I should have spent it with Alistair. Built a house, made a home. Tried to make our daughters. Just us. Just time. Now it’s too late. It’s all gone._

_Just make it easy, Maker. Let me die quick. Let it be done before nightfall. Maybe I can still see Alistair in the Fade._

_Something warm and bright presses against the cheek the guard hit. Only when the stinging stops do I consider it’s magic. I raise my head to find Morrigan kneeling in front of me. Her head tilts to get a better view of my cheek._

_“Shh, shh, tis all right,” her voice is soft. “Tis only a scratch. Twill be healed by morning. And still you cry?” And kind. I’ve never heard her talk like this before. “They are gone, Tesslyn. They_ **were** _cruel, but now they are gone. So why do you cry?”_

_Pressure rushes around my eyes and leak again before I can talk. I don’t understand a word from my mouth, everything is jumbled and slurred together between tears and gasping. Except Alistair. I know I’ve said Alistair’s name._

_Morrigan asks about the green tie I fought so hard for, and I lose everything again. More tears. Remembering I’ve lost Alistair, remembering he’s not at the end of my arm anymore, remembering he’s not here to protect me like he’s supposed to be. Breath is so fast my chest hurts, feels like it will explode, burning for air. Too many tears, too fast, too little time, nothing left, no Alistair, no Tess, end of the line, fading fast. Can’t see, can’t breathe, can’t hear, I need him, he’s gone, they took him away, they took_ **me** _away, I’ll never see him again! Stuck here! Going to die, dying already, empty, bloodless, blood gone, wrist gone, life gone, Alistair gone, nothing left, nothing here, no air, no home, not safe, not here! Already dying! Can’t breathe-_

_“Tesslyn!” Morrigan interrupts with a firm voice. Her hands hold my head. “Tesslyn, if you do not stop this, you will throw yourself in shock! I cannot bring you back if you stop your heart! Do you understand?”_

_“I’m dead. Dead already! They took me, took him-”_

_“Tesslyn,_ **enough!** ” _My voice stops at her command, though I’m still gasping and crying. Beyond my eyes, her hands glow again. A bluish-white aura presses against my temples until it soaks into my skin._

_Then silence. There is no noise. No crackling of torches, no footsteps down the hall, no barking. I don’t even hear my own breath. Nothing but me and Morrigan._

_She took_ **sound** _away. How did she do this?_

_Small golden eyes narrow as she searches. She stares like I am a rune she has not seen before, like she’s trying to figure out the shapes and edges of a puzzle sprawled out before her. Maker, am I such a mess right now?_

_I realize I’ve never looked in her eyes like this before. I never knew there were different colors, shades of lemon and honey with a splash of pine. While she searches, while the bluish glow continues around my face, her gaze is warming. Her mouth moves, but I can’t hear her. No noise, just warmth, like…just like the sun when we stepped outside for the first time after the Deep Roads. My eyes blur again. I blink to see her following the tears down my cheeks._

_She’s worried. For me? I’ve never seen her upset for anyone before. Always irritated, always impatient, but never concerned. Now she is, though. Lines crease her brows and around her eyes. Her mouth turns ever slightly into a pout. Morrigan is sad for me. How could she be? I have not been kind for months. Well…I haven’t been cold, but I know I’ve changed. Alistair has been everything I need since…since before Haven._

_I used to admire her, adore her, even. I remember when I met her. A lone woman, no weapons in the Wilds where Darkspawn stood just moments before. She kept asking me what_ **_I_ ** _thought, wanted to know_ **my** _ideas. Morrigan stared at me that day like I was hiding a powerful weapon she’d been seeking. I used to love listening to her talk, with her Tis and Twould and her love for metaphors. She spoke with such poetry; following us around hadn’t changed that. It was a change of pace from my wretched world of Poor Tess is a Grey Warden now, Poor Tess do you need to wait?, Give Poor Tess some time. Morrigan never treated me like a victim. I’ve never had anyone not want to fix me. I was never broken to Morrigan. Not a victim. A survivor._

 _And now look at me: a bawling, sopping mess over losing a handkerchief and not being with my husband. I can’t help how I feel though. I love Alistair,_ **more** _than love him, he is the greatest blessing I have seen in this world. My Taint is the culprit of horrible things, not my husband. This forsaken poison lets me navigate through filth and darkness, not to mention the nightmares and understanding an evil dragon, or turning on my friends in battle. But it also sews me to my husband - to other Grey Wardens. And Alistair is...well, that other Warden,_ _too_ … **home** _. It really feels like I am lost without Alistair, like I got lost and can’t find my way home. Physically lost, unable to find where I belong._

_Morrigan’s trying to help, I think. Right? Yes, she has. She’s been trying since we left Eamon’s estate. Ushering me to keep going, holding my hands so I wouldn’t shake the bushes and expose us. Morrigan spoke for me to Anora, and again when the guards undressed us. She’s been trying to help me through this whole disaster. She even told Alistair she was coming to make sure I was protected; well, close, she said she would not risk her life by abandoning me._

_Now this. This bluish magic silencing the noises of prison. I don’t know what it is, but it’s helping me think. I still don’t know if I can concoct new plans, however, I’m thinking again, not scared of dying here. Or maybe because I see her eyes and and it looks like she cares? I didn't know she did._

_My chest does not hurt anymore. I didn’t even notice my breath has slowed. Oh Maker, no, no, do_ **not** _let me cry again. It feels good to breathe, I don’t want this to stop. My heart isn’t trying burst from my bone, I’m not shaking anymore. How did she do this? How did she stop the bad thoughts and pain?_

_Noise filters back, gradual, an easy adjustment. When the blue charm shrinks back into her hands, she pulls back. Her eyes still search, though I don’t know what for._

_Morrigan rests her arms on her knees. “That took less time than I expected,” she murmurs. “Has your hearing returned?”_

_I nod. “How did you do that?” I don’t know what else to say._

_“I cannot say. I do not know if this spell exists in Circle teachings. I_ **do** _know when I was a child, I would lament over dying animals I found in the Wilds. Flemeth did not let me keep pets, so I learned to tend to these animals where I found them. Oft it took hours of coaxing to gain their trust, though in the end they let me heal their wounds. I do not know what this magic is called, other than I desire to calm a beast - person, in your case - and it works.” She takes a deep breath. “Tesslyn, we cannot stay. You are aware of this, yes? If we stay, they will hang us, or worse.”_

_A groan slips from my mouth. Prison. Dammit, shit, fucking void! We're in prison. For a moment, she made me forget. That explains why Morrigan is in her smallclothes in front of me._

_“The guards have locked our belongings in the chest just there,” she points to a wooden trunk by the entry. “We have an advantage: my spells. Tis a significant reason I volunteered for this mission; should our luck fail, all is not lost. We must go now, and you must remain calm. I understand tis a difficult time for you, but I know you are capable.”_

_Dread rushes back and my heart speeds up again. “But…what if Alistair comes? If we_ **leave** _, he’ll…_ **he’ll be** _here, and we’ll be_ **gone** _\--- and then-”_

 _“Tesslyn, that is enough.” Morrigan is still gentle. She cups my face and hushes. She reminds me a mother, of_ **my** _mother right now._

_“But what if-”_

_“I am aware you miss Alistair,” she tells me, sifting through my eyes again. “But we must consider that shrew Anora is not contacting Eamon. We must act as if they - as if_ **Alistair** _has no idea you’ve been arrested. If he does not learn till after sundown, it may be too late for us. We know this Loghain is a vile man. We should not allow him the opportunity to find us so vulnerable. We must make our escape. You can feel Alistair’s presence, yes? Just like that other Grey Warden?”_

_“Yes. Our Taint…it’s like a spring coil, or…or a summons.”_

_“And the two are nothing alike,” she mutters with a sigh. “No matter. You wish to_ **see** _Alistair again, do you not?”_

 _“Yes! I_ **need** _him, Morrigan, I know you don’t understand.”_

 _“Correct, I do not understand.” She pauses. “But I am_ **trying** _to understand. Before, I assumed it was a simple obsession, perhaps bedlust-”_

_Zevran coughs and clears his throat._

_“I am_ **hurrying** _at_ **her pace** _, do not rush me,” Morrigan told him. Warm summer eyes land on me again. “Observing how you reacted to that Grey Warden in the other dungeon, I now realize there is more to your Taint than my eye can see.” She sighed again. “You still wish to stay, though. I see it all over your face. You wish for your shining king to rescue you. You are capable of saving yourself, you know.”_

_“How?” I ask her. “Morrigan, I am a mess. Unless Alistair’s life is threatened, I can’t seem to…it’s so hard for me anymore. I should never have touched the lyrium in the Deep Roads. I just can’t think anymore, I can’t predict, I can’t plan…”_

_“How? How did you rearrange the organs of that pig Howe? How did you survive before you met Alistair?” I know she is trying to make a point, but I don’t think what she’s looking for is here._

_“It was never this bad before the Deep Roads. I’ve never had raw lyrium before. And…when I camped on my own, the first time I realized I could not start fires anymore…I was so cold. I thought I was going to die. I think Po was the only reason I didn’t, if he hadn’t been there and slept against me, I think I would have frozen overnight. And after that, I just made sure to keep lyrium on me at all times. Celene was the exception until Alistair.”_

_“I still long to hear that tantalizing tale. I heard mention of flogging. I wish to know the rest. The Queen of Ferelden and the Empress of Orlais?” A silly smile spreads on Zevran’s face. Such bad timing and a horrible joke, I can’t help a smile._

_“Tesslyn, you give yourself too little credit,” Morrigan redirects my attention. “The woman I met in the Wilds cut down scouting parties of Darkspawn, threw herself face to face against the largest of them all, refusing to give her male companions a chance to fight.” We stare at each other again. Her eyes and brows tilt again. “The Deep Roads are still fresh for me. I remember the golems, and how you raised that hammer over your head and ended the fight. You saved our lives, Tesslyn. That was_ **you** _, no other.” For the first time since I’ve known her, Morrigan cries in front of me. Almost. Her eyes are starting to leak. They look like two suns shining over pure water._

 _She really feels like this? She thinks_ **_I_ ** _saved everyone?_

 _Her hands slip from my face and she continues: “You awoke from a concussion and had no voice. Until I had no strength left, I tried to heal your mind; I wished for you speech when you needed something. It did not work of course, but I tried. I saw a strong woman already dying summon strength I cannot, even with my connection to the Fade. You were dying and you summoned strength to keep_ **us** _from death. Then I watched you reduced to infancy after you saved me. I wanted to extend your life like you extended mine. Had the golems not flattened our supplies, we would have walked out of there because of you. Now,” Morrigan takes a deep breath and composes her face, “I may never get along with Alistair. Yet for you, I am trying. You were the first to accept me, you insisted my mother respect me, you perform extraordinary feats out of love; which is another concept I am learning. But there is still one task ahead of you, a tremendous task only you or Alistair can accomplish. You have shown me there is more to life than what Flemeth taught, and I do not wish to die before experiencing at least some of it. I wish to help you, I_ **intend** _to see this through till the end.”_

 _All this time…it has been almost three months since Pádraig and his knights rescued us where we fought Branka. She’s not only talking about fighting Branka and the golems, though, she’s talking about when we met. That far? She’s…Morrigan looks up to me? To_ **me??** _A rusted, broken rogue? Since we met?  But_ **she** _is the one who fears nothing,_ **she's** _the brave one. Morrigan has never been afraid to face anything. How can she admire me?_

_Alistair says the same thing, though. He says I save him every day, says he’s always seen a hero in me._

_…Are they right?_ **Am** _I a hero?_ **Me?**

 _“My point is, Tesslyn, we have come a long way. I do not wish to perish with you in such horrible conditions._ **If** _we must die together, it_ **should** _be a respectable death. The Archdemon, not a prison.” Morrigan blinks. “So? What does your woman’s mind tell you? Shall we escape this rotten place and reunite you with that fool Alistair so we can end this Blight, or not?”_

_“Yes.” My head bobs quickly. “Maker, yes, please? I don’t want to be here!”_

_Her sigh is loud and full of relief. “Wonderful! Truly! I also wish to wear clothes again!” She almost jumps to her feet._

_“That was tear-jerking, Morrigan. Full of sentiment.” Zevran sounds like he’s implying something. He grasps my hands and pulls me up._

_Morrigan points a sharp finger at him. “Not a_ **word** _to Alistair! Or I will_ **zap** _you where elves are not meant to be zapped! Am I understood?”_

_“Hm, I don’t know. That almost sounds like a good time, yes? Do I get to be naked?”_

_Morrigan scoffs and rolls her eyes. With a glance to make sure the corridor is clear, her hands charge again. Pale blue frost forms along her fingers until her hands are like crystal dew. She has remarkable control over her breath I normally don’t have unless Alistair makes me breathe him; she should not admire me, it’s_ **me** _who stands in awe. Steel bars sparkle with ice beneath her grip, one bar at a time, freezing more than a normal winter’s chill until the first bar cracks. Then a second, and on. Beyond frozen; that’s all I know to call it. I’ve never seen something freeze so deep it_ **becomes** _ice, but that is what Morrigan’s doing._

 _Magic in general makes me uneasy, but she performs such_ **beautiful** _spells. Each bar of ice glitters and sparkles in torchlight, tiny shimmers and waves of copper dancing from bar to bar. Morrigan adds beauty and wonder to this dreadful place like I didn't know possible._

_Then it shatters. A last coat of frost is too much for this steel. Cracking in obvious grooves, slivers flaking off; a length of bar from her knee to her neck breaks off in her hands._

_Zevran’s brow jumps high. “Why are you not a master thief?” he asks, taking the pole of ice from Morrigan. In quick succession, she removes three other bars about the same length._

_With a sigh and brush of her palms at her handiwork, Morrigan turns to us. “I did not realize the extent of my ability until I traveled with Tesslyn._ **And Alistair** ,” _she adds like she thinks she must or I’ll anger; I know they will never be friends, though. She climbs through the bars with ease. “Swiftly, now! I do not wish to be caught in my unmentionables!”_

_“Two of the guards have already seen you in these unmentionables,” Zevran reminds her._

_“You are not helping. Or rushing.”_

_Morrigan is already freezing the lock on the trunk of our belongings when Zevran helps me through the bars. She glances back and says to bring a frozen bar, but Zevran is a step ahead. Torch in his hand, he squats by the chest and jabs; the rusted iron lock shatters likes thin ice._

_“Think how_ **rich** _we would be, yes?” He looks at the witch;_ **my** _witch, my friend._

 _Morrigan glares. “I_ **refuse** _to help you rob your way through Thedas, Zevran.”_

_"That is a shame. We could be notorious in no time."  He reaches down, then without another word, Zevran opens his hand to me._

_Alistair’s green handkerchief! I feel giddy, how ridiculous I must be smiling! Just tying it back on is a warm flood of relief. I’m grateful the guards think we’re trapped and don’t bother checking on us._

_Hollering from another hall echoes through the corridor ahead of us, but not clear enough to understand words. The three of us exchange a glance, trying to pick out words or tone. “Happy Hour in the barracks, no?” But Zevran’s words are premature. A crash - two crashes; the ballistas? - and sound of metal clanking pause us._

_“Training hour?” Morrigan guesses, looking at me as if I have the answers._

_I lift my shoulders and shake my head.  “I have no idea. I’ve never been here before today.”_

_Zevran’s eyes dart, frowning as he listens. His long ears twitch at the point. “Maybe not. We need to hurry. Just in case. If it_ **is** _training, we may slip out while playing along. But this…sounds heavier…” he listens for another moment, then yanks up his greaves._

_I have one gauntlet left to secure when my blood heats. Morrigan and Zevran ask me what the problem is, but I can’t move, can’t answer yet._

_Is it true?_

_Not even creeping, he’s running - no. Pacing? Dashing, back and forth, in and out of the limits of my Taint. Then it freezes._ **He** _freezes. I feel him as if he’s right in the room, but there’s no one here save for me, Morrigan and Zevran. Hot blood, teeming like a cloud of autumn crows unable to settle; my veins are back, my_ **blood** _is back! And the dungeons are always on lowest floor, so that means he’s..._

 _My head falls backwards and I stare at the ceiling. He’s moving around up there - is it really him? Not the other? So busy, back and forth above my head. He can’t find me, he’s_ **looking** _for me! Then I hear it; muffled through rock and supports, but I_ **hear** _him:_

**“TESS!!!”**

_“ALISTAIR!”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by me.


	60. Nothing But Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and his knights assault Fort Drakon to rescue Tess, but Loghain's soldiers live up to their reputation, and the tower is a maze no one can navigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING*** Abuse: choking, pushing; Graphic Violence: beheading, stabbing, acts of battle; gore; angst. 
> 
>    
> Mood Music:  
> [The Lion's Heart, by Audiomachine](https://youtu.be/Mvlm7lKunjI)

“Alistair! What are you thinking? Let her go!” Eamon’s voice resounded through the stone halls as he ran into the room. Alistair’s grip on Anora’s neck wasn’t constricting; her feet dangled above the floor, but Alistair's fingers braced the wall, not squeezed. His brother’s widow showed no sign of pain, only surprise. “Alistair, this is madness! Stop this now!” Alistair shrugged off the old man’s effort to pull him away. “She’s still Queen, Alistair!”

 _This_ stung his nerves. Alistair tore his hand away and wheeled on Eamon. “She is _not_ Queen!” Alistair ran his fingers through his hair and paced. His knuckles twitched and digits tangled before grabbing fistfuls, undoing his ponytail. “You did this, Eamon - _you did this! You put us_ _in this position to save your ass_ though this _servant_ kept lying-!” He almost hit Anora in the face when he pointed to Erlina; _Maker, he wished he had though, this woman deserved it!_

“Alistair, until the Landsmeet, she is still Queen-”

 _“WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON, EAMON?!”_ his voice burst around the room like an explosion, dissipating any echoes from the old Arl. “Anora’s reign ended when Cailan died! Without marriage to a king, she is _nothing!”_ Alistair turned back to Anora. “Where is she?”

Anora’s eyes darted. “Bann Teagan. I pray this behavior is not _your_ influence.”

“Quite the contrary. I _encourage_ it,” Teagan was chill and resenting. “At least Tesslyn never let her father kill my nephew.”

Alistair shoved Anora against the wall. _“WHERE IS SHE?!_ She risked her life to save yours, you can damn well return the favor!” he demanded. When Anora did not answer, Alistair pinned her again. “That is my _wife_ you deserted! Maker, you’re just like you’re father, aren’t you?” He shook his head in disgust. “It’s obvious marriage means nothing to you, but you’re not the one in charge anymore! When my brother died, his title passed to me. I won’t repeat myself again, Anora, _TELL ME WHERE MY WIFE IS!”_

Still Anora refused to speak. _Maker, how did Cailan put up with this stubborn bitch?_

Alistair turned and stepped away, running his hands down his face. “If she won’t help, she’s no use to us.” He reached for his sword, but found his belt empty; he wore noble raiment, not armor. “Pádraig, execute her.”

“Gladly, Your Majesty.” Pádraig unsheathed his sword and approached Anora.

“And someone get my sword and armor!” Alistair snapped. An elven servant took off like a spooked horse.

“What?! No! Heavens! Alistair, you cannot be serious!” Anora cried out.

“That’s _King_ Alistair to you.” Pádraig raised his arm, leveling the tip of his sword with her neck.

“If you kill me, my father will have your heads!” Anora’s voice hardened like she thought this gave her leverage.

“After the Landsmeet in the Fade, your father can tell you how that went.” Alistair gave a nod to Pádraig. Pádraig pulled his arm back as far as it would stretch.

“NO, WAIT! SHE’S IN THE PRISONS!” Anora yelled. Pádraig hesitated to share a glance with Alistair. “They took her to Fort Drakon! She’ll be in prison until my father attends to her crime in court.”

“Crime?” Eamon echoed. “Oh, Anora, what have you done?”

“What else do you propose I’d done!” she said through her teeth. “Ser Cauthrien blocked our escape and Tesslyn ratted me out! Do you have any idea what my father would do if Cauthrien reports the truth?”

“You sold out a Grey Warden to save your ass? Do you even know who can _stop_ this sodding Blight? It ain’t dear ol’ dad, that’s for sure!” Oghren barked.

“You should have considered your safety _before_ you let him kill the king and steal his throne!” Alistair found it hard to speak to this woman without yelling.

“My father never raised a hand to Cailan! He pulled his troops-”

 _“He left Cailan to die! That’s the same as killing him!_ Your father has done _enough_ to this country _and_ my wife!” Alistair ripped his armor from a nervous servant. “How long does she have?”

Anora made undefined gestures. “As long as my father takes-”

“UP IN ARMS! EVERYONE!” Alistair hardly needed to yell for his voice to bounce off walls. Not a single body hesitated; Alistair hoped Anora noted how many obeyed his commands without question.

“Queen’s Guard - TO ARMS!” Pádraig ordered. “Domhnall, Eirik! Assemble First and Sixth regiments! _NOW!”_ He turned his attention back to Anora and made a noise. Alistair looked over to see Anora halt in her tracks and roll her eyes; she was trying to escape already. “Your Majesty, what do you want with these two?”

“The basement,” Alistair said, tightening the straps of his pauldrons with Anora’s gaze on him. Her jaw was tight, her eyes not more than slivers. As if she had more right than Alistair to be upset. “Separate them, as many guards needed to block the door. If they try to escape, kill them. Anora’s no use in this war, anyway. Eamon, if you let them out before I return, I’ll have Branka drag you through town on your bare ass.” He glanced at the old Arl before securing his weapon to his waist. Anora, Erlina and Eamon; such a slippery ensemble. “I have no sympathy for people who aim to hurt my wife. It’s time you stop underestimating me.”

They rode to Fort Drakon. Po and the other mabari led the way, Alistair and Pádraig on the Anderfels horses with Tess’ Guard close behind. The rest of the Wardens’ party and one-hundred-twenty soldiers created a cloud of dirt seen long after they rode past. Branka and Shale took up the rear, heavy stone feet landing so hard Alistair heard thunder over determined hooves and distance.

Alistair rode harder than ever. Anora’s threat of Loghain sentencing Tess any moment kept a knot in Alistair’s stomach. Her words were empty; he knew so and would make sure she could not follow through, but it drove Alistair nonetheless. He refused to give Loghain a chance to prove his desperation.

Soldiers in the Fort courtyard dove away as the mabari and horses assailed. Before commands were issued, the hounds charged, giving the riders time to dismount and ready arms. The dogs finished the guards akin to starving wolves, necks and faces ripped open, digits missing from fingers, an arm snapped in two. One mabari made eye contact with Alistair, teeth grinding till bone cracked, life force that did not belong to it dripping from its jaws; a victory snack. Blood everywhere, and they hadn’t yet stepped inside.

Only two soldiers stood guard in the entry hall. Alistair's eyes flickered, looking for movement. A spacious, empty room, and no other noise in the immediate area. Such a still, quiet Fort did not seem possible for the size Alistair knew Loghain’s forces to be. As Alistair and Pádraig led their small army through the doors, the guards raised their swords.

“Stop right there!” one ordered.

“Identify yourself and disarm, knight!” the other demanded.

Alistair continued walking, shield and sword ready at his sides. “You want a name? My name is Alistair Theirin. I am the son of Maric and the new King of Ferelden.” The guards exchanged conflicted glares when Alistair came within reach. Without warning, he swung his sword; the guard to his left gasped and choked though a bleeding neck, eyes bulging as steel dropped to stone. Before the other could react, Alistair spun, bracing the man’s neck with his sword. The rim of his shield bashed between mantle and helmet, slicing the head clean off.

“You are relieved of duty,” he told the fresh corpses. Alistair wasted no time. Shaking off his sword, he drove his foot into the door and walked on.

The hall was sloppy. Not untidy, but lazy. Storage for ballistas, racks of weapons lined the walls around statues of Andraste, yet soldiers tarried about, laughing and yawning, slouching, _bored._ They treated their military outpost like a lounge hall. Alistair expected training, more patrols, lectures at least, not a casual gathering.  

Sten voiced Alistair’s exact thoughts: “Unacceptable.”

“I am King Alistair Theirin! I believe you have something of mine!”

But not a single soldier acknowledged him; might as well be interrupted and slapped. Alistair exchanged a curious glance with Pádraig and Sten. How was it possible no one heard _Alistair?_ His loud voice startled so many.

A cracking and crashing of heavy stone erupted. Alistair glanced behind to see Branka brushing off rubble from a newly extended doorway. “Humans and their lousy architecture,” the massive golem grumbled. None of the Fort’s inhabitants heard Branka’s ruckus either.

Oghren gave a gruff huff. “It’s a good thing they aren’t being invaded.”

Alistair turned and beckoned with two fingers. “Shale, Branka, take out these ballistas.”

“Yes!” Shale declared, scooping up rubble without hesitation. “Will it let me smash the pigeons as well?”

“Pigeons?” Alistair repeated, stepping aside for the golems.

“The noisy, giggling things who can’t hear me walk.”

“First things first, Shale.” Alistair resumed his place.

Alistair shared Shale’s observation: the golems went unnoticed, as if heavy stone scraping and pounding against more stone was a common sound within the Fort. Until Branka’s fist set a bolt crashing into a statue near a group of animated soldiers. All of a sudden the hall silenced, save for Branka reducing the ballista to splinters.

“Thank you… _ladies.”_ Alistair gave a nod to each golem as he stepped forward. He studied the faces before him. Shocked and confused men and women, even more clueless why a small army with two legendary golems were suddenly inside their hall of war. _“I said,”_ Alistair repeated, raising his shield and sword, “I am King Alistair! _NOW WHERE IS MY WIFE?!”_

Outburst filled the vast stone room, _Did he say King?,_ _It’s the Grey Wardens!, Traitors!,_ and, _It’s the ghost of Maric!_

_Maker, that was annoying._

Combat exploded like a dwarven bomb, but Alistair was more than ready. The Fort’s laziness proved an act; the soldiers charged like they’d trained to wait for Alistair and his knights. Metal clashed, sparks in the air revealing where the hardest hitters fought. Swords and axes clanked and screeched, echoing off walls and ringing ears. The floor shook when the golems attacked, rock debris flying like bomb shrapnel before leaving the room in a gritty haze. Blood flung in all directions, red drops glistening bold in lamplight between bright reflections off polished weapons, painting the air between clouds of dust. These Fort soldiers donned stronger armor and sharper weapons than any bandit Loghain sent after them. Vibrations from each bash of his shield rattled Alistair’s elbow and shoulder, further down his back and chest if he turned or swung at the same time. His cheek stung from an arrow not quite able to follow his movement.

Alistair’s men outnumbered the hall’s guards at least eight-to-one. Moreso the Fort was not prepared for golems; the guards could not defeat the mythical dwarven monsters of war. Resistance challenged the best of them, but before long, the hall fell silent.

Waiting for other Fort guards provided a water break and time to wipe swords. While expecting a new wave of opponents, Alistair tried to feel for Tess. He listened for her, tried to summon her familiar warm buzz, but Po remained the only Taint in the vicinity. He watched the Warden mabari sniff around, but with so many new corpses, Alistair knew Po had tricky task ahead if he sought Tess’ scent.

Pádraig theorized the Hall was for training. There were no other guesses why the battle did not startle the rest of the tower. None of Alistair’s knights had been inside Fort Drakon before either and therein lay the problem: this was no small tower. How long would it take to scour the place? Assuming the prisons were the lowest level of the building was not an option, for Alistair had read plenty of history books describing prisons in tower tops; extreme height to discourage escape. Searching might waste the last of daylight. Their vital task suddenly magnified. Alistair hoped they found Tess sooner rather than later.  

He split up his party before entering the corridor: one aimed left, one right, each troop took a golem, half of Tess’ guard, and half the mabari pack. They would not leave without Tess. Pádraig and Po led the other team, but none got far. Spilling into the corridor attracted soldiers from rooms on either end of the hallway, uniting the party once more.

As before, fighting did not attract more Fort guard. They were amidst barracks but the Ferelden army did not press upon them like Alistair anticipated. Far more beds than soldiers. Either this meant an ambush, or Loghain’s army had drastically thinned since deserting the battle at Ostagar last year. Only the latter was good news; an ambush in unfamiliar territory was dangerous, but if this small force was all Loghain had left, they now had more fuel to prove Loghain’s incompetence at the Landsmeet.

The sound of Pádraig’s party clamoring away rang to Alistair’s ears as his own team ran contrast. Room after room, around every corner, through supply rooms and a kitchen, but still no sign of Tess. Alistair heard the other party engage in combat as he ran up a flight of stairs. They searched every room and fought brutal soldiers - seasoned men and women whose combat prowess took longer to overpower than expected after the battle downstairs. Alistair hoped Tess managed to flee in the chaos, and he hoped Zevran and Morrigan were alive to help. If he couldn’t find his wife, at least he could to buy her time to slip away.

Alistair had no idea where he was, but this floor held officers and the Fort Colonel; important men who had access to all doors in the tower. Sten suggested these men might keep important documents relevant to the Wardens’ cause.

From all his diverse training Alistair thought _he_ was tough, but the Colonel was a beast. Even with heavy hitters, archers, and shields aplenty, Alistair took two cuts before anyone found a weakness in the Colonel’s armor. But as soon as they found it, it was over - Leliana shot two arrows in a row, faster than Alistair could blink. When the Colonel doubled over from the second arrow, the bard sent a final right through an eye. A steel arrowhead protruded from the back of the helmet as the Fort’s commanding officer fell against the wall, guided by the force of Leliana’s weapon.

“We should salvage his armor.” She brushed loose cherry strands from her face with a heavy huff. “I’ve never used so many arrows on one person before.”

“It was only three arrows,” a knight said, catching his breath.

“My point exactly!” Leliana exclaimed as if the knight had agreed with her.

No one had time to act though. Before gravity pulled the Colonel down the wall, more officers and less decorated soldiers poured in. _This was infuriating!_ It was bad enough Alistair couldn’t feel Tess even though he’d sworn they’d covered… Maker, they _must_ have covered the important chambers by now, and Pádraig would’ve rushed Tess straight to Alistair if he’d found her. Where else could she be?

Alistair braced his shield, leaned, and forced his legs as fast as they would go. With his shield arm firm, he rammed through the mass that tried to barricade the Colonel’s office. He refused to be cornered when there was still space to search. His fear of Tess trapped anywhere hung in his mind like fog. He couldn’t stay here, he denied defeat! Alistair fell with the pile of men that tumbled beneath his weight, but regained himself quicker than the officers. A swift bash with the face of his shield, then pinning a neck with his sword to push up. He stepped on shoulders and faces, swung his shield to knock standing rivals off balance on his way out. The corridor was less crowded than the Colonel’s office, but each Fort soldier who attacked meant Alistair advanced another stretch of tower he hadn’t searched.

Alistair saw himself from the outside as he fought: slicing, bashing, tripping, stabbing like he fought feral beasts instead of men. Ending lives left and right without a second thought. Even as his drove his sword, as blood sprayed and splattered and screams of pain ensued, Alistair wondered how many of these soldiers were husbands and wives, how many spouses would receive condolence letters soon? How many citizens would become widows because of him?

It only hardened him further. All these people willing to fight till death just to keep a husband and wife separated when they would do the same in Alistair’s place. He could only imagine how scared Tess was right now, how terrified she must have been when they dragged her to this wretched place. Wherever she was, Alistair knew it must seem like he abandoned her.

 _“You have allowed yourself to become numb to the world and all that does not revolve around She.”_ That ancient spirit guarding Andraste’s ashes had been right. _“You have found a thirst for blood you didn’t know you possessed. You are not only willing to be king, but you have vowed to bleed any who oppose you.”_ More right than Alistair ever considered, even after the Deep Roads and Loghain.

Alistair had no qualms killing any who got in his way.

Tess was nowhere. Room after room he scoured, his party scrambling to catch up to him after clearing the Colonel’s office.

 _She’s not here!_ Alistair grew more frantic with each room he secured. _Maker, where is she??_ His nerves were shot, his patience gone, his blood raged in desperation. _What if she’s not here at all?_ _So help me, Maker, if Anora lied, I’ll—_

A buzz halted him in his tracks so fast he almost fell over. Not fright or irritation, but the buzz he’d been seeking since Tess left; was it only hours ago? The small amount of hope rushed through him till his vision blurred. _Tess, is that you??_ Faint, almost not even there… but real enough. He wiped his palm across his cheek, hoping to find her before his eyes stopped leaking.

Alistair ran around the room in search for a door or niche, but he turned so many times he dizzied himself. He scrambled in so many directions her Taint flashed in and out of his senses like she painted the Flame of Andraste in the air with her body. Chest aching from rough breath, Alistair stood in the center of the room where his veins burned hottest. He spun in place over and again, seeking for shapes that resembled doors or arches or trapdoors on the floor, ladders, _anything!_ Everything hurt right now, every part of him in torment from _finally_ feeling his other half but unable to reach her.

A series of choppy breaths rattled his ribs before he gathered his voice and screamed as loud as he could: _“TESS!!”_

He almost didn’t believe what replied: “Alistair!” Not faint enough to be wishful thinking.

Frozen in place, hair prickling beneath armor, his breath stopped and heart skipped. _She’s here!_

**_Tess:_ **

_Small hands push me into the hall away from all cages. “Go. GO!” Zevran hisses. Armor I’m not used to rubs against my ankles as I run, and the soles of these boots are not meant for my feet. Noise of our armor on stone is lost soon though. Somewhere ahead out of sight, another battle plays its tune for us._

_“Should we not try to for an alternate route? How is heading into the battle wise?” Morrigan asks of the rattle we run towards._

_“It does not matter! It’s a distraction! Now move!” Zevran pushes us though we’re almost to the end of the corridor._

_“And if it’s our party?” Morrigan never worries about anything. Why is she so troubled? “If we head towards battle, we will be forced to fight! I do not know these faces, ‘twill do no good if I scorch the wrong person!”_

_We are forced to stop when we turn the corner. Oh Maker, they’re everywhere! We can’t squeeze past unnoticed. Morrigan’s right, we’ll caught in the thick of it._

_I can’t feel Alistair anymore. There’s too much noise here, so much banging and yelling and barking. I can’t even feel if Po’s here. I bet Alistair made him stay behind for the same reason I did._

_The wall ahead bursts open like a cannon hit and my voice rips through my throat. Maker, what’s happening?! Someone shoves me; the cold hard floor jolts my bones. I’m not the only one who fell. Zevran’s first to his feet, yanking me then Morrigan up as the dust settles. The mage - my mage? - her hands are already primed for attack._

_“Well, well. I should demand a finder’s fee.” A massive person straightens before me, metal sparking as hands larger than my head scrape dust and rubble from silverite shoulders._

_“Branka?” Branka came with Alistair to save me? She’s so dusty I scarcely recognize her aside from her size. How does she even fit in here? How many_ **holes** _are in the walls? Alistair will need this tower!_

_Morrigan scoffs. “Tis about time!”_

_Branka mimics the noise. “It’s not like they gave us tourist maps at the front door.”_

_“I suspect there_ **is** _no front door now,” Zevran says. His eyes search beyond Branka._

_“For your sake, that had better not be in reference to my size.”_

_“Of course not, you’ve obviously been working out.” Zevran continues before Branka can retort, “Where is Alistair? How many of us are here?”_

_“YOUR MAJESTY!” a voice I never thought I’d be glad to hear. Twice this man has come to our rescue now._

_“Pádraig!” I yell. Wherever he is, Alistair is never far off. Dark brown curls stick out of his helmet as he fights his way over. When he’s caught up a third time, I run for him, but a huge hand juts out in front of me. “Ow! Branka, move!” This is not the first time I’ve failed to shove this stone woman out of the way._

_“And have him deactivate me?” if she had a nose, I’d swear she just snorted. “Not a chance.”_

_“Your Majesty!” Pádraig staggers a man with his elbow and follows with his sword, then darts out action. “Queen Tesslyn, are you alright?” Sweat drips down his forehead and he’s breathing hard. He pulls off his helmet to wipe his face with the leather underside of his gloves._

_“Where’s Alistair?” I ask. “I could feel him just-”_

_Something explodes in front of us and I scream, grabbing Pádraig. Warm liquid and slimy bits splatter my face. I almost lose my stomach wiping it from my eyes; eyeball juice and raw brains. Yechh! I’ve never forgotten this stench, but I wish I had._

_Branka’s shaking bloody pink ridges and bits of bone from her fist when I open my eyes. Pádraig scolds her, showing his own disgust with an eye-roll and a shudder. A headless body in full armor sprawls where the floor meets the wall._

_“You’re welcome,” Branka tells us._

_“Had someone warned me covert operations were so filthy, I’d have insisted we never leave!” Morrigan snaps. She pulls a chunk of something from her own hair as she bends to snatch the headless man’s purse. She sighs so loud I hear her over the battle. Another sigh as she uncorks a violet bottle in front of me; she’s been doing that lately, sighing._

_“Ah- Your Majesty…” Pádraig winces in discomfort and tries to step away, but when his movement pulls my arms, I realize I’m still clutching him. A thick amulet cord is tangled around my finger and indenting the back of his neck._

_“I’m sorry!” My finger catches again as I try to let go. Maker, I’m making a fool of myself - with a battle right here, when I can’t find my giant husband! “I’m so sorry!” How do these people think I’m heroic? Maybe seven years ago when I never tripped or stumbled or - or- when I thought clearly and could find my way out of towers._

_“Tesslyn, hold still!” And how many times has Morrigan tried to rinse me off today? Maker, I’m not cut out for this anymore._

_“Ah!” Pádraig forces a smile. “No harm done, Your Majesty.” He turns to sneak a hand up so he can rub his neck. I don’t know what to do besides look away; who wants to hear their Queen apologize three dozen times? His reverence of me as Alistair’s wife is so misplaced._

_“Where is Alistair?” Zevran asks. “How do we get out?”_

_Pádraig gestures at the wall behind him. “It was a maze getting this far, I just hope the mabari can lead us out.”_

_“Mabari?” I repeat. Sweet floral aroma with a hint of mint; the potion Morrigan pours over me smells better than eyeballs and brains by far. I feel it seeping into my skin, the fumes dancing to my lungs. It’s easier to breathe again, despite the warring in front of me. “How many- did Po…?”_

_As if I summoned him by magic, the bark of my lifelong friend echoes down the corridor. A bark I can distinguish from a thousand mabari._

_“Po!” I almost can’t see, I was so afraid they’d kill him! I duck under Branka’s arm and run, but in no time a huge golden body leaps between bodies and tackles me. Oh, Maker, thank You! I can’t squeeze him tight enough! Po’s Taint is a welcome summer breeze in my veins right now. I don’t care he’s drenching me in slobber, licking up my tears like clearing them will make me smile again. I don’t know who I can’t live without more, my husband or my dog. Life without Po is simply not in my memory._

_Po jumps and flips with a growl, and before I can scoot away, my dog intercepts danger. His jaws clamp over a forearm, making its owner drop a battleaxe on his own shoulder. Pádraig rushes in with his sword, but one after another two arrows pierce the neck, spraying red droplets._

_“I_ **had** _that,_ **thank** _you._ **Sister**.” _Pádraig adds with a glare._

 _“Of course you did, your posture was magnificent. Tesslyn!_ **There** _you are!” A bob of scarlet wisps through the air in a circle. Leliana pushes off from her landing with a hand out for me._

 _“Leliana?” Did_ **everyone** _come to save me?_

_She grabs my hand and pulls me up. “Uck! You smell horrible!”_

_“Tis Branka’s doing!” Morrigan announces._

_“No need to point fingers, I freely admit it. Whoever knew smashing skulls would be so fun?” Branka might have sneered if she had a mouth._

_“Ugh.” Leliana scans the hall before turning to me again. “You have weapons still, yes?” Her eyes wander to Morrigan and Zevran’s belts. “Good. Alistair is upstairs-”_

_“Alistair?” my chest tightens._

_“Yes.” Silvery blue eyes search my face for a moment. She frowns at something on my left cheek; where the prison guard hit me, I almost forgot. “We split up. We have turned around so many times already. Sten and some of your guard came with me, but they are caught up in the battle. Come,” she grabs my hand, “there was a door where I left Alistair, he thought it might lead back down. This way!” Leliana pulls me along. Morrigan, Zevran, Branka and Po catch up before we turn the corner._

**Alistair:**

A dead end. _A bloody fucking dead end!_

Alistair slammed his foot against the wall, then his shield. _No!_ He yelled and punched, frustration from losing Tess’ Taint again unhinging him more than ever. _Maker, is it_ **really** _too much to ask for my wife back?!_

“Hey - hey! There’s a door!” Oghren’s voice and heavy boots announced his return.

“What?! Where? I searched _everywhere!_ There was _nothing!”_

Oghren sneered. “Somethin’ out there is sodding jerkin’ us around. We _all_ searched this room.” Someone shouted from beyond Oghren but Alistair couldn’t understand it. “Sodding tits, there’s one still alive!”

Alistair ran so hard he thought his armor might break. He flew past Oghren in time to see a sword raised, ready to kill the survivor. “No! Stop!” Alistair pushed the soldier aside.

The man on his knees before them bore a gash on his face. Light armor, light weapons, alone in a - Alistair looked around…crates, barrels, drying herbs hanging from one corner, empty chests stacked within each other - a storeroom; this man wasn’t expected to fight. This didn’t stop Alistair though.

He yanked the man to his feet. “Where are the prisons!” he demanded.

“I-I-”

“The prisons! Where they keep prisoners! Where are the prisoners kept!” Alistair bellowed in the guard’s face.

“The- the basement, they’re in the basement.”

“Where is that? How do I get there?”

“It’s in the...” the man licked dry lips. “The entry hall past the ballistae, follow the corridor right, it’s- it turns and it will take you right there.”

“The _entry_ hall?” Alistair searched him, jerking so hard the guard's head bobbed. “How the fuck do I get back _there_ from _here?”_   

A trembling arm raised and pointed towards the far corner. “The roof. That door leads to the roof. Cross it, and there’s a hinge door that leads to the prisons. An e- for emergency escapes. ‘S got a rope ladder an’ all, it’s always up, we’re not allowed to take it down, because if there was a f- a fire-”

Alistair threw the guard back to the floor. “Fucking doors and more doors.”

“Can- can I go? Am I free? Please, I helped you!”

Alistair’s eyes raced as he contemplated whether backtracking might save time. He couldn’t believe it was this fucking hard to navigate a military tower.

“Ser, please-”

Alistair shoved his sword through the guard’s neck and, with his sword still in, knocked the head back with his shield; the crack alone told him his target was dead. “Yes. You are free,” he answered, stepping over the dead man.

“Branka should have been here for this. She’s into brains,” Oghren commented. Alistair shot the dwarf a glare before sprinting for the door.

**_Tess:_ **

_“Damn!” I’ve never heard Leliana curse before. “There’s no door. That’s-- that’s fine, no problems.” She takes a deep breath. “Come on!” She grabs my hand and runs, and Morrigan clings to the other so she can keep up this time. “We’ll go back the way we came!”_

_“This will lead somewhere, yes?” Zevran asks._

_“Of course it will! I happen to have a great sense of direction! How do you think I made it as a bard?” Leliana drags me as she jumps over dead bodies, and with Morrigan on the other end I feel like the tug-of-war ropes I played with Po as a child._

_“Even Alistair can memorize a map,” Morrigan answers the rhetorical question. Leliana mutters something I can’t understand._

_Though the numbers of Fort guards are nothing compared to when they brought me in, we’re caught in the fight. Through the thick of it is our only path to the stairs. It doesn’t even help to hop through the holes Branka made; there are so many! How is this place still standing?_

_Reflecting on my life, I know it sounds sadistic to say I love killing, but it’s true. For years it’s been that small part of me awarded with control. When my every activity was planned, eliminating others was a break from life, something was finally_ **my** _decision. Even working for Loghain, killing was freedom._ **I** _chose to drag or wedge or stab my blade - I could have turned away and failed my missions, but I chose to wield that control. And with little control over the rest of my life, especially since I worked for Loghain, deciding someone’s fate for them always seemed like a reprieve. It was the only freedom I knew until I met Alistair. Fighting today, even after swearing off murder in Howe’s dungeon, using my daggers comes like instinct. I see eyes drenched in rage or fear, and my hands strike. I don’t need to command myself or figure out how, it just happens. And even more macabre, the sound of metal slicing flesh and the smell of fresh blood brings me comfort. Not close to the comfort Alistair provides, not happiness or safety, but nostalgia, familiarity from once upon a time. A time when I could take care of myself._

_I see Sten with Benneit and Diarmad, two of the elite guard Pádraig assigned to me._

_“Your Majesty!” Benneit exclaims._

_“Warden!” Sten greets me with a grunt before gouging his huge sword into someone’s stomach. “We must hurry! The other Warden awaits!”_

_“We tried the other end of the hall, there is no staircase!” Leliana reports._

_“Come, Your Majesty!” Diarmad grabs my arm and rushes me from battle. I almost don’t sheathe my daggers in time before Benneit grabs my other arm. I sigh, not caring who hears me. I know he means well but Pádraig’s security measures couldn’t keep Loghain’s puppet from ambushing and arresting me; Maker knows running back and forth in a Fort occupied by Loghain’s personal army is turning out just as safe as rescuing that conniving sow in Howe’s stolen manor._

_“I’m capable of running!” I insist._

_“Absolutely! Your Majesty is an excellent runner!” Diarmad answers._

_“Most graceful, my Queen!” Benneit adds. I swear Leliana’s snickering._

_The floor they take me to is empty. Well, not empty, but certainly not alive. Bodies everywhere, head and limbs dislodged, helmets smashed into skulls. It’s hard to walk without stepping in blood or body parts._

_“Are any of these--?” I want to say_ **ours** _to hide the dread swirling in my throat, but they know what I mean._

 _“Not close, Your Majesty,” Benneit assures. “King Alistair is ruthless in battle. They were dead when he sent us to backtrack.”_ **Alistair** _killed all these people?_

_No one is here though. Not Alistair, not Oghren, not Shale - though like Branka downstairs, there is evidence a golem was present. Every room is lifeless. Benneit and Diarmad release me to run down the halls yelling. No one answers._

_“But…” I search each face I step around anyway. Maker, please, don’t let me find him here, not here, not like this!_

_“Perhaps he found another route after all?” Leliana is just as baffled as my guards. Po stayed downstairs with the others, we don’t have a mabari to sniff my husband out._

_“But-- so where-” my eyes flood again. Blinking does little to clear them._

_“They can’t all have disappeared!” Diarmad runs back the other way and re-checks every room._

_“Back downstairs!” Benneit orders. He grabs my arm before I can move, but Morrigan beats Diarmad to the other arm. Diarmad looks her over with a frown, but she stands tall._

_“Not on your life! One - I refuse to be left as prey for stray Templars, and Two - Tesslyn is alive right now because of_ **me** _, not her_ **elite guard** _. ‘Twas_ **I** _who freed us from that prison, not you!”_

_Diarmad rolls his eyes. Benneit speaks first, “Run ahead, see if you can signal Pádraig or the King.” And with Diarmad in the lead, Benneit guides me once more, Morrigan clinging for life. I can’t tell if she’s anxious or protective._

_The swarms. The buzzing, the swarms! My veins are hot again! It’s like he just jumped into range. “Alistair!_ **_ALISTAIR!!!_ ** _” I scream._

_“Where?” Benneit cries out. He doesn’t stop me when I take off, though Morrigan and Leliana cry out. Alistair’s Taint fades, but not much, I feel it weaving in and out as if he’s checking rooms just like I did._

_“Where is he, can you tell?” Diarmad asks when I reach him._

_“I don’t know! I don’t know, but he’s here!_ **_ALISTAIR!!_ ** _” I yell down the hall. My name reaches our ears, muffled and straining, yet there is no doubt who responds. Downstairs, back downstairs, he has to be there! I pass my guards as fast as I can run over the bodies, but the closer I get to the stairs, the more Alistair’s Taint fades. “No!_ **_NO!_ ** _ALISTAIR!! I’M UP HERE!” My toe snags on the first step and I stumble right into the perfect place to yell in the circular staircase. “ALISTAIR!” Maker, PLEASE let him hear me!_

**Alistair:**

The rope ladder from the roof led into the dungeons like the storeroom guard said. As soon as Alistair began his descent, the stench of blood and old flesh hit his nose. _Maker, say this isn’t where they kept Tess! No more Deep Road filth!_

She wasn’t there. Cages above the torture chambers were empty. _Shit fucking void, no!_

“Alistair, look!” Alistair followed Wynne’s hand to an empty cage near the corridor. An entire section of prison bars from his chest to his knees was missing, the broken ends chipped clean off from a thick crystalline coat. Shattered rods with the same frosty coating lay on the floor. Alistair reached up and tapped a crystal tip. It was cold as winter and splintered at his touch like an icicle dropped on stone.

“Morrigan.” His laugh was thick with relief in spite of the irony; Tess had wanted Morrigan to master ice. That crafty fucking witch had volunteered so she could break out of prison if the plan failed. Alistair was never so grateful for Morrigan like he was now.

“We got bodies,” Oghren said as Alistair’s soldiers ran in fours down the next hall.

Alistair didn’t need to be told twice. Bodies meant Tess had fought her way through, or Pádraig had found her. He raced past his knights and Oghren; the crash and boom of Shale jumping from the roof chased them down the hall.

Nothing but bodies. He checked faces on every dead female he saw just in case, but repeated to himself Tess was still alive, she _had_ to be alive. He’d felt her Taint once already, and with so little Fort guard left, maybe she was just lost and confused like Alistair was. Right?

Tess’ Taint did not return when Alistair reached the end of the long hall. He didn’t know his coordinates when he’d felt her from upstairs, but how could she just vanish? The Taint did not work like that. Alistair followed the corridor as it narrowed and turned. More bodies; none he recognized, and though he didn’t know most of his own knights faces, he hoped dead strangers were a good thing.

They neared battle again. Just as Alistair began thinking he might have to pray Tess escaped, long blond locks whirled and feathered around pointed ears.

“Zevran!!” Alistair picked up his pace till he reached the elf. “Zev!” He yanked the small rogue from battle.

“Alistair!” Zevran’s eyes weren’t wide for long. He stepped back with a frown and thrust his hands on his hips. “Where have you been? Look at what I’ve been doing without you!” he flung an arm out to gesture to the battle. Alistair skimmed over those still fighting. Maybe a handful of Fort guards left, so little, in fact, that most of Alistair’s knights had stopped for water breaks. Rubble and dust coated the floor in places Branka had created accessible passages her size.

“Your Majesty!” Pádraig pushed though knights. “She’s upstairs! They took her find you! How did you get down? Leliana said it was dead end.”

“There’s a door on roof. _Who_ are _they?”_ Alistair demanded. He didn’t mean to be so sharp with his friend, but how long had this chase gone on? It was like an exterior person controlled the Fort and made walls and rooms move to confuse them.

“Benneit and Diarmad of her Guard. I’ll take you!”  

Alistair didn’t cross a third of the corridor when warmth rushed to his veins and his insides hummed. “Tess!” He froze and looked around, but still no sight of her over the soldiers still fighting. Maker, _where???_

“She’s here?” Pádraig doubled back to Alistair’s side. “I can’t see her. I _swear_ she went upstairs, I _saw_ her!”

Almost inaudible over the remainders of battle: _“Alistair!”_

“TESS!!” Alistair screamed. Again he heard it, but she was fading. _“NO,_ Tess! Pádraig, check the rooms!” Alistair leaped over rubble through a hole Branka had made.

Empty. The next room as well. He ran from room to room along the hall, even found himself back in the ballistae hall, but no Tess.

Then: “Alistair! I’m up here!” Tess voice echoed from a hollow chamber.

“King Alistair!” Pádraig shouted. “She’s here! I found her!”

“TESS!” Alistair ran back into the corridor. The last of the Fort soldiers lay dead, but Alistair’s knights were still busy. “Pádraig? Tess!” Tess yelled with Pádraig, two voices bouncing off stone with same hollow echo; everyone heard them now. Alistair whipped his head around till he found the source of something that might cause such resonance. The stairs!

And his men were in the way. _Fucking -!_ Sten helped the knights drag bodies, but even though they made a path, the way in front of Alistair was blocked. He jumped again, back through Branka’s makeshift doors, through more holes in the walls, into more rooms. His feet stubbed rubble and crates, but he ran hard. One more room; this one kept its original door. Alistair pummeled so hard the wood cracked, and into the staircase he dove. Taking steps two at a time, three at a time, he ran until a voice stopped him.

“Alistair! _Dammit!”_ Tess cried in frustration - from somewhere behind, not above.

_Fucking void, you have got to be kidding me! Maker!!!_

Alistair spun back around and jumped the stairs twice, stumbling into Sten and someone he’d never spoken to. Without apologizing, he bolted past his knights until he saw Pádraig directing him from in front of the ballistae hall.

 _There she was._ Her gasp drew his focus before she even called his name. Alistair took the corner so sharp his feet slid on the rug. _Wife, alive and safe._ Splattered with blood and disheveled, cheeks wet with tears. She stumbled over his name with a quivering lip as she ran to meet him. Alistair dropped his sword and shrugged off his shield, and as soon as it was free, _she was there._

 _Completion_ , home. It seemed like ages since he’d seen her. _My breath, my love._ Familiar warm Taint reunited, comforting his veins, tangling within him; his body was alive once more. It was good to feel whole again. Alistair hugged his wife so tight her feet came off the ground.

**_Tess:_ **

_I can’t stop crying. Alistair yanks off his gauntlets to hold my face and dry my cheeks, but I can’t stop raining. I honestly thought I’d die, I thought I’d never see him again. Part of me feels like this is a dream. I hope this is me waking from a nightmare._

_“Oh, love, I’m so sorry.” Hot breath warms my mouth before he kisses me. My jaw shakes and I can hardly kiss him back, but he acts like it doesn’t matter._

_He’s so tender and slow, like he feared he’d never get to kiss me again. Alistair whispers he more than loves me between kisses. His beard grazes my chin, a caress I never knew I’d miss so much. He kisses every part of my mouth, tastes my lips and tongue right in front of everyone; his mustache tickles my top lip. So sweet, so real, here - right here…but I can’t stop crying. Relief? I’m not sure. I just missed him so much._

_“Y-you came for me!” the words are half-stuck in my throat._

_“Of course I came for you,” his lips press harder and his arms tighten around me. “I wasn’t about to let them have my wife.” He hasn’t held me like this since our last fight in the Deep Roads. I don’t want him to stop holding me like this again._

_I’m afraid to let go._

**_Morrigan:_ **

_So much for progress._

_I sigh too often with this fool. Had Alistair not driven her thoughts, she never would have surrendered to arrest. We could have avoided this mess and returned hours ago! Sometimes I wonder if sending me off was in part punishment for pestering mother growing up? Watching the effect this fool has on Tesslyn certainly feels so._

_Yet observing the moment and the past hour, I am reminded of my reason for being sent from home._

_I see another motive, now. A better motive._

_I believe I understand friendship a great deal more. An hour ago held a most vital lesson. There is more than deeds or words that produce loyalty and love, and there are many forms of love. The love Tesslyn bears for that fool is far from what I experienced in the prisons with her; a silent understanding of my effort to help. And while ‘twas I who calmed her mind and persuaded her not to give up, the first hope of Alistair coming to the rescue like in fairytales of olde seemed more motivation than I could give. Love - true love, even? I am unsure - induces courage no magic can. Or perhaps ‘tis a branch of magic all its own._

_Flemeth sent me a way for one purpose. She told them ‘twas a gift beyond anything they knew to ask for. Certainly she spoke the truth, yet they are still naïve to this code._

_But that was before this hideous prison. ‘Twas before I confessed my desire not to see Tesslyn perish, before I helped clear her mind and offered what peace I know when she feared death._

_...What now? They stand before me in sloppy emotions, so much touching and kissing...ugh, disgusting. Though in spite of all nauseating effects, I believe Tesslyn is better off with Alistair than alone. Should he perish, and he will insist the deed falls to him...Tesslyn will be alone._

_I will perform this ritual as Flemeth intended, but no longer for Flemeth. I have never had a friend before, I have never desired to be vulnerable with someone before; vulnerability itself being an act of love and trust I have only come to comprehend by watching Tesslyn. I will do this ritual because I long to see my friend happy and proud._

_But how to propose this and make them understand I’m doing it to save my sister, not for power or on orders?_

  
  



	61. Should We Do Something?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tesslyn wants revenge, and Alistair is more than happy to let her have it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING*** Angst; Violence - physical fighting, threats.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Tavern Brawl (Tavern Music), Dragon Age 2 Soundtrack, by Inon Zur](https://youtu.be/ndBwvhAu1TU)  
> [Ocean Kingdom, by Two Steps From Hell](https://youtu.be/1LQKLYTxz44)

_A silver chalice slams on a desk. Wood rattles,_ _shockwaves_ _cascading from the source. Contents of an ink jar splash dark brown waves, and a quill falls from its perch.  Burgundy liquid in the chalice continues to slosh and drip even as the fist opens and pulls away. Eyes_ _like_ _the moon over still water narrow and twitch._

 _“Say_ _that_ _again.” It might have been a threat._

_The stalwart brunette stiffens, leveling her shoulders. “Maric’s bastard and his knights razed Fort Drakon and rescued Lady Cousland.”_

_Cloth drags in rough jerks until the hand is clean of wine. “Survivors?”_

_“No, my lord. It’s a bloodbath in there. Fort Drakon looks_ _like_ _she_ _was attacked_ _by cannons.”_

_Loghain glares out the window. “And the soldiers marching past my palace?”_

_“The same knights who rode in with Maric’s bastard.”_ _Cauthrien_ _tries to hide the noise of a deep breath. “My lord, the people are furious._ _Already_ _we have a mob forming. They’re demanding you step_ _down_ _. There are shouts of the true King rescuing the real Queen, how you abandoned King Cailan, and now you’ve lost your army-”_

_“I HAVE NOT LOST!”_

_Cauthrien_ _catches herself flinch. “What are your orders?”_

 _Muscles clench so tight his head trembles. “Send our fastest ship to_ _Tevinter_ _. They uphold their end now, or else.”_

 

 

 

“I killed him.”

Alistair looked at his wife. He glanced to Zevran, Pádraig, made sure he hadn't miscounted her guard, before studying her again. “Killed who?” He squeezed her hand.

“Rendon,” Tess said. The walk to Eamon’s manor yielded to Tess describing her venture. She told Alistair what she did to Howe, innards wrapped around his neck like a noose, and after finding herself betrayed in front of Cauthrien, she recalled the nightmare in prison that left her in panic, green tie gone from her wrist. Morrigan and Zevran interjected with their own feelings, both as earnest as Alistair to repay Anora. Tess informed him of a deal she made to Vaughan Kendell, the heir to the arling of Denerim whom Howe had imprisoned, but before Alistair could complain she made _another_ significant deal in his name, Tess nulled his concern. She'd promised Kendell the choice of Amaranthine or Gwaren and the appropriating title with it, _but_ she wanted Alistair to make Kendell prove himself first, make him fix the problems he and his father had caused in Denerim.  

Alistair was proud. From a woman who thought she could do nothing new on her own, Tess had surrendered - and escaped - to keep her friends safe, and made a sly bargain, all without Alistair at the end of her arm. This was a good sign. Perhaps those healing sessions with the mages were just slow to show.

There was another Grey Warden in town, as well. A dark-haired man whose Taint _burns_ _like_ _yours_ , Tess said; jealousy returned, Alistair’s thoughts flying back to Ruck in the Deep Roads. Warden Riordan - a scout investigating why Cailan never sent Orlais word to join the fight at Ostagar. He would meet them at Eamon’s manor as soon as he healed. While Alistair disliked the concept of someone else coming in - someone who might steal Tess’ attention - he couldn’t deny even one more Grey Warden meant a better chance against the Archdemon.

Alistair had expected resistance from Loghain, but the roads were clear other than people scurrying with last minute chores. Eamon’s manor stood before them as eventide fell over the Market.

Tess hesitated at the well, frowning at Eamon’s doors. “Is she here?”

“Anora? She better be, if she and Eamon like their hides intact.” Alistair wanted to ask what Tess thought, but whatever it was, Anora deserved it. He squeezed his wife’s hand, already planning to let Tess have her way with Anora.

“Can I beat her?” Tess was dead serious. Not quite what he expected, but Alistair had a hard time keeping face all the same.

He released her hand to open the doors and gesture inside. “Just make sure she has a pulse when you’re through.”

Tess paused, staring at Alistair like she wasn’t sure to be relieved or concerned with his leniency on the topic. Then with a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and stepped inside. The elite guard moved in, and mumbles of needing drinks mingled with the sound of buckles hitting armor filled the hall as the Wardens’ party unwound right there. Tess stood in the entry hall, eyes wandering as she listened.

 _“Anooooooooraaaaaaaa,”_ she sang.

“Anora remains in my basement.” Eamon emerged from the library. “Right where Alistair wanted her.”

“Why does he speak of this as a bad thing?” Morrigan asked. “You realize that woman _intended_ our capture, do you not? One lie after another starting with her elf!”

Eamon opened his mouth, but Alistair interrupted him. “Release the hounds!” Alistair ordered. Po whined in question, and Alistair paused. “Anora. I meant Anora. What would you _have_ me call her, then?” he asked the mabari. Po barked triumphantly. “Ugh, no. Can you imagine the darkspawn that would come from her?”

“Po, we’ve had _enough_ of the Deep Roads, thank you,” Tess said. “And I certainly don’t want to think of Anora with _those_ noises.”

“I’m tempted to _make_ some of those noises with her in earshot,” Alistair for only Tess to hear. Their eyes met while Alistair unlatched the straps of her pauldrons, but before the couple could play on his words, knights clanked in dragging Anora and her elven handmaiden Erlina.

Anora stopped protesting _such unjust treatment_ to look around. “Ah, Tesslyn. It’s...good to see you safe.”

Morrigan’s hands lit up before Alistair could blink, one blazing, the other a frosty storm. “Tis more appropriate to offer your life in place of the three you so easily handed to death.”

“But you’re _not_ dead, that’s the important thing!" As if a cheery disposition exempted Anora from her actions.

“Put that out, these drapes are new.” Eamon sighed. “We are going to speak somewhere private. And don’t think about arguing, Alistair, this is not a request. Serious issues need to be dealt with. My study, the four of you.”

“And the Queen’s guard!” Pádraig called out, reminding Eamon in the _it_ _seems_ _like_ _you forgot_ tone he always used.

“Not this time, Pádraig. This is official business, no more than Alistair, Tesslyn, Anora, and Teagan. And Erlina.”

“And the Queen’s guard!” Pádraig repeated in the same tone.

“Erlina is not allowed, she’s a _servant_. She belongs with the other servants.” Tess glared at Anora, not the elf. Alistair read her face; Tess was separating Anora from her only ally and confidant in the house.

“I never thought I’d be saying this, but Tesslyn is correct, the elf must go with the other servants. _Shoo!_ Away with you!” Zevran waved Erlina off. “And I prefer my meat cooked medium-rare.” Alistair caught his gaze, not sure if he should smile. “What?” Zevran shrugged. “I happen to like a little blood.”

“Tess’ word is final, Eamon,” Alistair said. “The last time I checked, the Queen is allowed to give orders.” He glared when Anora opened her mouth. “You and I already discussed this. Don’t make me remind you, I will not be gentle this time.”

“Gentle?” Anora echoed. “You shoved me against the wall and choked me!”

“Obviously not hard enough. You’re still breathing.” Alistair held Tess’ hand. “My wife and I will join you when we are ready. No one leaves this house!” he ordered, leading Tess up the hall.

“Did you change your mind?” Alistair asked in the privacy of the room Eamon assigned them. He untied the belt; the armor she wore now was not the guard armor she left in. “You asked if you could beat her.”

“I’m waiting,” she answered.

“For what?” One by one, he removed her armor.

“For her to slip up. Teagan will stop me if I attack for no reason, but if I let her attack first, Teagan will stop Eamon from stopping me.”

Alistair grinned. “Swing away, I’m serious. I’ll hold off anyone who tries to stop you.”

A shy smile spread. “Sometimes I think I’ve had a bad influence on you.”

Teagan, Eamon, and Anora waited in awkward silence in Eamon’s study with Morrigan, Sten, Oghren, Leliana, Zevran, Wynne, Pádraig and half the elite guard while the Wardens took their time.

“The rest of you can leave now. I appreciate your company,” Eamon smiled with empty eyes as Tess and Alistair joined them. The old man was annoyed with the Wardens' whole crew showing up for every important meeting.

“Leave?” Morrigan scoffed. “When _all_ our lives are in danger with this _guest_ of yours?”  

“Not likely,” Sten replied.

“I can always have _Branka_ come in and say it for you,” Oghren offered.

Eamon sighed. “Alistair, it’s common for a man’s party to show their host courtesy.”

“Oh, well, thank you for reminding me. I’ll start as soon as you reverse the first twenty years of my life,” Alistair told him.

Eamon sighed again. “I need a stiff drink,” he muttered. “Very well, on to business then. We have a Landsmeet and a Blight to deal with, but first, Anora, we need to discuss your actions.”

 _“My_ actions?” Anora might as well have been slapped.

 _“Yes,_ Anora, _your_ actions.” Eamon was the serious Arl once again. “Your handmaiden came to us with a plea of life or death, and upon liberation, you sent your rescuers to be hanged. Had Alistair not charged ahead, you would have ended the life of a Grey Warden.”

“And the wife of Maric’s only living son,” Alistair added, crossing his arms.

Anora’s entire facade changed. Her eyes twitched as she returned Alistair’s glare. “You do know the Landsmeet will never allow her in the palace. She is a wanted woman-”

“You do know being a Grey Warden exempts her of all former accusations,” Alistair retorted in Anora’s tone. “Your threats means nothing, Anora. Without Cailan, you’re just another widow. Arl Eamon addressed a specific concern. I suggest you answer him.”

“I was given no other choice. Tesslyn ratted me out-”

“Wrong answer,” Zevran interrupted. “We found you trapped in blood magic, and when we freed you, dear Tesslyn referred to what we were told. It was _your_ decision to hand us over as…hm, Morrigan? What was it she called us?”

“Brigands,” Morrigan answered. “Brigands who tried to kidnap her.”

“Anora, you have been involved with court since you were able to walk. What were you thinking!” Teagan scolded. “Whatever your game is, you chose the wrong targets. Regardless of your past together, Tesslyn went out of her to ensure your safety, and you threw her to the wolves. You _are aware_ of the punishment for killing a Grey Warden, are you not? A _Thedosian_ law, not local prejudice."

“Of course I am. But I did not lay a finger on her, you cannot hope to blame me for her imprisonment at the Landsmeet.”

“Is this not a Landsmeet? We have the Arl of Redcliffe, the Bann of Rainesfere, the Teyrna of Highever, and the new King of Ferelden,” Teagan pointed out. “Considering most of the country was killed by Darkspawn, I believe this constitutes as court.”

“I’ll allow it,” Alistair said.

“Eamon, you can’t agree to this!” Anora sought one person to free her of responsibility.

“Anora, what you did goes beyond the Landsmeet,” Eamon told her. “Your crime is against a Grey Warden, and instead of admitting your wrongs, you blame her instead.”

“What do you know of the Grey Wardens?” Sten stared down at Anora.

“Only what Cailan blubbered on about.” Anora waved it off as if this was unimportant.

“You missed a hint of spite in that last word, Anora.” Despite they were speaking of her, Tess was almost invisible.

“Only Grey Wardens can end a Blight,” Sten said. “You claim to be a queen, yet I see no greatness in a person who declares wisdom then condemns a Grey Warden to death in a Blight.”

“You should feel lucky,” Morrigan added, “Tesslyn does not tear you apart like she did the last person who tried to kill her.”

“So Tesslyn is allowed to murder Arl Howe, yet _I_ am the one facing judgment!” Anora looked around like she was being mistreated.

“Maybe if Ferelden’s queen had sent men to investigate the fires from Highever, I would not have _needed_ to kill Rendon - he could have been tried in Court,” Tess jumped in. “Instead, you promoted him to Teyrn, gave him three Arlings, and ignored every noble since gone missing. What _were_ you doing, Anora, while my home burned? While Revered Mothers and innocent children - while the Teyrn and Teyrna were slaughtered? While the gardens of Cousland castle burned?” Tess demanded. “Sitting at home sipping tea, admiring the view? When did _cowardice_ become essential royal etiquette? Word is your father planned the attack from Howe’s men. But today, _you’re_ suspect. Cailan sought me his entire life, then when you learned I’d returned home, you tried to make sure Cailan could never chase me again? Am I right? You conveniently became trapped in _Howe’s_ new home when I arrived in this city. I’m _done_ with coincidences. Everything that’s happened points to you helping your father murder _everyone_ Cailan trusted.”

“There’s never been any arguing with you, Tesslyn, this is pointless.” Anora shook her head.

“I only lose when I’m wrong,” Tess was firm. Alistair shared a glance with Teagan, who nodded in agreement. 

“Clearly that’s a lie. What in _oblivion_ happened to your face?”

Tension constricted the room, each person present a witness to the events that caused Tess’ facial scars, or witness to the emotional side-effects. “This is your _father’s_ doing!” Tess’ voice escalated. “Had he not denied the Orlesian army and their Grey Wardens, we’d have had the numbers to win Ostagar! Had your father not left Cailan to die, there would have been no need for me to face horror in the Deep Roads! _Your father_ is the reason I have these scars! I swear on my parents graves, Anora, if you blame _one_ more fucking thing on me, I will pay you back for everything your father did to me, starting with a scar on your breasts for _every_ place his lips went!”

Anora fought a shudder of disgust to sneer. “But your parents _have_ no graves, do they?”

 _“ANORA!”_ Teagan and Eamon scolded in unison.

Alistair knew it would happen before she lunged. Tess was on Anora in a blink, Anora’s scream drowning under yelps of surprise and requests for orders. Tess growled something about a scar before digging her nails down Anora’s face, leaving a trail of red in their path.

Eamon pulled Tess off, but as Alistair intervened, Anora took the chance and scrambled out the door. Tess yelled in frustration while Alistair pried Eamon’s grip from her gown, and as soon as she was free, the elite guard jumped aside to make room so she could catch Anora.

“Eamon, it’s fine, let it go,” Alistair said. “Offense against the Queen; Tess can handle this however she wants.”

“Alistair, please consider the Landsmeet. If Anora shows up with bruises and scabs, we’ll lose credibility,” Eamon advised.

“She’ll have to explain how she got them, won’t she?” Pádraig smiled as if he’d been waiting his whole life for Tess to shred Anora.

 _“YOU’D_ **BETTER** _RUN, ANORA! I’LL HANG YOU NAKED BY YOUR CUNT IN THE ALIENAGE AND AUCTION OFF EVERY ORIFICE ON YOUR BODY!!_ _’_

“Oh my.” Wynne’s cheeks flushed. Oghren gave his signature drunken chuckle.

Leliana giggled. “I haven’t heard that word for ages.”

Alistair cleared his throat while they listened to Anora scream through the manor. A heavy seat of stomps said Shale played along, followed by a loud rip, clanking metal and wood hitting stone.

“Alistair, these are new drapes,” Eamon reminded him. Alistair turned with a smile and shrugged his brows, unsure how to defend Tess right now other than _why not?_

“Ah, old man, you can’t afford to pass up this kind o’ show.” Oghren’s grin grew.

“Oghren, that’s my _wife_ you’re oogling,” Alistair said.

“Hehh, yep, and that sneaky widow. Two women chasing each other, magnificently bouncing from room to room…” Oghren took another swig from his flask, a dreamy glaze settling in his eyes.

“Er…orders…Captain? Your Majesty?” The elite guardsmen looked from Pádraig to Alistair.

“Just make sure Anora doesn’t leave. And keep an eye on Erlina,” Alistair answered.

The elite guard jumped aside in the corridor as Anora and Tess ripped down the hall. “I thought you were conditioning her, Alistair?” Eamon asked he followed Alistair out of the study. Ceramic crashed to the floor out of sight.

 _“Don’t think you can get away with this, Tesslyn! I’ve bloodied you up before, I’ll do it again!”_ Anora yelled.

 _“Before or after I make you suck my toes?”_ Tess retorted with a growl that led to another wooden crash.

“Darling, some things should be kept private!” Alistair hollered to his wife, teasing only for the fact he discovered her mouth on his toes aroused him.

 _“Then after I weld your skull to my bedpost!”_ Tess corrected herself; Alistair couldn’t help a giggle. A slap echoed through the halls and more wood crashed.

“This seems like an excellent opportunity to control her, don’t you think?” Eamon asked. “You must do something, Alistair.”

“What for?” Zevran caught up to them. “I see nothing wrong with this.”

Oghren said, “Eh, they could be a little more naked, though.”

Tess scoffed with the sound of another slap, then Anora raced back through, Tess on her heels. Both women were oblivious to anyone in the way. A servant shrieked when something new clanked, and as the men turn the corner, they saw a maid retrieving smoking candles from the floor.

“My lord, if they are not stopped, they will set the house on fire!” the maid hissed.

Eamon sighed. “She’s your wife, Alistair. You deal with her.” He turned right around and returned to his study.

Alistair walked with Zevran and Sten at his sides, Oghren and Pádraig closing off the rest of the corridor. The girls ran before them, dashing and skidding in and out of view in the lobby. A male voice revealed their location after prolonged absence, the scholar trying to shout over the girls about the rarity of the books. Then a cascade of heavy shuffling and the crashing and cracking of wood, amidst a masculine cry of shock and more screams.

 _“ARL EAMON! YOUR PRECIOUS LITTLE NIECE BROKE YOUR ANTIQUE ORLESIAN BOOKSHELF!”_ Tess yelled. A slamming door smothered Eamon’s groan.

_“Who’s the rat now, Tesslyn?”_

Alistair had to admit their grunts and cries were quite harmonious together. _“You’ve always been a rat! From your big teeth -”_ Tess grunted again and Anora screamed; the girls skidded on the rug, crashing right into a pillar. _“-to your pointed snout! At least I wasn’t born_ _like_ _this!”_ Alistair halted when Anora yanked on Tess’ hair. Tess screamed as she flipped to the floor, but locked her legs around Anora’s ankles and recovered by watching Anora smack cheek-first on the floor.  

“I admit I am enjoying this,” Sten said.

“... _should_ we do something?” Zevran asked. Alistair stared at him. He knew Zevran meant in case of concussions, but they had mages and injury kits left.  

“You’re absolutely right!” Alistair said with a glance to his wife; she missed Anora’s ankle by a hand, and after struggling on the rug, Tess ripped off her slippers and ran. With a snicker, Morrigan shot a bolt of frost just before Anora’s feet at the same time Tess threw a slipper. “Brandy or rum?” Alistair asked his troupe. Enthusiastic agreement with suggestions of whiskey and ale muffled the girls for a moment before a hand clapped Alistair on the back.

“Smart thinking, nephew!” Teagan gave him a smirk as he passed. “I’ll pull out the reserves.” They followed Teagan into the dining hall, a group of warriors thrilled for a chance to relax and enjoy a show. Morrigan stayed behind, cackling as she lit the lobby in splashes of violet and pale blue; Anora cried out every time.

Alistair sat at the end of the long table and leaned his chair back for a view of the hall. Someone handed him a mug of ale and shot of clear amber liquid.

Another devious giggle and flash of icy blue. Anora yelped, followed by a loud thud, and an even louder curse from Tess; Morrigan apologized to Tess. A crackle of lightning reached Alistair’s ears. Tess stumbled into view covering an eye. _“Anora!!”_ she yelled, _“I’m going to kill you!! I’ll kill you and send your eyeballs to your father, and instead of a fucking pyre, I’ll have my dog fuck your eye sockets!!!”_

Po whined in concern, cocking his head at Alistair as if to say _Do I_ _really_ _have_ _to_ _?_

Alistair winced through the shot, reaching to pat the dog’s head. “Don’t worry, I’d never make you put your... _thing_ near that…thing.” Po barked in relief before darting into the kitchen; as if the staff wasn’t already in an uproar with Tess and Anora wrecking the place.

Alistair glanced around the table. Oghren and Zevran joked about the noble girl fight with words like _naked_ and _rolling_ _around_ _._ Leliana and Wynne complimented Teagan on his choice of wine, stating they normally don’t drink blush yet the rich bouquet was sweet and exotic. Teagan replied _sweet and exotic_ was him in a nutshell; Alistair grinned as Wynne’s eyes grew in interest. Pádraig accepted only a mug of ale, no hard liquor, while Sten across from him sampled one of every drink in serious study. As the Qunari swirled and sniffed each drink, sips followed by smacks and eyes moving in contemplation, Alistair realized he’d never seen Sten drink. Sten might be an arbiter of taste, if not for swallowing each sip. Alistair wondered how many drinks the giant could inspect before getting utterly wasted.

“I’m curious to see you drunk, Sten. Do you smile when you’re drunk?” Alistair tossed back another shot of whiskey.

“I do not get drunk,” Sten answered.

“Not even a little? I think you might with all those.”

“Qunari tone our bodies and minds for resistance.”

“Tone, huh?” Alistair took a drink of his ale. He watched his wife pass by again. With Anora putting up such a fight, his thoughts went back to Fort Drakon. Loghain’s soldiers also fought tough. He could only assume Loghain did as well. If Loghain stuck to Ferelden custom and challenged Alistair physically for the throne, there was a good chance Alistair may not make it, even with Zevran’s tactics in his nature now. He’d have to be strong enough to make Loghain flinch. “Sten,” Alistair poured another shot, “how do Qunari get so huge? I mean, you aren’t born all bulked up like that, are you?”

Sten mused while he drank. “You wish to train?”

“Will it make me as big as you?”

“Only your resolve will tell.” Sten sniffed the blush wine before a long sip. “We will start in the morning. I suspect this night will linger.” As if on cue, a thud and smack with an _Ooof_ came from just outside the room.

The women ran into the dining hall. Alistair couldn’t help the grin on his face as Tess and Anora tried to feign each other behind opposite ends of the table. Anora must have thought she’d find a shield amongst the heavy warriors, but with hard liquor involved, they were all a little clumsy. Anora faked a run left, then ran the other way, only to get shoved against the wall by Leliana’s chair. In the confusion, Tess snatched Alistair’s fresh refill of whiskey and downed with stiff shudder and a pinched face. Alistair laughed again, and began to offer his wife another shot when she leaped on the table and dove over Oghren. Anora escaped by a hair.

“I more than love you, Tess!” Alistair called after his wife, refilling his shot glass again.

 _“I more than love - you - TOO!!”_ Tess ended in a grunt as something long and metallic crashed into stone and wood. Alistair couldn’t help the giggles that shook his gut and shoulders.

“Alistair, that was sweet of you.” He looked up and found Leliana pink as a nug, a silly smile stuck on her face.

“Well…” he gestured towards the screams and threats. “What’s not to love about a woman who steals your drink and chases other women?” He laughed again at his own lecherous comment.   

“I’m tempted to join them.” Leliana chugged another glass of blush wine. “It sounds like fun.”

“Just take your clothes off first. Y’know, so you don’t trip on that gown, is all,” Oghren added.

“It is getting warm in here,” Leliana said even as she refilled her glass.

“Oh, can you imagine? A manor full of naked young women chasing each other, bosoms bouncing wildly, buttocks jiggling-” Wynne began, just as flushed as Leliana; Teagan's  _sweet and exotic_ wine must be strong. 

“Now you’re talkin’,” Oghren nodded with his drunken grin.

“Ooh, yes, please continue,” Zevran chimed in, leaning over the table to listen better.

“You know what? I think I might join them,” Wynne decided.

“Nevermind,” Oghren grumbled. Zevran sulked back in his chair in disappointment.

“Leliana, would you care to join me? Perhaps we can get Morrigan in as well.” Glossy gray eyes landed on Teagan, and Wynne grinned wider than Alistair had seen of her. “Teagan. I can call you Teagan, right? Or would you rather I call you _My Lord?”_ Wynne drawled. Teagan clenched his jaw in a forced smile and turned his head towards Alistair. It took all Alistair’s strength not to laugh, especially recalling Wynne propositioning Teagan in Rainesfere. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you Teagan? If I undressed with the young ladies? You could finally see-”

Teagan pushed his chair back, ignoring Wynne as she continued as if he hadn’t stood up. Tess growled another threat to Anora, something about a _Shale’s fist_ and _your_ _bum;_ as if Alistair wasn’t trying to hold in bubbling laughter. “Pádraig, up, now. Trade me chairs.” Teagan almost didn’t wait for to Pádraig to leave the seat before rooting himself to Alistair’s right. Confused and wary, Pádraig took Teagan’s seat.

Wynne seemed oblivious Teagan no longer sat next to her. She gave Pádraig the same intrigued smile she gave Teagan, like he was the man she flirted with all along. “Hello, young man.”

Alistair lost it. His voice exploded in the dining hall, laughing so loud he might have been five men. Teagan covered his face next to him, shoulders shaking as he shook his head tittering _No no no!_ Their sound infected the others, even Sten’s eyes crinkled towards Pádraig and Wynne, and Leliana fell out her chair. Tears sprung to Alistair’s eyes and his side ached. He hadn’t laughed this hard in a long time.

Shrieks continued down the hall, but the noise at the table muffled the girls. Too many drinks too soon, it seemed, for not a moment after breath was caught and tears of laughter wiped away, the lobby lit up in bright gold with a loud _wooosh_. Servants wove around Tess and Anora creaming _Fire! Fire!_ Alistair almost tripped over his chair rushing to the doorway with those sober enough to run.

A drape was on fire. Not a large fire or wide drape, but fire nonetheless. It hung by a last torn pocket from an unhinged ceiling mount like it had been grabbed to prevent sliding. Now it dangled above a collection of lit candles on a candelabra. Morrigan shouted over the servants as she got to her feet, _Stop your shrill nonsense and move out my way, lest this whole house goes up in flames!_ When the witch freed herself from the tangle of servants, she brushed herself off, took a deep breath, and frosted the drape until flames gave way to smoke.

Cries and grunts stole Alistair’s attention, despite Eamon stood watching, overwhelmed. In the sudden chaos, Tess had tackled Anora. Anora’s nose and cheek were bleeding, and Tess’ lip had split. Tess topped, pinning Anora’s legs with her own in a way that looked uncomfortable from where Alistair stood. Trying to keep one arm pinned left Tess open, and Anora reached up with her fist. Tess made a noise as her head popped back, then yanked on Anora’s hair, wrapped it around her fist and pulled. Anora’s head raised from the floor, cursing a storm through her teeth before Tess’ elbow knocked into her head. Anora freed one leg shot up, her knee toppling Tess overhead, and while Tess untangled herself from Anora’s locks, Anora flipped her. With Tess’ legs and arms in her grip, it seemed Anora might win.

“It looks like they are used to straddling each other. Yes?” Zevran asked.

Eamon sighed from the other hall. “This is nothing new. Anora and Tesslyn were never allowed in the same room after Tesslyn turned nine. Some childish fight over boys.”

 _Cailan._ Tess and Anora began physically fighting over Cailan; not for the same reasons of course, but that’s the only man Tess would have fought anyone for as a child. _Fucking great._

Tess headbutted Anora, stunning both of them for a moment. When she recovered, she jerked an arm free and swung, and Anora covered her eye with a yell. Alistair couldn’t help but wonder _what if Cailan was here?_ The Theirin brothers watching their wives try to tear each other limb from limb, only managing black eyes and bloodied lips.

Tess shook free and kicked, and this time when they flipped, Anora’s head made an unpleasant noise against the stone floor. Anora still breathed and struggled, but with the fire and now heads cracking, Alistair could see it had gone too far. While both women were equally to blame for the mess throughout the manor, Tess’ eyes burned now. Like she was out for blood, she pinned Anora’s hands, tightened her arm, and drove her fist into Anora’s face.

Alistair walked over and collected his wife. It took a moment prying her fingers off Anora before Tess realized it was Alistair and succumbed to his arms. Up this close, both women bore nail scratches, swollen spots on their faces, bleeding lips and trickling noses. Dresses were so torn they might pass for servants if the colors weren’t so bold. Anora’s nose bled more than Tess’ and one eye was already bruised deep dark blue; Tess made it out the better, but not by much. Eamon helped Anora to her feet. The women glared at each other, breath quick and shallow, both on edge as if expecting the other to pounce; which Tess did, landing another punch before Alistair could pull her away.

“It’s done, it’s over,” Alistair murmured to his wife, carrying her up the hall to their room. He called for hot bathwater before sitting Tess down on the bed to examine her. “Do you feel better, at least?”

A sigh rose and fell deep in her chest. “No.” She frowned. “Why did she have to say that about my parents?”

“It’s obvious she manipulates people. I doubt that was the reaction she wanted, but she got one all the same. And I owe Eamon new drapes, don’t let me forget that.” He remained gentle as he peeled off ripped layers of her dress. He understood this was something she'd needed to get out.

“Alistair, that was my fault, not yours,” she winced.

“But I’m your husband, it’s _us,_ not just one of us. I’ll get it replaced. You let _me_ worry, remember?”

The hot bath was a needed remedy from the day. Alistair sat outside the tub as always, watching seam peel off her wet skin and water roll over curves and scars, softening worry lines and evening out breath. Despite the tangles caused by Anora, Tess’ hair flowed like feathers around his fingers through suds and water. He kneaded tight muscles, careful to avoid bruises, kissed skin too tender to massage. As she submerged and relaxed, other bruises formed, as if hot water bared her true state from the fierce veneer not long ago. If Tess found any consolation fighting Anora, her weary body did not show it.

Alistair called Morrigan in for balms and healing. The three of them sat on the bed, Tess between. Alistair rubbed ointments into her bruises and wounds while Morrigan funneled a sparkling creamy spell from head to toe. The bruises would last for a day or two, but scratches would be healed by morning, Morrigan affirmed; more than she could say for Anora, for the witch refused to heal the woman who put them in shackles.

 

 

 

 _Stone halls echoed, spilling sounds of romance into the room. The old mage smirked, pressure from a sparkling golden spell running_ _down_ _Anora’s face and body_ _like_ _gigantic warm hands._

_“You’d best get used to that sound if you insist staying here,” Wynne said. Arl Eamon asked her to heal Anora to relieve them of implications later on; Wynne agreed only in repayment of the Arl’s hospitality._

_“You’d think they’d_ _employ_ _decency in the home of another!” Anora made a noise of disgust._

 _“Hm, so husband and wife engaging with each other in privacy is indecent?_ _Perhaps_ _it was best your marriage ended_ _after_ _all_ _.”_

_Anora jerked away. “How dare you!”_

_“Oh, I_ _already_ _dared myself, you needn’t bother.” She paused when Anora refused to lean back in reach. “Listen, young lady. Everything in life is a give-and-take_ _deal_ _, and if you never bargain what you want from the person who knows you best, you’ll die a bitter lonely soul. You’ve never heard the sounds of love_ _before_ _? That’s_ **your** _problem, but you will_ **not** _try to ruin a good thing for the people who saved your hide.”_

_“I shouldn’t need to remind everyone I am Queen and deserve respect and the accommodation that comes with it!”_

_“Q_ _ueen, hm?” Wynne stood and gestured to the door. “Then get back to your palace, Queen, and condemn the traitor who killed your King and committed treason against your country.” Anora did not move from the bed. “Well?” Wynne demanded._

 _“You can’t expect me to go back to my father_ _like_ _this!_ _I’ll have to_ _explain everything!”_

_“Oh!” Wynne laughed. “A Queen afraid of responsibility? How dare the world run on such things!”_

_“And I refuse to condemn my father! He is a good man, and he’s only done what he thinks is best for Ferelden.”_

_Wynne pursed her lips. “That’s what I thought.”_

_“My father is a hero, he saved Ferelden from Orlais. I will not send a hero to death!” Anora remained on the bed through her rant._

_“You had no problem sending a hero to death when you lied_ _about_ _Tesslyn, did you? She is the real hero; you must have heard the stories. I’ve heard stories_ _as well_ _, you know, and I suspect Tesslyn and Alistair live up to everything Cailan revered_ _about_ _the Grey Wardens.”_

 _“Cailan held on to a fool’s dream_ _about_ _Grey Wardens helping him achieve glory!”_

_“Are those your father’s words, or yours?”_

_Anora opened her mouth, then paused. A few blinks, and golden brows furrowed as Anora slouched. She sat pensive for a while. “I_ **loved** _him, you know. Cailan.”_

 _“_ _Of course you_ _did. It’s only natural for a girl to find emotional attachment with her first and only experience with sex.”_

 _“That’s not_ **why** _I loved him!” She snapped. She sighed and fiddled her thumbs, staring at her hands. “_ _Perhaps_ _that’s part of it. But Cailan.._ _._ _no matter how loyal I was, he always tramped_ _off_ _. His whole life, he chased her - Tesslyn!” She hissed. “My wedding day, Cailan stared at_ **her** _the whole time! He_ _almost_ _left the ceremony and chased after her if it hadn’t been for my father! And now_ _…_ _now_ **this**?” _Anora gestured towards the room emanating masculine urgency and feminine wails._

_“You envy them,” Wynne concluded._

_“The way he looks at her, even with those hideous scars_ _…_ _Cailan looked at her the same way. What does she have_ _that_ _I don’t? Was it too much to ask for my husband to look at_ **me** _like_ _that?”_

 _“Did you ever_ **ask** _Cailan to look at you_ _like_ _that?”_

 _Anora paused agape, stuck between revelation of it_ _possibly_ _being that simple and wanting her lame marriage to_ _remain_ _Tesslyn’s fault._

 _“Listen_ _to me,_ _Anora. Queen or not, how that young couple loves each other is_ _in no way_ _to spite you and none of your business!" Wynne scolded her. "_ _If you_ _truly_ _loved Cailan, then you need to admit your father’s mistakes and hold him accountable. If you still hold power as Queen,_ _this is_ _your responsibility. He set off a chain of events that devastated your country. It is_ **your** _job to fix that. And if you won’t, then you must respect those who_ _are willing to_ _try. Blaming a loveless political marriage on another will not change the_ _past_ _. Telling yourself your father does what he thinks is best will not save the army that died at Ostagar. Blaming Tesslyn will not revive your soldiers and crops. I am witness to the lengths Alistair and Tesslyn_ _endure to save their country. Those scars are evidence of such effort.” Wynne took a moment for deep breath, clearing her mind to calm the spirit_ _within_ _. “Now, you have a few options. I_ _chose to help_ _you out of the goodness of my heart, I am_ **not** _here because you demand it. You can either accept my help, or live with the bruises._ _Secondly_ _, you can respect those who saved your life and stay where you have support and security, or you may leave. If you leave, you will be on your own, either living your father’s lie the rest of your life, or trying to fight everyone alone.” Wynne and Anora stared at each other, neither willing to blink and break eye contact, both unyielding. “So what is your choice?”_

 


	62. Authority & Leadership

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair embraces the responsibility he knows he must possess in order to be King, making amends with Eamon and refusing Anora the control to disrupt his life. When the other Grey Warden arrives, what seems to Tess like a set-back only strengthens Alistair's ambition for taking the throne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Possible Trigger Warning*** Angst. 
> 
> Mood Music:
> 
> [Theogony, by Jo Blankenburg](https://youtu.be/eNossFNWysA)

Nothing was without repercussion. Writing to Fergus did not change the night and undo the mess made. After Tess was hard asleep, Alistair went for a silent stroll around the manor to think, drink in hand, observing the damage, and he found Eamon. The elder man refused to speak to Alistair, disappointment scribbled all over the Arl’s face. Cold, avoiding; Alistair had screwed up more than Eamon thought possible, possibly more than Eamon thought repairable. Alistair caught himself trying to justify the chaos with his poor upbringing, but as he watched the old man walk away shaking his head and frowning hard, truth anchored in Alistair’s gut. Sten kept insisting Tess was the one who needed controlling, but Eamon’s silent communication proved Alistair was equally to blame. No source of history, be it Tess or Alistair’s, could excuse the depth of immaturity they had let themselves sink to tonight. There were no excuses plain and simple, and it seemed Eamon was doubting his support to Alistair already.

Alistair had to fix this. He knew now mending tapestries was not enough to regain Eamon’s confidence in Alistair as King.

Alistair sat at the vanity with a sigh, another roll of old parchment and freshly dipped quill before him. _Maker, hadn’t Teagan tried to teach him something like this?_ It had been taught in regards to Alistair and Tess slipping off for midday romance, but it applied to the present as well. _Carelessness costs lives,_ meaning Alistair could not afford the repairs for indulging in immature pleasures even as King; especially when it involved the widow of the last king. No amount of gold could gain Alistair the support and faith he needed from the most respected nobles. Good kings just didn’t do this stuff.

He knew what needed to be done, but there was so much more than replacing curtains. Alistair couldn’t afford to waste time wandering the market when he had his reputation to improve. He suddenly understood the need for the stuffy noble parties Tess and Teagan told of, and he huffed at the thought of using servants to do his bidding for him. He rubbed his face before tossing back the last of his rum. _He was thinking like a sodding noble;_ Eamon could be proud of that at least, right? But already he could see the look on Zevran’s face as he ordered elven servants to fetch a weaver and carpenter and blacksmith to repair the drapes and candelabras; an assassin angered by him seemed just as unlucky as nobles disapproving.

Alistair looked over at Tess. She slept hard and sound, unaware he was out of the bed. So much sounder than she believed herself to be; from what Zevran relayed, Tess had done much better without him than Alistair had done without her. This wasn’t a comforting thought; _what if she decided she didn’t want Alistair anymore because she didn’t_ **need** _him?_ But when Tess was calm and collected and embraced her noble blood, she was respected by races that thought humans were inferior. The Dalish especially had revered her, as if she was their own personal Andraste. Tess had been so sure of herself then, the elves’ gratitude had made her see she was capable of good things, of making the right choices. She had it in her all along, she just rarely saw it. And as much as Alistair didn't want her getting ideas and leaving, he needed her noble prowess against the people.

…If Alistair sent her out by herself again, it would - could - solve a few problems at once. He needed to bargain with Anora, and make amends with Eamon - without Tess present to interfere. Accidental or not, the rift between her and Eamon _and_ her and Anora was too strong, and Eamon was losing more patience with her than even Alistair possessed. Tess had to leave while Alistair _acted like a King._ Hopefully sending Tess out with a task list would satisfy her need for orders and boost her confidence with each one completed. Surrounded by her elite guard, and likely Morrigan and Zevran again, Tess would even look the part of an important noblewoman and be treated as one, and warriors would demand others respect her for her scars alone.

Alistair sighed, refilled his glass with dark coppery rum, and scratched the quill to parchment once more. Sleep seemed insignificant compared to the tasks ahead of him.

The morning was awkward but Alistair pushed it. He insisted Anora take tea with them, stating as he poured fresh cream in his tea that _yesterday was done with_ so he expected no bickering. He studied Anora while tea was sipped and biscuits nibbled. Anora’s glare suggested she knew Alistair was forcing her and Tess to sit in civility together; an occasional squint told Alistair she thought he was doing this to remind her women of her station should not behave as she had yesterday. Alistair hadn’t considered the latter when he decided to force tea, but he was glad to see Anora believed herself better than her actions against Tess. Perhaps she could be reasoned with.

Wynne interrupted when Tess was changing for the day. She _normally didn’t gossip_ but believed Alistair and Tess could use the information Anora told her last night. Anora was spiteful and blamed Tess for a loveless marriage, resenting her for Cailan’s distance, and now that she knew Tess was at Ostagar, she also blamed Tess for Cailan’s death. Anora believed Cailan died fighting with the Grey Wardens _because_ of Tess - in Anora’s words: _Cailan died for the woman he loved. No wonder he worshipped the Grey Wardens! Had Tesslyn not been present at Ostagar, Cailan would not have been so careless, but,_ Wynne recited, _he foolishly chased after Tesslyn his entire life, even risking his own wedding_ \- Loghain saw through this and refused to waste his troops over Cailan’s _childhood infatuation_. Though Wynne was there and thus did not agree with Anora, she felt the information was useful: Anora’s misplaced blame on Tesslyn for unrequited love and loyalty to Cailan could be _healed,_ Wynne put it; Anora had a heart and felt deeply about those closest to her. If Alistair and Tess played their cards right, they could open Anora’s eyes to the true threat and gain many resources until Alistair replaced the Mac Tirs on the throne.

Tess was proud and eager to work on the list Alistair provided. He told her she may take whoever she wished for this task, but this was _her_ responsibility, and Alistair needed as much accomplished as she could manage, no matter the cost. He picked out her attire, ensuring she was dressed to stand out, bold shades contrast by trimmings of bright silver with matching slippers and a matching tiara; he wanted people to see an important woman with powerful knights at her command. As Leliana braided silver ribbons through her hair, Alistair made sure the neck of her gown and her glittering amulet sat aligned with her collar bone. Leliana tucked the braids up into themselves in a bun resembling a rose, and when she replaced the tiara, dangling crystals bent light and showered her face with rainbows. Between this and her eye makeup, no one would even see her scars. Alistair made Tess look into the mirror; _this_ was a woman who ought to sit on the throne. He planted a soft kiss on her cheek so not to smear her lipstick, and told her to buy something for herself when she finished the list.

Knowing she would leave the radius of his Taint was easier than being unprepared. Alistair bid her farewell at Eamon’s private gate with a kiss to the back of her hand; his lips made no noise against fine silk. With a final glance to Tess, her chosen party of all but Sten and Wynne _plus her elite guard,_ Alistair spun on his toes, nodding to the gate guard before strolling back inside.

Hands clasped behind his back, Alistair walked through Eamon’s manor as a man on a mission. “Anora,” his voice bounced off the walls, “kindly join me in the sunning room,” he called, veering towards the windowed balcony just off Eamon’s study. “And I’d like a hard tea as soon as it can be made,” he told a servant who stopped to curtsy when he passed.

 _Silence._ Utter silence at the small table, save for the sounds of splashing cream and spoons clanking against porcelain. Alistair stared, trying to read his opponent who seemed to be attempting the same. Pádraig sat just outside the glass room, making a show of polishing his sword where Anora couldn’t ignore him.

“Tesslyn looks lovely today.” Anora’s voice was as stiff as her posture.

“My wife _always_ looks lovely, Anora. I’m surprised someone like you would choose to use such specific words.” Alistair sipped his tea, not taking his eyes from the face in front of him. Hard, spicy, just enough fire to steam his mustache and scrape his throat. He felt his features harden with each drink and hoped it darkened his presence.

“Someone like me?” she echoed.

“An educated woman hoping for Grey Warden support at the Landsmeet.” Alistair narrowed his eyes just so and took another sip. Anora opened her mouth, but Alistair cut her off. “So, Anora. Tell me about Cailan.”

“My husband is dead, what does it matter to you?”

 _“Your husband,”_ he repeated, “was my brother, whom I _unfortunately_ didn’t have the honor of growing up with. You were _married_ to him, after all, you must know something.” Interaction was cold, words short and sharp.

Anora seemed adept at this game. _“Your wife_ could sate your curiosity. Cailan was _very fond_ of her.” She assumed Alistair had never heard this before.

“Yes, but I’d rather hear it from _someone who loved him,”_ he retorted. “Tesslyn never cared for the man, her answers are bound to be biased.”

“Then as his wife, wouldn’t my answers be biased as well?”

“Why so defensive, Anora? Did you _not_ know my brother? Or would you rather I ask your _father_ his opinion? After all, it will be _me_ writing Cailan down for future generations to learn about.”

Her eyes narrowed further. She didn’t flinch when a glare from Pádraig’s sword roamed over her face.

“He died a hero’s death at Ostagar. I assumed you would be proud,” Alistair said.

“My father will have you hanged if you speak to him.”

“Mm.” Alistair shook his head through another sip. “No, I think he won’t. Killing a Theirin is bad for publicity. My blood is _legendary,_ after all. My blood _created_ this country. What sort of man frees Ferelden from Orlais and then kills the heir of the man who saved her?” He paused with a quick glance up. “Wait, I already know the answer to that.” Anora's scowl deepened. Alistair played a wince of pity. “Shame that my wife rescued men from your father’s army who witnessed Loghain retreating _before_ the darkspawn overwhelmed Cailan and the Grey Wardens. _Imprisoned_ for regretting the truth _._ How about that?” he shook his head again, holding Anora’s stubborn stare.

 _“What_ is it you _want,_ Alistair?”

 _“Manners,_ Anora,” he reminded, “I have not taken such a tone with you.”

“No, Alistair, cut your crap. You are just as hot-headed as Cailan. You seem to be in dire need of lessons in Ferelden politics, so allow me. The _Landsmeet_ chooses the ruler, not some addict outcast noble or a sickly Arl-”

 _“Then why is your father sitting on the throne?”_ Alistair leaned across the small table. “Your games do not work on me, Anora. I was _at_ Ostagar, Tess and I were _both_ at Ostagar with Cailan and Loghain, _we saw_ Cailan’s initiative. Your _father_ was the one who denied the Orlesian Grey Wardens. They were the only ones who could have ended the Blight that night. I was there at the planning table, your father disgraced Cailan in front of everyone! And you sit here calling him the same names Loghain did. I see exactly what you’re playing at. _It won’t work on me. My alliance is to the woman I love,_ not status. You will answer every question I ask. _Am I clear?”_

“A sickly Arl? Anora, how can you encourage your father’s lies?” Alistair did not follow Anora’s gaze at the sound of Eamon’s voice.

“It’s the truth, Eamon, that’s how you’ll be seen. You are an old man and were gravely ill for _months_. Maker knows what that does to one’s brain.”

“An immature retort when personal responsibility comes to call.” Alistair glared.

“It’s true.”

“Anora, your father hired the mage who poisoned me-”

“Tess also rescued one of the _Templars_ your father stole the malefecar from. The _brother_ of Bann Alfstanna. Legally he is still of noble blood and would be recalled to West Hill if something happened to his sister. Your father _tortured_ him and _imprisoned_ him so he couldn’t escape to tell the Chantry. You know _all_ the nobles in Ferelden, Anora, there is _no_ way the Landsmeet will believe you did not recognize the male Eremon heir!” Alistair told her. He sat back and took another sip. “My apologies, Arl Eamon, please continue.”

“Thank you, Alistair,” for the first time since Alistair returned from the Deep Roads, there was no irritation in Eamon’s voice. “It is just as Alistair says, Anora. The more you defend your father’s lies, the more lies you reveal. I am _disappointed,_ Anora.” Eamon sighed. “I have always provided my unwavering support, but now it seems it was a foolish waste of time.”

“You are only a fool if you fight against me, Eamon. I am still Queen by all rights.” Anora finally sipped her tea.

 _“Wrong.”_ Alistair held her gaze. “You married into royalty, but now your husband is dead. Ferelden Law dictates the King’s title _must_ pass down to an eligible heir. Even I did not exist, you would still only hold the title of _Regent. You_ know this, Anora, the books I learned from are the _same_ ones _you_ did. And don’t look at Eamon, he kept true to his word and kept me out of politics.”

Anora scoffed with a roll of her eyes. “Teagan. I should have known.”

“No need to sound surprised, Anora,” Teagan’s voice sounded. _“Someone_ had to take charge after you let your father kill my nephew.”

Anora’s sip was interrupted by another scoff. “Is _everyone_ going to eavesdrop?”

“I can always call more in?” Pádraig suggested.

“There is no need.” _Sten._

“Indeed.” _And Wynne._ Alistair suppressed a smirk.

 _Maker, Alistair liked this._ Normally he cared nothing for shows of supremacy and manipulation, but this was exactly what he wanted. Reverse the power Anora, and in turn Loghain, had over the woman whose happiness dictated Alistair’s own. Rid the world of an evil that poisoned his marriage worse than the Archdemon or the Fade. _Controlling his future._ His blood rushed in the thrill.

Anora rolled her eyes once more. “Fine, Alistair, you win this time.” She set her teacup down and folded her arms over her chest.

“I want you to go home,” he told her.

She laughed at the irony. “I can see that’s _exactly_ what’s happening.”

“And when you return with your slithering servant, you will tell your father the truth of your bruises: You did your duty as queen and personally welcomed the Grey Wardens to Denerim. We are, despite the rumors of Cailan’s silly admiration, the only hope of _ending_ the Blight, and _you,_ being the clever queen you are, decided it was in your best interest to secure an alliance with us. And tell him you wanted to personally investigate the new banners that rode into town; a surviving Theirin and Cousland could jeopardize your chances at the Landsmeet, after all. You needed to make sure we were not a threat.” Alistair leaned forward again, clasping his hands between their cups of hard tea. “But we _are_ a threat. You will tell your father this.” He searched her eyes. “When you realized the other Warden was Tesslyn Cousland, the night did not fare well, and the two of you scuffled just like when you were children. After you saw the dedication of the Wardens’ companions, you realized we are a greater threat than your father ever guessed, but _Eamon_ is _very loyal_ to you, and with the Wardens’ gaining support from elves, dwarves, Qunari, and mages, you can’t afford to pass up the vote of the most beloved Arl in Ferelden. Tell your father Eamon advised you to reach out and ally with the Wardens for your own sake. Tell him Eamon insists Tess has changed and believes Tess can be reasoned with _if_ you gain her trust. Tell him _I_ am nothing more than a rejected bastard who _desperately_ wishes he could have grown up with his father and brother. _Convince Loghain we can be broken._ He is a man of politics, he will want to show the Landsmeet he is diplomatic.”

“I cannot lie to my father, Alistair.”

“Can’t, or won’t? It seemed to work before, if you _truly_ believed your life was in danger,” he said. “But I am not done. You will go home and tell your father these things. Then in the morning, you will tell him you accept Eamon’s advice, and you will take tea twice a week with Tesslyn. She is, after all, the daughter of a Teyrn and still, in title, a very important woman whom the Landsmeet will acknowledge out of respect for her late parents, and since being a Grey Warden exempts her from past accusations, the Landsmeet _must_ accept her words. Tell him this will give you time to learn her weaknesses so you can use them against her. _But_ _,”_ he added, “Anora, _you_ work for _me,_ now.” Alistair cut her off again: “While you are in the palace, you and Erlina will fetch every correspondence Cailan ever made with Orlais, and you will get as much information from your father as you can. And when you return for tea, you will help us with the tools to take down Loghain. _Don’t start,_ Anora, with your father out of the picture, you still have the chance to be Teyrna; I have not forgotten your father’s title. This is the _only_ way you keep your nobility after I become King.”

“And if I refuse?”

Pádraig noisily sheathed his sword. “I’ll give you three guesses,” the captain of Alistair’s guard spoke for his King.

“You can’t seriously expect you’ll get away with killing me!” Anora laughed like it was a joke.

“Why not? _Other_ generals have gotten away with killing _more important_ people,” Pádraig emphasized.

Anora shot him a glare. “Aren’t you a little _young_ to be a General?”

“Loghain Mac Tir earned his titles of General and Teyrn when he was only three years older than I am now,” Pádraig informed her. “So your answer is _no.”_

“Do not complain about my knights, Anora,” Alistair warned her. “Your father could afford lessons from my men.”

“Well, I thank you for your _generous_ offer, _Alistair Theirin,_ but I must decline. Your offer only benefits _you,_ and unfortunately, I prefer to remain Queen..”

 _“I_ am giving you a chance to retain _comfort,_ Anora.” Alistair stood as she did; Pádraig also stood. “Your entire life has been in a noble house, others always on call to start your fires, cook your food, sew your clothes, draw your baths. My offer is your last chance to _remain_ in comfort. I _will_ be King; I am _already_ King, thanks to Maric. If you deny my offer, you will be exiled, and your only choices from here are Orlais or the frozen south. I give you three days before you _freeze_ to death. _Winter_ is coming, _don’t forget_. If you value your life, you will accept. I will not waste resources hunting down your corpse. I do not pity those who betray my wife and try to kill me.” Alistair looked down at his cup; empty. “More tea!” he called to the servants, “and someone fetch Erlina!” He turned back to Anora. _“Sit._ I will only repeat myself once. For your own sake, you better memorize what I tell Erlina.”

Erlina was just as sour as Anora. It was apparent both women underestimated Alistair, likely assuming him to be just as negligent with politics and lacking cunning as Maric and Cailan. Alistair spoke slowly, repeating what he’d just told Anora, then threatened the elf with the Denerim Alienage if she betrayed him, its reputation determined by filth and desperation. Before he released them, Alistair made Anora practice the facade she would lie to her father with.

The doors swung closed behind Anora and Erlina, and Alistair returned to the sun room to finish his tea. No longer hot, but warming all the same, spice and hard liquor dancing through his mouth and down his throat. The opportunity to enjoy his drink had not happened till now. He gazed out the window; a perfect view of the flower garden sporting thriving evergreens about to bloom, now surrounded by tents and knights at ease.

“After the events last night, I admit I am surprised by you, Alistair.” Eamon took place across from the table and joined Alistair’s gaze upon his grounds. He stood tall, rigid, and Alistair had the feeling he purposely avoided meeting his eyes. Despite Alistair defending him against Anora, he was still a disappointment to the old man.

“Arl Eamon.” Alistair took a deep breath. “Thank you for sneaking up on me,” he tried to ease the tension.

Eamon smiled for a moment. “I would _hope_ I know how to sneak about my own house. All joking aside, Alistair, I am…proud of how you handled things with Anora. Perhaps experience is the best way for you to learn. I often wished Cailan had handled matters of the court like you do.”

Alistair stared at the old man. “I learned a great deal watching you, Tess and Teagan,” he admitted. “And dealing with Orzammar helped. I genuinely enjoyed Teagan’s lessons.”

“It shows. I trust the Landsmeet will acknowledge this.”

Alistair wanted to challenge him with _What if they don’t?_ But Eamon dropped the cold shoulder. And, as he tried to hide a sigh, Alistair had to trust Eamon’s judgement on the other nobles. The Arl knew them, not Alistair.

Eamon continued as if he hadn’t noticed Alistair’s sigh. “Maric and Cailan, Maker rest their souls, were never fond of court. I’m not sure any but Anora are truly _fond_ of it, but it’s obvious doing what is right and being fair matters to you. This is a trait the Landsmeet won’t be able to deny, it sets you far apart from your brother and father.”

Alistair took another deep breath and downed the rest of his tea. “Ah, speaking of doing what is right…” The last thing he wanted was to admit the man who carelessly hired spies was right; if only he didn’t _need_ Eamon’s vote. “About the state of your house, Eamon…”

“Don’t mention it, Alistair. Anora was equally to blame. It seems childhood grudges never die.”

“No, I know. But it still happened, and Tess was involved, and I encouraged it. It was… _Maker, and I just got on Anora about immaturity,”_ he muttered. Eamon raised a curious brow his way. “The desire to see Anora pay for what she did to Tess clouded my judgment. Truthfully, I don’t know how Cailan lived with that woman; I’m sorry, I know you supported her. My point is, she knew how to push us, and I went over the edge with Tess. What happened here last night was just as much my fault. But know that Tess is out taking care of it.”

“Tesslyn is?” Eamon was surprised.

“Yes, that’s why I sent her out. And I didn’t want her in the house when I addressed Anora.”

“That was probably wise.” Eamon relaxed his shoulders and leaned against the wall. “I appreciate it, Alistair. I assumed the both of you would try to blame Anora and leave the mess. You surprise yet again.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, old man, I surprise myself every day,” Alistair joked.

Eamon chuckled. “After the Landsmeet, I suspect that will happen more often.”

“That might explain Cailan hating court.”

“Indeed it might.”

Warmth and buzzing beyond what hard tea could do stirred Alistair inside. His heart skipped and breath sped; he’d been so worked up over intimidating Anora he’d forgotten what the presence of Tess’ Taint did to him. He stood abruptly, knocking the small table into the cups and saucers. Eamon did a double-take in question. “Excuse me,” it scraped off Alistair's lips like he wasn’t thinking, which he no longer was. “My wife has returned.” Without waiting for a reply, Alistair hurried through the study and down the corridor.

The large wooden doors opened, letting in a gust of air, bright light, and a Taint so strong Alistair could almost hug it. “Maker, I am so glad to see you, lo-”

But it wasn’t Tess.

Alistair froze in his tracks in the middle of the entry hall, mouth agape and eyes flying. A man about twice Alistair’s age, raven hair, a matching trimmed beard, and piercing blue eyes stopped just past the doors. The two Grey Wardens stared at each other without words for a moment. _Shit._ Alistair had forgotten what other Wardens felt like.

“You…are not my love.” Alistair shook his head to snap out of his daze. The elder Warden smiled. “Amazing way to introduce myself. Really, I’m not a lecher. Most of the time.”

The Warden laughed softly. “You must be Alistair,” he had a dialect like he’d spent half his life in Ferelden and half in Orlais. “Duncan’s records describe you well. You indeed look like Maric. The beard is a nice touch, though. A proper Warden beard.”

Alistair huffed in amusement; if only this Warden knew the reason for Alistair’s beard. “Ah…Duncan?”

“Yes. As I told the Sister Warden, I was sent to investigate why our Orlesian brothers were turned away. I regret I arrived too late, but I found Duncan’s records. And it is good I did, there are names needing to reach Weisshaupt.” The elder Warden looked around, and as he bowed, Alistair noticed Sten, Teagan, Pádraig and Eamon standing near. “I apologize to the lord of the house,” he said. “I did not mean to intrude. Warden Tesslyn is in the markets, she told me to just walk in. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Riordan, a Grey Warden from the Orlesian branch, though I was born and bred in Highever. I was told this is the only sanctuary for Wardens right now.”

“Another Warden?” Sten said. “This is good. Our chances of success increase.”

“Yes,” Eamon said uncertainly. “Welcome, Grey Warden. I am Arl Eamon, lord of the house. My brother Bann Teagan, and…” Eamon hesitated. Alistair looked over to see Eamon frozen in gesture towards him. “I admit this Grey Warden business has never seemed as serious as it is now.”

“I wish I could say it was not serious,” Riordan said. “Arl Eamon, do you have a place I may meet with my fellow Wardens?”

“Yes, of course, my study, or the dining hall.” Eamon stepped aside in a bit of a daze. “In fact, I’ll call for food and drink. Maker knows I need one.”

“Wait, wait,” Alistair stopped him. “Did you not believe Tess and me are Grey Wardens, before?”

“I will be honest, Alistair, there were times I thought you used the title for show.”

Riordan chuckled. “It is not an uncommon trick. But I can assure you, he is very much a Grey Warden, and the young woman and hound I met in the prisons as well.”

“Prisons?” Teagan asked.

“An unfortunate accident. I was approached by an Arl Howe-” Riordan did not miss Alistair’s flinch “- who also declared himself Teyrn of Highever, and he invited me for a drink with an offer of parley for the Orlesian Wardens. I woke up in prison and remained until the Sister Warden and her hound provided distraction for me to overpower my guard. I assume this name means something? A single man with two titles was unheard of when I lived in the country.”

“Howe razed Highever,” Alistair told him. Riordan made a face like he regretted not killing Howe when he had the chance. “Tess was from there, the real Teyrn’s daughter. She said she gutted Howe when she found him.”

“It’s a shame,” Teagan said, as Eamon wandered off. “We could have used Howe against Loghain, but I don’t blame Tesslyn. I would have killed the man, myself. Please, Warden, come sit. What’s your poison? Sorry, brother, I’ll stop using that one!” Teagan called out when Eamon complained.

Alistair watched as Teagan led Riordan to the dining hall. He was still in shock. He honestly never thought he’d see another Grey Warden again. He’d always assumed Tess would be the only Taint he’d feel the rest of his life.

Pádraig stepped up beside him and met Alistair’s eyes. “This is good. Isn’t it? Another Grey Warden?” he asked. “Will that be enough?”

 _“Maker,_ I hope so, Pád.”

Jealousy that spiked when Tess first told him about the Grey Warden from Howe’s dungeon was nowhere present as Alistair sat with Riordan. Alistair found himself comforted by Riordan’s Taint, another thing long forgotten since Ostagar. He listened to every word this Warden said, and both found themselves making jokes in no time. Riordan’s Taint was so strong Alistair didn’t even feel Tess and Po return, though she was not upset with his negligence. She joined them immediately, sitting right next to Alistair, squeezing his hand under the table, just as relieved and comforted by this man who should be a stranger. Riordan addressed them _Brother_ and _Sister,_ and it felt like that indeed. There was no adjusting or trials, Riordan was instantly a friend, and the Wardens’ party accepted him because their Wardens did. He was like family who finally returned home after years abroad. Even Po happily interacted with Riordan, who indulged the mabari as best he could.

The senior Warden had heard impressive stories about Tess, however. The same stories Alistair and Sten heard, stories the knights relayed from traveling rumors. Though Riordan never caught her name, the stories were definitely about Tess, the  _female Warden_ spoken of across borders now for unthinkable feats. The Dalish allying with humans was considered a miracle in Orlais, where underground dwarves were still a myth. Tess was baffled, surprised the stories limited their adventures to one person, insisting she would have died countless times if not for their friends and the knights, but as Riordan said, her account would not change the rumors. Stories were always more exciting with only one hero; one person accomplishing impossible feats alone was what gave the world hope and aspirations. While the elder Warden also explained where'd he'd seen and felt the Darkspawn the strongest, and while Tess got lost in discussing the Taint and why Darkspawn and hounds felt different than humans, Alistair could not dismiss the mention of stories. Riordan was right, insisting the truth would not change the fact Tess would be known through history as the Hero of the Fifth Blight.  _Tess,_ not Alistair. 

Eamon invited Riordan to stay, deeming it best to have all the Wardens in one place to increase their chances of success, and to prevent more trickery from Loghain’s minions. After a large supper and hearty drink to strengthen the Warden who’d been captive for Maker-knows-how-long, everyone retired for the night.

No longer distracted by the stories of the only other Warden she related to, Tess proudly reported she found all the craftsmen on Alistair’s list. As Alistair removed her clothing and jewels, loosening her hair from tight braids, Tess recited names and appointments she’d made for the morrow to measure what needed repairing. While Alistair bathed her, she added she found Brother Genitivi, and relayed an invitation for lunch the scholar wished to share with them.

Before Alistair could award her his gratitude for a job well done, Tess confessed to Alistair she no longer thought becoming King was a good idea.

“After meeting that other Warden…I didn’t know other Wardens felt the same as you. When I thought to make you King, I never considered something might change." She appeared too remorseful to meet his eyes, as if she realized her grip had bruised him. "Until yesterday, I thought it would be fine if we just stayed together. I thought everyone felt different, like Po feels different from you, and Ruck felt different, and I thought we would be fine as long as we had each other’s Taint. But Riordan…he feels the _same_ as you. If _all_ Wardens feel like this…How can this be fair, Alistair? If you’re King, we’ll…you'll never feel at home. We’ll always be separated from other Wardens, and we’ll feel empty and…and lost…I’m tired of feeling lost. Is this the right thing anymore? This Grey Warden changes everything. _Being_ a Grey Warden changes everything.” She worried she was depriving him of happiness.

Alistair shook his head. “No. No, Tess, _don’t think like that._ I am _going_ to be _king,”_ he told her. “I’ll be king, and I won’t accept anything less. I’ve worked _too hard_ for this. But,” he added, “for _you_. I want to be king for _you_. And I seem to have a knack for it; it's in my blood, I suppose. I want to be king for _you,_ so I can give you a good home and keep you safe - _so I can give you the life you deserve._ I just can’t do that right now without kingship.”

Upon thinking about _what they deserve,_ Alistair remembered helping the Dalish. It was the first time Tess understood she wasn’t a monster and deserved happiness. _And the stories._ Alistair confessed his own concern: “I’ve heard stories Riordan spoke of. The men tell it at night around the fire, recounting our time with the elves and the dwarves. He's right, I’m _not_ mentioned in the stories, only a female Warden. Even if I help stop the Blight, the stories are _always_ going to be about you, Tess. No one wants to hear about the lyrium addict who needed a man to carry her when she got stabbed. It's always going to be _Warden Tess alone achieved greatness no group of men could.”_

Tess apologized profusely, worry etching more lines on her face. “I had no idea you were upset with me for that. _Maker,_ Alistair, I'm _so sorry!_ I haven’t paid attention to them, it always seems _pointless_. I don’t want to remember or relive the bad stuff.” Emeralds reflecting firelight watered, mimicking a burning pine watched from thick glass. “How can I make it up? I’m so sorry, Alistair, I _didn’t know_. I’ll..I can write! I’ll write the _true_ story, so you’ll get credit for this, I promise!” she insisted in a whisper.

Alistair shook his head again. “No, _no,_ that came out wrong, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound resentful. I'm _not_ _,_ I _don't_ resent you. Please stop worrying, _please,_ it was actually part of my plan all along.”

“Y-your plan?” she searched him, wading in confusion. Her eyes glimmered fear like she was asking herself if he’d betrayed her.

“Yes, I planned it. It hasn't gone exactly like I wanted, but I want _you_ to be the one people admire. You worry so much no one will accept you as Queen, _I wanted to change that._ I wanted _you_ to be the brave hero, the one who made the turning points. I want people to see you like _I_ see you. I’ve _always_ wanted that, from the moment we ran into Loghain and Cailan at Ostagar.” He reached for her and wiped his thumbs to clear away tears. “I’m _not upset,_ but I know the position the stories leaves me in. If I deny the throne so we can stay with Grey Wardens and feel _safe at home_  like we do with each other, that lack of credibility will follow me our entire lives. I’ll be seen as the Grey Warden who _didn’t do anything._ Even if I kill the Archdemon…” His eyes drifted as he shrugged. “Then what? I’ll be expected to live up to that moment _again and again,_ but without a Blight, I won’t have an opportunity. I'd have to single-handedly reclaim the Deep Roads for the dwarves, but that's _impossible,_ and _then_ I'd probably be rebuked for  _cheating_ Grey Wardens out of a  _traditional glorious_ _death_.

“Before you came along,” Alistair recalled, “I was kind of in the way _everywhere_ because I didn’t know the run of things, and now, _you’re_ the one who runs things, as far as the public knows. And I _want_ it that way. I do _not_ resent you for this, Tess, _believe_ me, _please._ I’ve just heard enough of the stories to know what will happen. I can almost see the faces of the actual Wardens who come help us rebuild when this is done. I’ll be seen as the _incompetent_ Warden who was _lucky_ enough to survive with someone who knew what she was doing. I was already seen like that with Duncan; the _naive Templar_ who was lucky the Warden Commander let me tag along. I’ll _always_ be seen as the incompetent fool who can’t swing a sword without you to guide me. They’ll keep me on because it’s impossible to reverse the Joining, but what then?” he asked. Alistair felt so exposed admitting this to her. It was a fear that contradicted his childhood dream, a form of freedom he aspired to growing up. A dream he once thought meant contentment.

“Ten years from now, when the darkspawn are long gone from the surface, it will be _What have you done for us lately, Alistair?"_ he predicted, “or  _What have you done for us since?_ They’ll want me to live up to your legend, but nothing will ever cut it because the elves and dwarves are already our allies. There will be nothing left to fix. I can’t see myself getting promoted unless someone _dies_ and there just _aren’t_ any more candidates. _You’ll_ go on to be First Warden, and _I’ll_ always be _just Alistair,_ always _barely_ a step up from Warden-Recruit.”

Her expression broke his heart. She looked like she wanted to speak, maybe tell him _stop thinking like this,_ but her mouth trembled and she blinked repeatedly to clear her eyes. He wasn't trying to make her feel guilty, but he knew so much of this reflected their early months together, those days of strife before they decided to work through their problems and stay together, to _grow_ together. 

Alistair shook his head, tucking her hair behind her ear. He thumbed over more tears while he caressed her face. “I can do more as King.” He believed this as he believed in air. “I don't know what kind of king Maric was, but I know I can do more than Cailan did. It won’t be hard to make a name for myself here. But if we join other Wardens, I’ll always be known as your shadow. What’s that’s going to do to _you,_ Tess? We’ll be harassed because your husband’s not much of a man. They’ll look for any reason to send me away, probably send you on some important mission so they can exile me without resistance. But we _can’t do that;_ we can hardly go _a few hours_ without each other, yesterday proved that. We’ll end up running away, and then we’ll spend the rest of our lives _hiding_ from them. It will be _tents_ and _always moving_ again. We won’t be able to go into towns because if there’s a Warden there, we’ll be _followed_ and _persecuted_ for desertion.

“I would rather spend my time as King where I can take _care_ of you, where I can _plan_ for our C- our Calling down the line.” A truth he didn’t want to think about, but could not accomplish without royal resources. “You’ll be the hero either way, Tess, and I _want_ it that way;  _I'll_ be King and _you'll_ be the Hero. You _deserve respect_ from your own people finally, you’ve gone too long not being able to live in your own home. But outside of the palace, _I_ won’t be taken seriously and everyone will _question you_ for _depending_ on me. _Here,_ I can help us. I’ve _chosen_ to be King so I can give my wife the kind of husband she deserves. Here, I can be a great man. Because you _deserve_ greatness, Tess.” Alistair wiped another tear from her cheek, and with a heartbroken pout, she leaned in and pressed salty wet lips to his. It was reasons like this Alistair risked his own comfort for hers. Always willing to give her the world and hope to enjoy it himself just to see her happy. He wanted to remove everything that hurt her heart. “We _will_ be happy here, Tess.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grey Warden Alistair in Dragon Age Inquisition was an interesting character. The purpose of Hardening him in Origins was to teach him to stand up for himself, teach him to say NO when people try to walk all over him, teach him to realize he too deserves good things in life, and if he believes he deserves good, then he can obtain it. (This is a lesson in real life, not just a video game.) The difference between King Alistair and Grey Warden Alistair in DAI was extremely well done and apparent. King Alistair glares with confidence when he is telling the mages they've betrayed his trust. Grey Warden Alistair speaks bitterly about the Grey Wardens, complaining how they constantly asked him _What have you done for us?_ and believing he does not deserve the love of the Hero of Ferelden, and in the end if you sacrifice Hawke instead, Alistair is _only_ made Warden Commander because there was simply no higher rank left to promote; he became Warden Commander as a last resort, because the new Wardens had no one else to turn to for leadership - not because he was a respected member. 
> 
> I added this "preview" of an alternative-GW Alistair lifestyle in for a couple reasons:  
> 1) because I'm making him King, so he will not be available as a GW for this dialogue in the DAI part of the series.  
> 2) because it adds to showing Alistair's realization of self-respect; he understands he deserves better than being someone's back-up plan or a last resort, he understands he deserves respect - and in this understanding, he is able to help Tess learn to love herself and be the Warden she is meant to be.
> 
>  
> 
> Images of desk and parchment acquired via google search (stock photos).


	63. Failed Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to be a king Anora and Loghain fear causes Alistair to forget why he wants it in the first place. Support from his friends and understanding kingship is like marriage does not solve the problems causing Tess to question her place at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Possible Trigger Warning*** Heavy angst, marital strife.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Theogony, by Jo Blankenburg](https://youtu.be/eNossFNWysA)  
> [Hope In Front of Me, by Danny Gokey](https://youtu.be/O5GFiDdGGGM)

Sten woke them before the sun. The previous day had been interrupted by a necessary guest, but Alistair still needed training. Bending, stretching arms and legs, twisting; waking the muscles similar to Templar combat training. Up and in loose clothes with as many people Sten could rouse, Alistair followed the Qunari on a strenuous run through Denerim’s streets. Sten set the pace, leading the Wardens and knights through a maze as though he’d done this his whole life. Very few kept up with Sten, but he let no one rest, pushing them to jog in place instead of stand still when they needed water or breath. The sun rose around them as the port fog lifted and breath was no longer visible. Though Alistair was soaked in uncomfortable places from head to feet, the cool morning air whipping around his skin was welcome relief for his burning muscles.

Training did not stop upon returning to Eamon’s manor. In the small courtyard and spilling out towards the market, Sten worked more muscles. Abdominal and back strengthening while leaning like a plank; lying on their backs only to sit up in quick succession; squatting and holding the position until thighs felt on fire and some fell over.

Sten was not lenient with those who opted to train. They were free to decline, but those who wished to train needed to prove themselves. The Blight could not be ended by lazy city guards, and those who wished to stay would know the meaning of _muscle failure._ By the time Sten concluded _muscle failure_ for the day, only the rogues, including Warden Riordan, came out less strained than the rest.

Training was still not complete. While baths were being drawn, Sten sat them in a circle in the entry hall. _Back straight, legs folded, eyes closed, hands on lap, palms towards the sky. Deep breaths, feel the stale air leave your body, welcome invigoration. Clear your mind._ Meditation. Alistair loved this part; it was the thing he missed most about the Chantry and Templar training. Sten’s voice was gentle and soothing as he guided them through each phase, a teacher very different from the one who forced exertion outside. Most took to it without struggle, the rogues equally skilled in this as they were quick in battle.

 _All but Tess._ It was not long before her hands fidgeted and knees trembled next to Alistair. _Scared of her own mind._ Alistair excused them, but Tess was sobbing hard when they reached their quarters. It took two glasses of hard liquor for her to calm and tell him whenever she tried to empty her mind, pain and horrid memories surfaced, replaying every mistake she’d ever made, everything Loghain did. Tess could not clear her thoughts. She _would not._ She was terrified.

Morrigan interrupted with an offer for help. Alistair sat back, watching as the witch knelt before Tess and coated her head in bluish white magic that sparkled like fresh snow. Morrigan answered when Alistair questioned this, informing him she was _shielding_ Tess’ mind from thought and sound so her heart and breath could regulate. Before Alistair’s eyes, Tess breathed deeper and worry melted off her face. Her eyes moved, tears slowly ebbing as the two women stared at each other.

“You’re calming her? Morrigan, _why_ haven’t you done this _before?_ All those times she’s been unable to calm down-” Alistair scoffed. How many problems could have been solved if the witch had done this in the past? Every relapse Tess suffered flashed through his mind, her outbursts in Honnleath, Haven, Redcliffe, the Deep Roads after Pádraig rescued them, the night they arrived here at Eamon’s Denerim manor when Loghain and Howe burst in. All those times Tess desperately needed calming, and Morrigan hadn’t offered to help. Alistair couldn’t understand what Morrigan gained from watching Tess suffer.

“How do you think she survived the fort prison?” Morrigan spoke as gently as Sten had during meditation. But it was like she stuck him with pins. Alistair could not calm his wife, yet Morrigan was able to. The witch had something to offer that Alistair no longer was capable off. Morrigan was now significantly more vital to Tess’ survival than Alistair was in all his other ways. She frowned as the spell brightened around Tess’ head. “All you need to know is Tesslyn helped me remember it.”

Alistair watched his wife merge back into reality and throw her arms around Morrigan. He sat caught between relief and jealousy, remembering the kiss infantile Tess had given Morrigan in the Deep Roads.

_He had to get her back. He couldn’t let Morrigan steal his wife again._

Tess was no different after the witch’s spell than she was on good days. Alistair was silent while he bathed Tess. He washed her longer than usual, his mind wandering, trying to think of ways to keep Tess needing _him_ not Morrigan. Only half aware he rinsed her more times than necessary; hair turning to silk beneath flowing water the perfect hypnotic escape that allowed him to filter out everything else. He almost didn’t register her voice when Tess asked if he was upset at her.

“No. Not upset, love. Not at you,” he assured her. “Concerned.” He poured another round of hot water over her hair again. “I just need to figure some things out.”

Alistair let Tess oversee the repairs to Eamon’s drapes and candelabra. He excused himself while Tess stood with Eamon, and borrowed the Arl’s desk while he had a moment alone. Alistair strained himself, trying to remember their time in Rainesfere, unable to recall how else he’d tried to calm Tess when she was upset. Circles no longer worked, nor rocking or singing. There was nothing _personal_ Alistair could use to calm her that she couldn’t find in another, and if there was, he simply couldn’t remember. He fought a tension headache multiple times trying to think, to no avail. His head was pounding when Riordan interrupted.

It wasn’t until Oghren walked by adjusting the crotch of his pants that Alistair remembered a potent source of comfort that only Alistair could offer Tess. _She used to lay at his groin._ His smells used to console her, made her feel safe. Tess used to fall asleep between his legs inhaling the scent of his sex. And the more he’d trained with Sten back then, the more often Tess came crawling between his legs to breathe. The more others complained of his _man_ smells, the more Tess enjoyed his scent.

Another source of intimacy the Deep Roads had stolen from them.

 _That could work. Couldn’t it?_ She certainly couldn’t go to Morrigan for _that…_ although…

Alistair rapped on the desk anyway, unwilling to hex himself.

He held his scribbled ideas over a candle flame till all that remained was pinched between his fingers. Then he pushed up from the desk, strode down the corridor, and went straight to Sten.

Though his thighs and gut and arms were still sore, Alistair stood tall before the Qunari. “I wish to train again. Whatever you know, throw it at me.”

“Wh-what?” Tess said, losing focus from the meeting with Eamon and the weaver.

“You are aware over-exerting yourself could lead to injury?” Sten eyed Alistair.

“I’ve got two healers, I’m not worried. I’ll never bulk up in time if we only spend a couple hours each day.”

“In time?” Tess echoed. “Al- _what?”_ She clearly hadn’t forgotten him mentioning he was already sore after one training session. “In time for _what?”_

“Very well. Secure your weapon and meet me outside,” Sten told him.

“Good man, Sten.” Alistair spun on his heels. “Zevran, Pádraig, grab your blades, lads. Oghren? You too.”

“Oh _ho!”_ Zevran wiggled his brows. “You wish to see me get _sexy,_ yes?”

“Ah.” Pádraig grinned, trying to fight amusement. “It’s going to be _that_ kind of exercise.”

“Do not worry, Pádraig, I can be sexy with more than one at a time.” Alistair matched Pádraig’s chuckle as Zevran rushed off.

Alistair watched his wife from the corner of his eye as he retraced his steps back through the corridor. He changed out of noble attire and into armor, then grabbed his sword and shield, and headed for the doors. Tess waited with skepticism and a bulging waterskin while Alistair approached. “What are you doing? You’ll pull a tendon, or _worse.”_

He smirked, watching her fasten the skin to his belt. “How do you think I survived the Deep Roads?” he joked. She raised her brows in a flat stare and pointed at Pádraig, who turned his head to hide a grin. Alistair laughed quietly. “Alright, that’s fair,” he gave in. “I’ll be fine. Templar training wasn’t too different from Sten’s methods.”

“Your _thigh…_ ” she worried over the scars in his right leg, worried he would overstrain it.

“May I have a kiss?” he asked, interrupting her train of thought.

It was like a veil lifted from her face. Green orbs searched him, memory flooding her face with hope. Though he used it as a distraction now, Alistair almost forgot he used to _ask_ for kisses once upon a time. _Maker, so many things forgotten._ “Yes,” she breathed. His smile melded to her lips when she rose to meet him.

“And another?” he murmured, hovering just over her mouth.

“Yes, _always.”_ Her breath tingled his mustache and lips.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “And,” he said, straightening, “I think I want stuffed tomatoes for supper, the ones you told me about with the meat and grain and gravy. Three of them,” he instructed. She picked up on his tone instantly, pupils widening in anticipation. “Topped with rosemary, six leaves each, like a flower, with a cube of cheddar- no,” he corrected himself, “a dollop of soft cheese in the center.”

Alistair had not seen Tess this hopeful in a long time. She nodded. “Yes, husband,” she stammered, trying to hide quickened breath.

“May I have another kiss?” he asked. As soon as she said _Yes,_ he pushed his mouth to hers. Alistair drew out the kiss, lingering, _stalling,_ his shield pulling her right up against him. She murmured _more than love_ into his mouth, careful not to move her lips from his, bracing his neck where she knew he loved her graze.

Teagan made a loud noise of disgust. _“One day_ of successfully threatening people in a court-setting, and you’re _back at it._ Brother, I’m sleeping in your _library_ from now on!” His voice was thick with tease.

Alistair and Tess giggled into each other. “And a pretty flower for the room. Just one,” he told his wife, stepping back. “Maybe a purple one.”

Tess nodded. Eager affection emanated from her like a ringing bell as Alistair opened the doors and stepped outside. He took a moment for breath, the late autumn sun on his face, a breeze chilling his skin.

 _That felt amazing._ Better words were lost to him. Alistair couldn’t believe he’d forgotten how _good_ this felt. The look in her eyes, her eagerness to _give_ to him. Ready to jump to his commands because she wanted him able to take care of her. Time once spent being vulnerable without worry, time spent _enjoying each other’s company,_ enjoying what they once respected most of each other. Alistair’s heart sighed amidst melting. He’d hardly been able to take care of her lately, not since the Deep Roads, not like he used to. That place severely strained intimacy between them, they’d lost all desire to adore each other and relax outside of sex and sleep. Even _permission to kiss her_ just now brought intimacy back; not much, but it was a start, a small private bond.

Alistair didn’t have to like Anora or approve of Eamon’s judgment. But right now, each expected meeting with Anora didn’t sound so bad. As long as Alistair didn’t forget to take care of his wife, Tess would take care of him each night. _He could lean on her again when things got rough. He would have his best friend back._ Just like in Rainesfere. Just like before the Deep Roads tried to break them.

This was the strongest motivation he’d had in almost a year.

 _Maker, he was sore._ Alistair tried his best not to show it though, determined to push himself. As long he kept his muscles clenched, it wasn’t so tough, but as soon as he relaxed to catch his breath and enjoy the cool air, it took more effort to tighten back up up and continue. He’d never held his entire weight on his arms and abdomen before, and every time he braced his shield for impact, he felt it all through his torso, even his legs. Tess was probably right to worry about Alistair over-straining himself, but he pictured falling on the bed in exhaustion unable to take off his armor, rather than re-opening his thigh wounds.

He’d told Sten he wanted to bulk up like a Qunari, so challenge him, Sten did. The huge warrior pushed and forced resistance until Alistair’s arms and shoulders gave out and Alistair could do nothing but hunch over and wheeze. Sweat dripped liberally as he leaned on his knees, shirt drenched and stuck to his back; so much for bathing. Sten tested Pádraig and Zevran, and when Pádraig needed a break, Sten trained with knights.

Alistair looked around, almost emptying his waterskin between heavy breath still catching up. He couldn’t remember training this hard before, Sten had never kept him on the move and worked so many muscles at once. But while Alistair forced his arms to hold the waterskin up, the burn through his body was invigorating. One of the few things he’d been able to control in his life in the Chantry was training; while forced, it was _his_ say how _hard_ he worked and how strong he became. He had been one of the larger Templars by the time Duncan conscripted him. His size alone was the reason jostling from the Templars ever waned. He hoped it made a difference against Loghain in the end.

Blonde, ebony, and cherry hair appeared in the distance. Leliana pointed, a basket hanging from her arm. Morrigan wandered without aim, and Tess watched the ground as she walked. The women were in the enclosed garden, disappearing beneath the glass every few moments. Alistair couldn’t see what they collected, but he knew that’s where the tomatoes grew during cold weather. He smiled to himself before dropping his waterskin and plunging himself back into training, the desire to have Tess all to himself almost greater than wanting to intimidate Loghain.

Alistair did not train as much as he wished. When his arms failed for the day, they ran again, Sten setting the pace again and sweating just as hard as Alistair and the others. Pádraig made his knights run this time, eleven regiments running behind Alistair, Sten, Zevran and their captain. Denerim wasn’t prepared for them, activity in the market completely stopping to watch the legion run in and out of the district in their underclothes. Though running seemed ages, there was still plenty of daylight left when the mass of breathless warriors returned to Eamon’s manor.

Tess joined Alistair in their quarters while he waited for the bath to cool. She let a little giggle as she watched him struggle with removing his shirt. “Was it worth it?” She turned and locked the door before approaching him.

Alistair laughed breathlessly. “You may have to dress me for a few days,” he joked, “and feed me. And help me walk. Hold my tea for me.” She giggled again. Alistair watched as she reached for him. The last time she undressed him was in Haven, though today was a different situation entirely. Back then, he’d been a patient. Now her eyes roamed over his body with every inch of skin revealed. His shoulders ached as she peeled the shirt up over his head, but he caught her _inhaling._ _Already._ Maybe straining himself half the day was key; she’d locked herself in the room with him without needing to be told.

The bath still steamed when he stepped in; far too warm for his skin, but his aches dissipated within moments. Alistair was disappointed Tess did not ask for sex; the way she lingered over his body when she undressed him, the way she kept _smelling_ him, he thought she was going to. A smile drew his attention to her face as she lathered his hair. She read him too easy.

“You couldn’t even take off your _shirt,_ Alistair. An orgasm would’ve _paralyzed_ you,” she teased. “The point of sex is pleasure, not _Ow get off me woman.”_

He couldn’t help a laugh, but even that stirred his strained muscles. Wincing with his giggle, he admitted she was probably right. “Maker, I hope not. That would be devastating. I think I’d rather risk that _Broodmother_ again.”

“Eew!” her face crinkled through a laugh.

Drying off was a harder than he expected. Tess did this for him too, and when he tried to stretch to keep his back loose, the look on his face worried her. She wanted him to lie down. At first it seemed like training immobilized him, might make him look bad to his knights, but as he sat back against the cool wall, nude and exposed with his legs sprawled across the bed, Alistair realized this gave him the perfect opportunity.

“Do you want tea?” Tess asked, rummaging through their clothes. “Or whiskey?”

“Whiskey, perhaps. But later.” He spread his legs wider. “We haven’t had a moment to ourselves in a while.” Tess looked over in question. “I mean, just sitting, talking; _not_ about the Blight or…that man whose head I’m going to chop off,” he inadvertently mentioned Loghain. Alistair didn’t miss the smirk as Tess returned to their clothing. “I’m serious, stop that. I just want to sit with you awhile.” He patted the bed between his legs. “Bring a book. We brought our books, right?”

“Yes. Which story?”

Alistair almost said the gryphon book, then he groaned. _“Anything_ but a Grey Warden story.” Her giggle stretched his smile. “I can’t believe I’m getting tired of my job.”

“Hm.” Her eyes twinkled. “Those Wardens are an overrated bunch.”

He laughed again. “You can say that again. I bet they just laze around all day, playing swords and picking flowers.”

“But it was a pretty flower.” She held his gaze as she approached with a book. Sweet, _obedient;_ reminding him she’d done as he ordered. A single stalk of violet bells stood on the vanity in a slender vase.  

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” He out his hand, and when she laid hers on his, he guided her between his legs. She hesitated when he shifted her head at his groin. For a moment, Alistair thought she’d forgotten about this. Before he could open his mouth to say she didn’t have to, she folded herself up and nestled in, inhaling long and slow. Just like she used to.

She turned her head and met his eyes. “Am I to read?” she asked.

Alistair raked his fingers through her hair. “Yes. I’d like that.”

It worked faster than he hoped. While there was no need to calm her, she lay there as if it hadn’t been a year since. Her breath steamed his shaft and tickled his curls, and after long sentences, she nuzzled in for deep breathing.

 _Different_ than he hoped. Between page turns, she cradled him. Didn’t say a thing or didn’t move when he grew hard in her hand, just…held him. An occasional tender kiss. As if she was holding his hand.

Alistair combed his fingers through her hair, all thoughts to sex gone. He was still erect, still twitched when she kissed him, but _he’d_ forgotten they used to have this intimacy. She used to appreciate his sex as just another part of him, not just a tool for mating. It reminded him of their vows, _I more than love you, inside and out._

Her words slowed. Eyelashes slowly drooped as he caressed and brushed, breath steadying at his curls until the her wrist went limp and the book slid. _This_ is what he wanted. She used to fall asleep lying like this, breathing completely relaxed like she felt safest here. He wanted her to feel safe with her head in his lap, to relax and want to come back. Maybe she would come to him instead of Morrigan from now on.

But of _course_ it wasn’t that easy.

They woke the next morning to train with Sten, and Tess, always fearful people gossiped about her breakdowns behind her back, attempted to meditate once more. Morrigan intervened before Alistair could carry Tess away though, kneeling again, the same bluish white magic she’d done the day before. And it seemed to work. Alistair could feel Tess wasn’t breathing to clear her mind, but she sat in silence while the rest of them cooled down from the workout and unwound. Tess clutched his hand, but when Alistair peeked, he saw her other hand grasping Morrigan’s. His own meditation had just as successful as Tess’.

Extended training had to wait. Too sore from the day before, Alistair met with Riordan, though there wasn’t much the elder Warden could teach him with so many people around. Instead, they probed for ways to completely eradicate the Darkspawn when monstrosities like Broodmothers existed and bred like insects. From what they described to Riordan, he told them it seemed disorganized breeding was the same as intentional, which wasn’t much help other than it possibly meant killing one meant killing all the same way. Very few Wardens had ever found a Broodmother; what information they had came from records dating back to the First Blight. The problem would be hunting them all down and hope they could all be killed the same.

It prompted Tess to ask if _she_ would become like that when it was time for her Calling. The thought gave Alistair chills; _worse than becoming Ruck._ He was glad when a servant interrupted with a letter from Anora.

Tess scoffed when she opened it. “If this is a fucking _thank you_ card…” Her eyes narrowed as she read the stationary. Then she glared at Alistair. “I have to take _tea_ with _Anora?”_

 _Shit._ Alistair had forgotten to tell her what he said to Anora; he almost forgot the moment Warden Riordan showed up. He summarized what happened while Tess had been out, explained it was a ruse, a believable lie so Anora had an excuse to visit every days with updates on Loghain. Alistair knew Anora planned to use _them_ to influence her bid for the throne, but he had offered her a deal Anora would not refuse - in the likelihood Alistair became King, Anora would not risk losing her father’s teyrnir by keeping Alistair and Tess an enemy. He said they would pretend like they were trusting Anora and her claim to the throne, but they would tie her to Loghain’s treachery somehow. They couldn’t just kill her, facing charges in a Landsmeet would be better punishment.

But explaining to Tess did not settle her. Irked and agitated, she stomped through the halls, muttering to herself with a permanent scowl. Alistair assumed she pondered paying Anora back when she could not beat her again, until he heard his name and _husband_ attached to her cursing. A little unfair _she_ could be upset with _him_ for making plans in her name, but never wanted him upset when _she’d_ made plans in _his_ name. After moments of listening to her grumble _at_ him from afar - _How could you set me up with that shrew? You know what she’ll do to me! Is this some fantasy of yours, me and your brother’s wife?_ , Alistair finally ordered her out of the house, go for a walk, go to the tavern, repent at the Chantry, shop, _anything._ He almost couldn’t believe himself, this was the first time he _wished_ her to go away; had she not stigmatized his authority, he might have thought something wrong with him. Alistair just needed a break before his head exploded. He pulled Sten outside so he could hit something before anyone else tried his nerves. Denerim was almost worse than the Deep Roads.

Days were stressful, mornings were easy. Despite the burn that engulfed his body during Sten’s training, there were no politics or complaints of unfairness. Running and muscle failure left any too weak to moan or glare until hunger set in.

Except when Morrigan stole his job _again,_ calming Tess for meditation. Alistair was so incensed he excused himself one day, ordered Tess to stay, and he cooled off alone in their quarters with a bottle of brandy. When Tess finally joined him, Alistair was as drunk as his Taint allowed, though still fuming on the bed. He refused to answer when she asked what was wrong, untrusting of his own mouth while covered in such spite. Alistair watched as Tess delayed her bath to kneel on the floor in silence, hands on her lap; just like she’d done when he seethed in Rainesfere. He wasn’t sure who he was more upset with, Morrigan for stealing his ability to calm Tess, Tess for allowing Morrigan to replace him, or himself for letting Morrigan wedge herself in. He sat in vain contemplation until the bathwater stopped steaming before admitting to himself he had no way to remedy the situation.

Tess _didn’t need_ him anymore. He was her husband but she no longer needed him.  He could push and order and task her till daylight ran out, but she would not need him for comfort at the end of the day. Her solace and comfort was no longer unique in Alistair. This realization burned like the drink was aflame inside him.

Alistair told her to call for servants to reheat the bath before drinking straight from the bottle. No words were spoken while he bathed her this time. She sat in confusion and shame while not a single moment of washing soothed him.

If Tess knew what bothered him, she did not address it. Alistair needed more time to think without her pouting around him, so he sent her out again. He was rigid though he tried to force his voice calm when he told her to buy herself something nice from the market.

The first tea with Anora was even more straining than the strenuous workouts with Sten or the tension between Alistair and Tess. Uncomfortable silence between sips of tea and forced eye contact. Anora had no new information other than Loghain sent an unscheduled ship to Tevinter and two of the country’s nobles arrived in town last night. Her father seemed to believe the ruse, though, upset more with Anora for fighting than with Tess; _of course,_ Tess could not be blamed if Anora participated. Before departing, however, the false queen said one of her knights reported the city guard seemed to be in over their heads.

“If we work together-” Anora began.

“You mean if we do something good and profound in your name!” Tess snapped; Alistair wondered if Anora could sense their marital strife.

“That seems to be everyone’s favorite hobby,” Alistair added, standing next to his wife with his arms folded, glaring in challenge, hoping to hide their personal problems. “The words _Grey Warden_ must sound like clinking coin and arrogant praise.”

Anora continued with a twitch of her eye. _“If_ we work together to make the city safer, our voices will be significantly magnified at the Landsmeet.” She fastened her winter fur robe and stepped out into the overcast chill with Erlina. “Thank you for tea, Tesslyn, it was wonderful.”

 _“Yes,_ it was _lovely_ catching up with you,” Tess’ voice dripped just as sugary as Anora’s pretense in public air.

“Shall we again? Sooner rather than later,” Anora suggested.

“Two days, then? If the sun returns, we can sit in the garden. Eamon grows a lovely winter collection.”

“I look forward to it.” Anora pulled up her hood. “Alistair.” She gave a nod.

“Anora.” Alistair didn’t hide the rancor in his voice. He watched until the gates closed Anora and Erlina out of the grounds before turning to his wife. “That was _hideous._ Please warn me if you genuinely start to like her.”

“Will you be adding my public etiquette to your list of things I disappoint you with now?” she muttered, still as stiff with him as they’d both been to Anora behind closed doors.

“I have no list.” He watched her eyes fly to his. “I’ll talk to you about it all when I figure out an answer. I always do.” Alistair took a deep breath and gestured for Tess to return inside before him.

“She’s right. Isn’t she? _Fucking shit,_ she is.” Tess grumbled. “We need to meet with the city guard.” Thinking ahead on her own. More evidence Tess no longer _needed_ Alistair. Morrigan’s _calming_ spells had a profound effect; the undercover rescue from days ago seemed more like years, at this rate.

“Neither of us will go unrecognized anymore,” he reminded her. “We’ll have to do this as Grey Wardens.”

 _“Bored_ Grey Wardens? Or as _King_ trying to figure out why his city is in disarray.”

“We can’t both be King,” half joking, half irritated still.

With a sudden frown of frustration, Tess pushed him away from her and stomped ahead. _“Sodding fuck it,_ Alistair! Just stay here! I’ll do it myself!”

“What was that for?” Alistair regained his footing and caught up to her.

 _“You!”_ she wheeled around clenched and bordering on tears. “For two days you’ve said nothing to me! Completely ignored me, and don’t even have decency to tell me what I did wrong! For all the fuss you made when I relapsed at Honnleath, _you’re_ the one who shuts down! You shut me out more times than I’ve ever tried! And each time you do, it gets worse! _Last_ time, I thought you were going to _hit_ me! The Archdemon fucking-” Tears sprouted from her eyes. “The _Archdemon_ sang me a fucking _lullaby_ and took me away from your noise. Now _again_ I’ve _magically_ done something wrong, and the world spiraling into Tainted chaos is _all my_ fault!” She blinked to clear her eyes before marching around the corner into their quarters. Alistair sighed and followed her, catching the door after it slammed and rattled.

“Tess.” He didn’t know how to handle this. He wasn’t prepared to talk yet. Without a solution that made _him_ feel confident, discussing it too soon only made it fester like an  infected wound.

 _“No!_ Don’t _Tess_ me, Alistair! You think being here is _easy_ for me? _I’ve_ got it harder than you will _ever_ have it here! My _entire past_ is here! _In this city!_ Every glare Anora gives you doesn’t come _close_ to what having her in sight does to me. _Chained and gagged and strapped on my back,_ and hands pushing till my _joints_ cracked, and _petting my hair_ _,_ calling me _good girl!_ And that _thing_ the _mage_ shoved in! And when I staggered through his castle trying to make it to the door, Anora fucking _mocking me_ and blocking my steps! As if she didn’t see me struggling to stand!” She looked ready to push him again, but backed away instead. Her arm flung out towards the entry hall. “And you bring that shrew in here and make me _sit_ with her?! When the _sight_ of her reminds me of everything Loghain did! Whatever happened to _Tess I should have listened when you said Don’t Do It?”_ She searched his eyes while she wiped her face, the distance between them a clear sign he was not allowed to reach for her

Despite her tears and panic, Alistair wasn’t ready to give in. It wasn’t time, he didn’t have an answer yet, and what came out wasn’t close to resolution. “What every happened to _being married?”_ he retorted. “What happened to coming to _me_ when you’re upset instead of using a witch who wants you on her _lyrium leash?_ What happened to _Alistair I need you?_ What happened to _me?”_ Even if she told the truth, it wasn’t fair of her to use her past against him. She did this when they separated before Honnleath, as well.

She huffed in disbelief. “Going to a friend for help constitutes _punishing_ your wife with a woman who, in spite I’ve _literally_ given her _everything,_ can’t bring me down enough times?”

“You could have said something, Tess! Instead, you _bitched_ at me from across the manor and you went to _Morrigan!_ What happened to coming to _me?_ How can I help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong? I wasn’t there, remember? I don’t know what Loghain or Anora did to you growing up unless you tell me!”

“Why do you want me to keep reliving what happened? I shouldn’t have to tell you more than once! I shouldn’t have to describe what happened each time Loghain and Anora turn up!”

“I’m _not asking_ you to tell me what happened each time! I want you tell me _why_ you’re upset when you fucking storm off! A simple _Alistair it reminds me of Loghain_ would suffice, Tess! _Once_ upon a time, I used to take your hand and you would feel better _instantly._ Now you refuse to tell me what you need and you’re going _right_ back to the mage who’d do _anything_ to get me out of the picture! _She wants a pet,_ Tess, _nothing more! Of course I’m upset!”_

Tess stared, a graven expression as wet cheeks shimmered in candlelight. _“Tess, think for yourself, I know you can do it.”_ She paused for breath. _“Tess,_ **_how dare_ ** _you think for yourself?”_

Alistair frowned, searching her up and down. _No. No, it wasn’t like that._

Tess straightened her shoulders and slid her feet into outdoor slippers, then wrapped a scarf around her neck.

“What are you doing?” Alistair frowned deeper. She slid her arms into a fur coat and tied it at the waist.

“I’m going to the tavern to find the nobles who arrived in town. Most Banns don’t have a manor here.” She grabbed the Eremon signet ring from the vanity and tied it in her purse.

“With _tears_ streaming down your face?”

“Perhaps it will build sympathy. It worked long ago on a boy from Ostagar.” With her nose in the air, she squeezed past Alistair, refusing to look at him.

Alistair stood frozen, emotionally numb as his wife sniffled down the hall. He heard Pádraig call for the elite guard, but Tess rebuked the orders, refusing anyone to accompany her. Tess’ voice echoed when she told Pádraig if he had a problem with her going out by herself, he could talk to Alistair about _just how important_ her _well-being_ was.

When he finally collected himself, Alistair took his sword straight to the armory and slammed the door, ignoring everyone who spoke. Mad at Tess for pushing a conversation he wasn’t ready to discuss, mad at her for using Loghain against him _again._ Mad at _himself_ when her words sunk in and he realized _she was right._ He’d distanced himself from her the second she appreciated outside help, growing more stubborn in his bitterness when she tried to plan ahead. He refused her request to order her around so she could think easier, while at the same time urging her to solve problems on her own. And he pushed her away when she did as she was told. Alistair exchanged his sword for a battleaxe when the armor dummies didn’t splinter fast enough.

When armor and weapons littered the floor between chips of wood and broken chests, Alistair rested for breath. Too angry to cry. Or maybe too ashamed. He dropped the axe and staggered back until he hit the wall, then slid down and sat amongst his mess.

He thought himself strong and in control when he faced Anora. Knights and servants scurried at his words. Sten stopped his own projects to train whenever Alistair demanded. His _best friend_ addressed him as royalty and showed utmost respect.

... _Tess_ used to be his best friend, though.

How long ago was that? It seemed he spent more time reminding himself why he wanted her to stay. He was scared she had to remind _herself_ why she stayed. Scared to admit maybe he needed her Taint more than he loved her. _Terrified_ she would leave him if she felt the same. He didn’t know anyone else or any other home. She was _everything._ But he didn’t think he was everything to _her_ anymore. Maybe he hadn’t been _enough_ since the Deep Roads.

The door opened, scratching broken wood and metal across the stone floor. “Holy shit.” Zevran stepped over hunks of chopped figures until he had room to close the door. “I guess it does not pay to be a dummy.”

 _“Don’t,_ Zev. I mean it, just don’t.”

“I am doing nothing.” He cleared away debris with his feet, then sat near Alistair.

A moment of silence passed. “I suppose you’ve come to lecture me again? I expected Pádraig or Teagan, to be honest.”

“They are not here. They followed her when she told them not to. No, I do not think you need a lecture, my friend.” Zevran leaned back against the wall. “One. Two. Three. Four-”

Alistair stared at him. “What are you doing?”

“Counting. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten-”

“What for?”

“Until you realize how long she’s been gone. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen...” Zevran’s voice droned on. Irregular gaps between numbers differed from the way the Chantry taught Alistair to count seconds. When the elf hit _forty,_ Alistair realized something was off. The numbers came quicker, and Zevran side-glanced him each time he skipped a number.

Alistair frowned. _Counting_ was the lesson. Trying to give Alistair the illusion of Tess being gone a long time by skipping to high numbers. Reminding Alistair he was _alone,_ which was punishment enough.

“You know what, Zev?” He pushed up from the ground when the numbers jumped from _eight-six_ to _ninety-seven._

“Yes? Ninety-nine, one hundred, one hundred-nine.”

 _“Fuck_ you and your numbers.” As grumpy as the counting made him, he was glad Zevran laughed.  

“Not today.” Zev stood as Alistair stepped over rubble. “Actually, I have a _hot date_ with Oghren and Teagan tonight. So maybe tomorrow, _yes?”_ Alistair glared as he opened the door, leaving Zevran standing with a silly grin on his face. _“Rent a room!”_ he called as Alistair walked down the hall.

Alistair left the manor without changing. A low, icy cloud prickled his scalp and skin at the collar and wrists. He said no word when his knights asked if he needed assistance. Silently waving them off, Alistair moved where his feet wandered, not sure what to say when he found Tess or if he even _wanted_ to find her. He’d heard some men were lousy suitors but wonderful husbands; Alistair felt he was the opposite.

The tavern was crowded. Those not working the market stalls sat gripping pints or steaming mugs, trying to stay warm. So many people it was almost _too_ hot inside. He’d felt Tess’ Taint upon approaching the tavern, he was sure she knew he had arrived. But he could not locate her face.

An arm locking around his jolted his nerves. Alistair hissed a deep breath and glared at the familiar man dragging him aside. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Your Majesty, you look like shit.” Pádraig pulled him to a table with Teagan and Domhnall from the elite guard. “Here. For courage. Or balls. Whatever swells first with this tavern swill.” Alistair frowned from Pádraig to the shot of dark alcohol shoved in his hand.

“She’s there.” Teagan gestured. Alistair followed his gaze till he located ashy blonde hair above a large fur coat. Tess sat with her head down, tossing back shot after shot. A  dark haired woman in ornate leather armor sat across from her, concern shaping her face.

Alistair emptied the shot glass quicker than he wanted; brandy weaker than he was used to since staying with Eamon. “Who is that?”

“Alfstanna Eremon, Bann of Waking Sea. Closest Hold to Highever. Alfstanna’s corner of the Bannorn specializes in archery.”

“West Hill?” Alistair said; the docks and island Tess had traded Celene for political support.

 _“Precisely_ West Hill.”

Alistair slid his eyes when he felt Teagan’s stare. Teagan had two concerns Alistair could read: _You’re close to losing her, Alistair,_ and _We promised someone West Hill’s docks._

_Don’t screw up._

Easier said than done.

Alistair watched Tess empty half a glass of wine. _As if this wasn’t hard enough._ Tess was not an agreeable drunk. And what would _he_ say? What could he say now when his wife shed light on his selfish wish to keep her dependent on him? He doubted she would believe his reason. It seemed immature and just as selfish to say he _couldn’t_ live without her.

Someone’s boot shoved his rear. Without protest, his feet moved the rest of the way.

“I don’t know how much more I can hold in. Being back here is too hard anymore,” he heard Tess say. Alistair stopped at the end of the table, and the dark haired woman gave him a double-take.

“Maker’s breath.” Alfstanna stared, looking him up and down as if comparing him to her memory of Maric. “Word about you traveled fast, but I honestly thought you were a legend created to intimidate Loghain. And I swore to the Maker _Cailan_ looked like him…” she trailed off; at least she didn’t call him Maric’s ghost. “Forgive me, we haven’t met. I’m-”

“Bann Alfstanna Eremon. Yes, I know of you.” Alistair forced a smile. “Alistair Theirin. A pleasure to meet you.” He dared himself to look at Tess. Head still hung, though glistening eyelashes moved when she tore her gaze from the table to peek at him. “I see you met my wife.”

“So that rumor is true as well? _That_ ought to give Loghain something to think about.” Alistair met her eyes again and she straightened. “Yes, I’ve known Tesslyn since she was wee lamb. The Couslands were closely involved in West Hill. They were an honorable family. And now a Grey Warden in their line; I’m sure Bryce and Eleanor would be proud.” Alfstanna gestured. “Please join us.”

Alistair hesitated, then forced another smile. “Thank you, but I prefer to stand. I’ve become very aware of my height in this… _game_ against the Mac Tirs. It benefits me to be taller than everyone.”

“Ah, yes. Tesslyn told me they’ve given you trouble. I apologize on their behalf.”

“That’s not necessary, but thank you. Again.” From the corner of his eye as he looked at Tess again, he saw Alfstanna read his concern. When Tess refused to lift her head, Alistair breathed deep. “From what I hear, the Mac Tirs knew the Couslands well.” He paused, trying to gather the right words to apologize to Tess right then and there without giving away their private matters in public. “It’s unfortunately easiest to hurt those we know the best.” Tess froze for a moment. Then slowly, her head turned and eyes moved up to his. “We can only hope amends are made and an agreement settled upon before the city goes up in flames. It would be a shame if we can’t stitch this family back together.”

“Family?” Alfstanna echoed.

Alistair switched his gaze. “Country. My lessons have taught me a country is like a family. The King and Queen her parents, its Teyrns and Banns the elder siblings. An unbreakable bond if nurtured properly, a thriving nation if we help each other grow. Obviously more magnanimous in size compared the average household, but that just means more effort should be involved in helping her succeed. I regret I don’t have the means to do this by myself yet.”

Alfstanna looked impressed. Alistair thanked silently thanked the Maker for the influence of Teagan’s silver tongue.

Tess winced while she drank lavishly. “The wrong people are being ordered about,” she said somberly. “Obvious people who don’t respect authority are taking away good things from those who have already paid their dues. Hard…” Her hand went to her mouth as she hung her head again. “Forcing choices that shouldn’t be this hard to make.” She raised her head only to swallow the rest of her wine at once and refill her glass. An answer to Alistair’s metaphor. An answer that suspiciously sounded like she was considering leaving him because his orders to Anora deprived Tess of the one good thing she said she had; Alistair.

Alistair took the bottle from her shaking hand and filled her glass for her. Her head turned to look but not meet his eyes. Alistair returned his gaze at Alfstanna. “Trying to keep the peace has been a challenge, to put it lightly. One adventure after the other since we arrived. It’s been taxing on everyone,” he said. “On that note,” he nodded toward the duplicate Eremon signet ring on her hand, “My condolences on your brother. I hope he recovers well. I was a Templar for a time. I understand his struggle away from the Chantry.”

“Your concern is appreciated. I never would have known if not for Tesslyn.” Alfstanna remained at the table until a squad of knights approached with an intricate bow reported they were ready when she was. Bann Alfstanna excused herself, declaring she was off to rescue her brother but she looked forward to standing with Alistair and Tess at the Landsmeet.

Alistair watched the female Bann disappear into the foggy city before looking at Tess again. He slid into the empty seat across from his wife. She did not raise her head when he reached over and took her hands.

“Tess.” Still no response. As if he wasn’t clutching her. “Look at me, please,” he pleased. She shook her head. Alistair knew he couldn’t hide his emotion right now. Her cryptic reply had sounded too ominous. “Please, Tess. Don’t…that _hard choice..._ if it is what I think it is, _please don’t,”_ his voice broke when he tried to quiet his begging. _“Please,_ Tess. I don’t want you leave. _Yes,_ of _course_ I want you to need…” the words stuck in his throat. Leaking green eyes finally met his. Alistair glanced around when he felt his own eyes water. “I’m fucking begging in a full tavern,” he muttered to himself. He sniffled and searched his wife’s face. “I’m sorry. _I’m so sorry, Tess_ _._ I have screwed up more times than I can count.” Even breathing was hard. He understood why Tess kept her head down in this place. He counted it a miracle no one stared. “I’m _losing_ it,” he admitted. “My whole life, I just wanted say over how my day went, and now that I’m _this close,_ it feels like it’s all crashing down on me at once. Like the Maker’s _testing_ me, seeing if I can really handle it.” Alistair swallowed and took a deep breath, sniffling again. He released one hand to wipe his palm across his eyes, trying to pretend it was just an itch. “I _do_ want you to think. I want you to be able to do whatever you want and plan for it.” He looked at her again.

“You didn’t speak to me because I did something on my own.” She was less self-conscious of her tears now.  

 _“No,_ Tess, not for that.” Alistair shook his head. “I-” He paused. This was the hard part. Admitting failure made him feel undeserving and weak; as if Anora wasn’t already trying to make him feel this way. “It’s _gone,_ Tess. I don’t know how to separate my anger from giving orders anymore. Writing lists isn’t the same, it’s stuff we have to do anyway.” He watched their hands. Unmoving. She still didn’t respond to his grip. Alistair rubbed his thumbs against her skin. “I miss being the only one who made you feel good.” It didn’t feel any easier with that off his chest. “Since…however long ago that was, it feels like you don’t need me anymore. Like there’s less and less room for me in your life. I don’t want that. I’m _terrified_ of that, Tess.” He raised his head to see her again.

She reached up with a single finger and stopped a tear that rolled down her own cheek.

“I’ve tried circles, and singing, and having you lay in my lap…” he shook his head. “Nothing works. You’ve gone to _Morrigan_ instead. Do you have any idea how that feels?” he whispered. “My wife goes to a woman who _hates_ me instead of wanting _me_ to comfort her.”

“You’re jealous of Morrigan?” she asked.

He hesitated. “I wish I could say no,” he said truthfully. “It feels like you’re slowly pushing me away, and the better I seem to get at this king stuff, the _worse_ I get at being husband. The worse I become at being there for my wife.” _His_ hands shook now. He reached for her glass and brought it to his lips in a messy drink. “You and I used to be friends. Not just people who shared a bed. I thought of Pádraig after you left, and in my head I called him my best friend.” Shamefaced, he met her eyes again. “I used to think _you_ were my best friend. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know where I screwed up so bad. I don’t know how I _changed_ so much that I forgot who my best friend was.”

“We’ve both changed,” she said. “I think we’ve changed a few times.”

Alistair nodded. “I sodding wish the Chantry would have warned me growing up would be this hard.” He didn’t mean it as a joke but she let out a weak laugh at the irony anyway.

“I don’t think people are so supposed to grow up like we have,” she shook her head.

“How do we reverse this, Tess?” he whispered. “You’re all I know. I don’t want there to be anyone else in the end. I want to stay up all night talking like we used to, or even…” he stopped himself, but the look on her face said she knew he meant their time in Rainesfere. He nodded, closing his eyes. “It _was_ fun. It was something _only we_ had.” He looked at her. “I think that’s what I miss. It was something we did apart from everyone else. But ever since the Deep Roads, we haven’t done _anything_ separate from the others. They don’t even complain when we’re…too loud, anymore.” A painful sigh shook his chest. _“Please_ say you aren’t leaving me?”

She thought before she answered. “I don’t _want_ to.”

“But?” he anticipated bad news.

Tess shook her head and shrugged. “I don’t want to be pushed away, Alistair. I’ve spent more time getting kicked out of bed than I spent sleeping in my own tent when I…cut my hair. And…seeing you talk to Anora, seeing her _obey_ you when you tell her what to do...” Her eyes watered up again and her gaze strayed. “They took everything I grew up with. Watching her with you now feels like they’re taking _you, too.”_

 _“Maker,_ Tess, _no,”_ he insisted, shaking his head. He squeezed her hands tighter. “I don’t want anything to do with her. I’m not trying to make her want me, I’m trying to _scare_ her. I want her to believe she’ll lose against us. I want her to think she’ll come out better in the end if she supports _us_ than if she supports her father. That’s _all_ I want from her.” He reached over and traced the scar on her cheek. “She _infuriates_ me when she taunts you. I would rather kill her and get her out of the way permanently. If we could afford to do that, I would kill her in a heartbeat. When she came back without you, I told Pádraig to, and he _almost did it._ I only kept her alive in case she was lying about where you were.” He searched her eyes. “Come back with me. _Please._ I don’t…I don’t know what to do to get us back to the way we were, but I _want_ that. I want you to be my best friend again. I miss _feeling_ in love with you, not _simply_ loving you.” A drunken body walked by, and Alistair watched it, uncomfortable now with much he exposed of himself in front of so many people. “I suppose they’ll remember this, won’t they? _Oh hey, I saw that man crying in the tavern,”_ he predicted.

He turned his head when Tess held his palm to her cheek. “You’ll be remembered for being on the throne, not off it.” She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. He wanted so badly to lean in and kiss her and hold her; but that surely would draw unwanted attention from the tavern. It would draw attention to the fact they were vulnerable; it was not fuel he wanted to give Anora.

“Will you? Come back with me?”

“What if nothing changes?” He could see she deeply feared this.

“Then _help_ me, _please,_ Tess,” he begged. “Help me figure this out. Help me _think._ Help me ta-” he cut himself off, the reason for his mastery over her flooding back to memory. “Help me take care of you, Tess. _Please._ ”

“I need more than a promise or a plea, Alistair.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“This happens too often for me. You keep saying I’m your reason for being King, but you don’t act like it anymore. You _like_ having control; I understand. But nobility steeps in unfair politics we can’t avoid even when we’re not legally recognized. And you take it out on _me._ I _know_ you like giving orders, I _know_ that makes you feel good, and I _want_ you to feel good about yourself, I _want_ you to believe you’ll be a good king. But I’ve _given_ you ways to take it out, I’ve _told_ you to do what you _need_ to get it out so you’re happy again. So you’re happy being _around_ me.” She shook her head. “You refuse it all. I _know_ it _helps_ you, but you refuse it. And you don’t look for other ways.”

“You mean trying you up? Restraining you like you’re a criminal? Tess, I _can’t do_ that.”

“But it _worked,_ Alistair, _that’s_ what matters. It’s always been like this, when things start spiraling out of control, you just let it build until you can turn it around on _me_ . All that… _Let me worry for you Tess_ stuff only worked when lyrium left me…” she blinked and dropped her head. “Teagan’s home was the only time you let _me_ help _you._ I don’t count Haven, that was _different.”_ She sniffled and wet her mouth, raising her head to look off in the distance. “Maybe that can’t work for us anymore. Maybe the only way we can stay together is just… _leave?”_ she pondered. “Don’t stay here, don’t stay with Wardens, just…us alone. Wherever.”

“Leave?” he repeated. “No, _no_ , Tess I can’t do that. I _need_ to give you a home, I _need_ to keep you safe.”

“We had a home away from everyone once. _Have_ a home. In the Fade. It wouldn’t be impossible out here. The… _children_ will be, but not the home.” She slid out of his hands and cupped the glass. She finished the wine and refilled it to the brim, then sipped and drank till the glass almost emptied again. “And you also keep saying you want me safe, but your words have hurt me more than blades ever did.”

Alistair’s chest felt too small. His heart thudded violently for room to beat in sync with hers again. He _knew_ she was right, but more than not being a good husband, he hated himself for this truth. Zevran had made the same point in the Deep Roads. Alistair never needed blades to hurt his wife. His actions were always more dangerous than any weapon.

“It seems to me I’ll be safer if we’re away from politics and people who challenge what you’ve inherited.”

“Tess, I _mean_ it when I say _I need your help._ I don’t have a _clue_ how to be husband. I was never exposed to romance before I met you, then in a matter of _months_ _,_ I said my vows and tried to make-” _our children_ caught in his throat. She met his eyes over the bottle of ebbing wine. “No one ever told me how to handle anything in the real world. They taught me how to stop angry mages.” He shrugged. “And told me _Don’t even think about fraternizing.”_

 _“I_ don’t know how to be _wife,_ Alistair.” She shook her head. “I _burn water_ when I try to cook. _Who does that?_ We can’t live on tea, and if kettles didn’t whistle when they boiled, I’d burn that too. But I’ve been _trying,_ and I’ve tried _very_ hard to make up for being so rotten in the beginning. It just seems like… _you haven’t been.”_

“Trying?” he searched her.

She nodded. “I think…if there is a chance to fix this…I need you to try harder.”

As if he wasn’t putting any effort in their relationship. _She really thought that?_

“I would rather cry here in front of all these people than go back knowing nothing will change. I can’t handle it. You should be taking your frustration out on _Anora,_ on the people who want to get _rid_ of you, _not_ your wife.”

“How can I promise what I don’t know, Tess? The Deep Roads proved I can’t keep _any_ promises. I broke _all my promises_ in the Deep Roads.”

“I don’t blame you for that, Alistair. That place was so out of our control, not even clearing out Darkspawn made a difference. _None_ of us had any control there. I’m talking about _here._ I need you to help me take care of you. So you can take care of me.”

_Alistair’s exact words to her._

“Because I _need_ that, I still need you to hold me and make me feel better. And I need you to _respect_ when I don’t want to do something, like sit with Anora, because _that’s_ the sort of stuff that throws me off balance; _you used to do that for me._ Now you _expect_ circles to work instead of _trying,_ which doesn’t do a _damn thing_ when I need you most. You’re upset with _me_ when your expectation doesn’t produce. I can’t live like this. I need you to _let_ me help you so you can _help me._ I don’t have much to offer you anymore; there’s just not much of me _left._ But I _want_ to help the only way I know how. I _want_ to be your reason for waking up again, Alistair.”

A heavier weight could not hang from his heart. All Alistair could offer his wife was a promise to try.

  



	64. Shrivel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tess and Alistair are overwhelmed - with their jobs, with each other. It is too much for Tess. Attempting to find happiness again puts into perspective just what they're willing to live without, but when has love made kingship easy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Possible Trigger Warning*** Heavy Angst; Marital strife; separation anxiety, loneliness, depression; alcohol use (drinking to numb)
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Hope In Front of Me, by Danny Gokey](https://youtu.be/O5GFiDdGGGM)

_He wished someone could teach him how to juggle kingship and marriage._

Trying to be a good husband made Alistair understand why royal marriages were arranged for political advantage, nothing more. Loveless arranged marriages seemed an easy business, and being King was hard enough. There was no need to work harder if the king did not worry his wife might stop loving him.

Alistair knew what he had to do, but it still did not solve the problem that vexed him in the first place. For all his talk to impress nobility, as much as he understood kingship was like marriage and a Queen the mother of his country, love interfered. For the _best,_ he believed, but it added more stress to an already stressful position. And Tess…

Tess had grown up without him even realizing it. Even with her acute past, they were much younger when they met. While training for kingship caused Alistair to mature _into a man his country needed,_ Tess grew up in her own way. _A very different way_ than Alisair had; learning forgiveness and how to support herself each time _he_ fell prey to frustration. Alistair had wanted all along for her to love herself, but he was so busy trying to embody his kingship that he never saw her evolve. He’d only seen the broken, dependent Cousland survivor. He had to screw up _enough_ and make Tess  _want_ to leave before Alistair realized she finally knew she deserved goodness.

Neither wanted to face the full house that awaited them at Eamon’s, but the tavern had no vacancy. Pádraig, Teagan, and Domhnall escorted them back to the manor, though it only made tensions worse. Tess was already cross they ignored her when she stated her desire to go alone. Though it was for her protection - under the ruse they protected Bann Teagan, she admitted in privacy that night their presence made her feel what she wanted did not matter. Pádraig and his elite guard made her feel like no one trusted her with her own safety.

Alistair and Tess slept in the same bed, but the night was silent and somber. Alistair _had_ offered to sleep on the floor, but it was ideas like this Tess hated. Sleeping apart was for people who did not want each other, people who cared nothing about how the other might feel. She said every time he suggested they sleep apart was no better than slapping her and calling her ugly; too ugly to sleep with. _Doesn’t convince me these scars aren’t hideous._

The morning workout didn’t usher in a better day. The house and guard was quieter than usual, awkward silence in reaction to Tess and Alistair unsure if they would still be together come nightfall. Tess cried while she ran, haunting thoughts draining any enjoyment from daybreak over lifting fog. She refused meditation to bathe herself - a clear message: _I need time alone,_ and _If I just stop trying, I won’t need to ask my friend for help._ Morrigan glared at Alistair instead of meditating; he felt it like winter’s chill. Just what Alistair needed, another reason for Morrigan to _encourage_ Tess’ betterment without him. And when he returned to their quarters to bathe, Tess was dressed and buckling up in furs.

“You’re _leaving?”_

“Yes. I’m going for a walk. I’ll return…sometime later. I’m not sure where I want to go just yet. I just need to get out.”

 _“Tess.”_ Alistair couldn’t hide the fact this hurt him.

“It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” She parted her fur coat to reveal the diamond-coated rose dagger he’d made. _“You’ll_ be fine.”

“What sort of walk do you expect trouble on?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know where I want to go yet. But I am going alone.” She tightened the last strap and smoothed her coat. “Please tell Pádraig to refrain from following me this time. I survived all that time before him, and his guard existing did not prevent my arrest. I can take care of myself.”

“Tess.” His eyes watered as she opened the door. “I more than love you, Tess.”

She met his eyes for the first time that morning. “I know. I love you too.”

_Love._

Not _more than love._

Alistair was almost glad he had the room to himself. No one there to watch him shrivel in tears in the bath. _His wife didn’t love him anymore._

He took his time getting dressed. Tess had left a bottle of his favorite whiskey on the vanity with an unused shot glass. Alistair went through half the bottle just trying to put his pants on.  

Teagan, Pádraig, Sten, Eamon, Wynne, and Riordan took turns calling through the door. Alistair ignored them all. Vision starting to blur and only half dressed, Alistair sat on the floor. He read every letter they’d each written. Cried over her letters from Haven. Cried again over his letter to their Fade daughters, and again at the drawings of their imaginary family. His tears stained her letter to him from Haven so many times the ink smudged. Old paper shook under his hand till the tiny pools of tears snaked down the page, smearing more words.

Out off all their letters, there was no letter from him to Tess. He’d written to her brother, to Teagan, to their fake children, but not his wife. Maybe that’s how Alistair could fix their marriage? At least tell her, in words he couldn’t choke on, just how much she meant to him; how, if she truly didn’t want him to be king anymore, she had but to ask.

He sat at the vanity. Trembling fingers lit candles, and as he put the quill to parchment in the most legible _T_ he could make, tears blotched the sheet.

Alistair was only four lines into his letter when the door splintered open. Ink splattered as the quill ripped through the page. _“BLOODY FUCKING VOID!”_ he yelled, jumping up so fast the chair fell.

Shale straightened, Teagan beside her. The door swung half-off its hinges. “Thank you, Shale.” Teagan dismissed the golem.

“Teagan, what the fuck are you thinking?!” Alistair almost screamed.

“Calm down, nephew. We’ve been calling for hours, it’s midday already.” Teagan stepped in and closed what he could of the broken door.

“I don’t care how fucking late it is.” Alistair jerked his chair up and sat down hard. The letter was ruined. He couldn’t read anything but her name atop a few words that now made no sense. “Fucking void, just _get out,_ Teagan!” He threw the quill and ripped the ruined letter from the parchment roll.

“Maker’s breath, have you gone through that whole bottle? _Alistair.”_

“I don’t fucking need anyone else telling me how much I’ve _fucking failed,_ alright? _I know, I get it._ Now get out.”

Teagan sighed. “Alistair, what happened? Why did she leave this time?”

“It’s none of your sodding business. _Just leave!”_ he growled.

“No, tell me. You’re drunk, she’s gone, you’ve locked yourself in the room all day. I care about what happens to you, Alistair. You’re my nephew, I want-”

“No, you’re not! You’re _Cailan’s_ uncle, _not mine.”_

Teagan sighed again. “What did she say?”

Alistair put the bottle to his lips, but Teagan ripped it from his hands. It took more effort than Alistair guessed to keep his face straight. His lip quivered before long. “It’s what she _didn’t_ say,” he finally muttered. “She doesn’t love me anymore.”

“She _didn’t_ say it, so that means she doesn’t?”

 _“No!_ I-” he sighed. “We don’t say _I love you_ _,_ it’s _I more than love you._ It’s been like that since H- since _Haven_ _._ They were _her_ words, and I put them in my vows to her. She's never said _I love you,_ she said it felt it an _inadequate expression_ for how she felt about me. Until today. She said _I love you,_ and then _left.”_ Uneven breath rattled his ribs. “I drove my wife away, Teagan. _I_ did it. Not Loghain, not Anora. _Me.”_ Alistair felt the sob before it rose, but couldn’t stop it. _“She didn’t even give me time to fix it!”_

“I truly don’t believe that, Alistair. She does not wish to live without you.”

Alistair gestured outside, staring at Teagan, unsure how the man didn’t understand. “She’s _gone,_ Teagan! _My wife left me!”_

“You had an argument, Alistair, not divorce.” Teagan held up his hand as Alistair tried to speak again. “Alistair, listen to me. Tesslyn is… _Tesslyn._ There are no words to describe her. What goes on in her mind is a mystery greater than the Maker Himself; I’m sure this is not news to you. When she came to me for help, there were times she was so upset she broke everything she could get her hands on. Lanterns, pots, bottles, _full_ bottles. She threw chairs off my balcony, books, _coin_ even. She took her anger out on me, but she _stayed._ Because that is how Tesslyn _is._ She is loyal to those who care about her. _Since_ the destruction of my house, she has grown up, but the mysteries of her mind remain the same. Yesterday you fought with your wife, and today she is taking a day for herself. This is _good_ for her. In Ferelden, she is either shunned or coddled, and frankly, coddling is too much sometimes. She is not a delicate flower. Even when you brought her back to wean, she damaged my house; she threw a glass at me, do you recall? She is not helpless, and her anger is passionate. She loves you - _more than loves you,_ so be it, that is often more evident to me than the Maker’s influence on this world.

“She deals with her anger differently than she used to,” Teagan continued. “I think in part that is for your sake, she doesn’t wish you to worry so much. But since she was a child, she’s needed to _bleed_ it out. She once told me anger is a weakness because it makes her cry. She _fights_ it out.”

“But she didn’t leave angry. She left not knowing where she wanted to go, and she took her dagger because she wasn’t sure where she’d end up.”

“Hm.” Teagan’s gaze strayed in thought. “Maybe she’ll rid us of Loghain, then.”

“That’s not funny.”

“No, I know, I apologize.” He shifted his weight at the edge of the bed and shook what was left in the bottle. “Tesslyn’s never been good with words.” He met Alistair’s eyes again. “You know this. Dispelling anger through bloodshed is her way. It could be punching a wall till her knuckles bleed, or her fights with Anora. Or her account of Rendon Howe’s death. When she is ready, she will return. I can say this with utmost confidence, Alistair, she is _not_ leaving you. You are the best thing to happen to Tesslyn. Your marriage has unfortunately had to survive against Darkspawn and malefecars and living nightmares, but it _has survived._ Trust me when I say if Tesslyn thought she was better off without you, she would have left long ago.”

Alistair shook his head. “She just _now_ started thinking that. It wasn’t like this before.”

“So why aren’t you out looking for her? If you’re truly worried she has not given you time to remedy your problem, why aren’t you seeking her?”

Alistair fought more tears when his face scrunched again. “I want her to come back. I want her to _want_ to come back.”

“And if she is waiting for you to hunt her down?”

Alistair stared. “But what if I go looking for and she resents me for not respecting her wishes?” He felt so _helpless._ He didn’t remember Haven feeling so bad. “She wants to be alone. Teagan, she’s _never_ asked to be alone. I mean, even when she did, she always stayed where I could feel her. But she completely left. She doesn’t want to see me or feel me.”

Teagan studied him in silence for a while. Then, “Get up.” He set the bottle on the vanity. “Get up, get dressed. Drink a pail of water to flush the drink out, and take your sword outside. Run, fight, chop wood, do whatever Wardens do with that Orlesian fellow. But get up and fix _Alistair._ You cannot hope to fix your marriage if you don’t know how to fix yourself. Whatever the problem, show her you can remedy it. _Get up and be the man your wife needs.”_

Easier said than done again, especially when dressed and armed, Alistair was coddled by everyone, even Pádraig and Zevran. He must have looked worse than terrible.

He had no appetite and couldn’t focus on training, so Sten suggested running. Just three of them this time, Sten, Alistair, and Riordan. Through the market and side streets, over bridges and down by the docks they ran, stopping only at wells and to relieve themselves. They ran past the palace and two small castles downhill of it. As far and wide as the city stretched. His legs burned and his skin felt aflame, but Alistair ran till the sun dropped behind the city walls and torches went up on main roads. Sore and winded and soaked with sweat, Alistair slowed to a stop to wait for Arl Eamon’s gates to open. He still missed Tess, still couldn’t believe she left like she did. But he was hungry and his mind exhausted, and actually felt better than he had all day.

A letter with Anora’s seal was thrust into his hand as soon as he stepped inside. Guzzling water and catching his breath, Alistair read. Anora wished to have tea a day earlier than planned. She had _exciting news_ and wished to share the excitement with Tess.

 _Great._ Anora was half the reason Tess almost didn’t come back with him last night. This wasn’t going to make anything any easier. She’d probably see the unplanned visit as proof of her suspicion, no matter how Alistair might argue he had no interest in Anora.

Alistair looked around. Over Riordan, Alistair couldn’t feel Tess at all. “Where is she?” he asked Pádraig.

Pádraig rocked against the wall, tense, clenching his jaw. Alistair hadn’t seen the look on his face before. Not quite concern, not quite irritation. Pádraig shook his head.

“What? What does that mean? She’s _not here?”_ Alistair stared at him.

“I honestly hoped she’d come back with you,” Pádraig said. “She took the dog when she left-” he broke off at the change on Alistair’s face.

Tess would only take Po if she never meant to come back. She’d said so before, in the Deep Roads. Said she wanted to take her mabari and avoid people so she wouldn’t be hurt again.

 _“Find_ her!” Alistair cried out. “I don’t care how, just get out there and find her! What’s the point of her fucking guard if you don’t keep her safe? _FIND HER!”_ he yelled at his friend.

Pádraig looked conflicted, torn between duty and friendship. “I was trying to respect her privacy, Alistair. _Not_ doing so caused a great rift in this house yesterday.”

“I don’t fucking care, Pádraig! I will _not_ let this morning be how I say goodbye to my wife! _Get out there and find her now!”_

Knights scurried around for only a moment before her entire elite guard flung the doors open. But the last two didn’t make it outside when they spun about-face and stepped apart at attention.

Tess walked in with Po, eyeing the guard with suspicion.

Alistair’s gut leapt to his throat in relief, and he took a step. Then froze. _Love,_ not _More than love._ Tess eyed him as well, his sweat-soaked underclothes and heated skin.

Without relaxing her frown, she thrust a parchment towards Pádraig. “Take your men and follow the roads to that address. I need the mess cleaned by morning.”

Pádraig raised a single brow at her after a glance to the small scroll. “Your Majesty?” he asked.

Teagan snatched the parchment from Pádraig and frowned.

“Where’s your coat?” Alistair didn’t mean to demand it. It was cold enough to see breath outside. He’d been worried.

“I left it behind. I got blood on it.” Tess said. All eyes flew to her.

 _“Tesslyn?”_ Teagan stared in question.

“There are bodies to burn, get to it.” She looked only at Pádraig.

“Your Majesty, it’s _dark,_ and I have _no_ idea where these roads lead at night.” Pádraig was certainly concerned now.

Tess’ brows shot up with a scoff, shrugging as if Pádraig had told her she was full of shit. “Then you’d _best hurry._ There are _bodies_ _,_ Pádraig. They _need_ to be burned before disease and maggots set in. I _want_ them burned by _sunrise._ The main roads leads straight there, it’s the small northernmost castle downhill from the palace. You can’t miss it.”

“Those castles we ran by just now?” Alistair took the paper from Teagan. It was a map of Denerim, with a trail of ink blots from Eamon’s manor to the _small_ castle she’d marked with an _X._ Even in twilight, Alistair saw nothing _small_ about the castles near the palace; larger than he remembered Redcliffe castle, though he supposed compared to the palace it was small. Alistair searched Tess. Her eyes wandered faces as Pádraig ordered his men to gather torches. _She_ looked taken aback when her gaze fell on Alistair.

“What?” she challenged. “I _want_ my _home_ back. I want _my bed.”_

“This is your _home?”_ Alistair pointed to the _X._ “What do you mean _bodies?”_

 _“Bodies_ as in _dead people._ Why do you all look so surprised? I used to _kill_ people for a living. I’m a _rogue._ If I could disarm you all while I was starving in the Deep Roads, I can certainly sneak up on people _now.”_

Alistair frowned. “Your family’s home was taken over by Howe’s men. You killed them _all?”_ The last time she’d been so clever by herself in battle was when she had lyrium. He grabbed her chin and leaned in to sniff her mouth.

 _“Stop it!”_ She shoved his face away. “I’m perfectly capable of killing people without lyrium, Alistair! _Why_ are you honestly surprised I did this? You’ve seen me kill before! It’s not like I _can’t!_ Contrary to popular belief in this house, I’m more capable of protecting myself than _any_ of you!” Her face distorted in pain and frustration. “I just want my own fucking home back, is that _too much?_ There are too many people here! I have no room to move without walking into someone, I can’t find my _dog_ half the time-” Po barked from just outside “-I have to wait my turn for water or to _pee!”_

It was just like yesterday before she left for the tavern. She felt he was punishing her for thinking on her own again, only this time, Alistair knew what was wrong. He sighed and held the map out to Pádraig, daring himself to look in his wife’s eyes. “I told you we would get it done, Tess. You didn’t have to do it alone.”

“But I _did,_ because I don’t want to wait until this blasted city destroys the _only_ good thing in my life before it happens!” Her eyes shimmered as she ducked her head. Tess shoved past them and headed straight for their quarters.

Alistair looked to Teagan for silent help, but Teagan only nodded towards Tess and motioned for Alistair to follow.

She stood gaping just inside their room. “What the fuck happened to the _door?”_ As if the door had been broken to hurt her. So close to tears.

Alistair closed it the best he could; it leaned well enough against the door frame but he’d have to move the vanity over to keep it from falling in the night. “I sort of locked myself in here this morning.” Concern joined confusion on her face. “Shale broke it down. I _thought_ you _left,_ Tess. For _good._ I drank almost that whole bottle at once.”

“I _did_ leave. I hadn’t planned on coming back.” She shook her head. Another look at the broken door spilled her tears. “Maker, can I have just _one_ thing _not break_ in my life?” She stumbled backwards until her legs hit the bed, then she crumbled.

Alistair couldn’t stop the swelling in his eyes. _She hadn’t meant to come back. She had wanted to leave him forever._

But she _did_ come back. What did that mean?

His feet dragged as he made his way over. Alistair sank on the edge next to her. _Broken_ husband and wife, two heads hung, tears dripping from each of them. He didn’t know what to do. The past day had changed him significantly. Sorrow and emptiness, like a grave inside. He was sure it showed on his face.

“I’m sorry I made you stop loving me.” He almost couldn’t hear his own voice.

She sobbed again. “Oh, Alistair, I don’t _not_ love you! I never stopped!” She wiped her hands across her face. “I knew if I said _goodbye_ you wouldn’t let me leave. So I said something I knew would make you pause long enough for me to leave! But I never stopped! I lo-” she gasped.

He looked at her. Barely visible past his leaking eyes. “You said that to _hurt_ me?” It was as if she said it again.

“It _hurts!_ I love you so much it _hurts,_ Alistair! I just wanted it to _stop_ hurting! How you act with A-Anora, how you keep getting mad at me when I don-don’t know what I did! I thought if I _left_ and I wasn’t _around_ that, it would stop hurting! But I go-” her chest jerked while she choked on her sobs. “But when I killed them all and walked around, I got to my parents room-” Her face pinched and she shook her head. “I don’t want to live there without you! I don’t want to live _anywhere_ without you!” After a choppy attempt to catch her breath, she turned her head. Remorse and loneliness and fear painted her face. Heartbreak distorted it. “I’m so sorry. I don’t- I love you so much. _More_ than love you so much!” She fumbled for his hand and brought it to her chest. Like he used to do when he wanted her to feel how she sped his heartbeat. She seemed unaware her chest jumped with every gasp and that was all he felt beneath her skin.

“You came back so I would sleep with you there?”

“I want us to go there,” her lungs jerked and vibrated his fingers. “It’s big enough for all of us. I mean, most of them will still have to camp outside, but we have more sp-space than here. I just-” another flood of tears cringed her body. “You’re so busy with An- with being king…I just want time and room to spend with my husband. Maybe…maybe I’m not your best friend anymore, but you’re _mine._ I don’t feel comfortable with anyone else.” Alistair blinked to clear his view, but she couldn’t blink enough. “I don’t want anyone else with me. I can’t sleep next to anyone else, I don’t- I never wanted to spend forever with someone before you, I don’t want to wake up to someone else. I don’t want any other voice in my ear.”

“You changed, Tess. _Overnight,_ you changed. You were a different person two days ago.”

“You _haven’t talked_ to me for two days.” She searched his face.

“And now I don’t think I can be the same person _I_ was two days ago,” he continued. “You _ripped_ a _hole_ in me, Tess. _I can’t_ live without you. I know how pathetic that sounds, but it’s true. I never thought there would be a day we didn’t need each other. Where _you_ don’t need _me.”_

“You’re right. I _don’t_ need you anymore. But I _want_ you. Isn’t that _better_ than need? I _chose_ to come back. Even though it means facing people that haunt my dreams, I came back. I _choose you.”_

His heart sank, disappointed in himself already just for thinking it: “You shouldn’t choose a man who doesn’t know how to help you, Tess.”

She choked out a laugh. Amidst tears and sniffles, she smiled. “You shouldn’t have such low standards for women, Alistair.”

But her words went deep inside him. “You’re above standards,” he told her. “You’ve always been. For me, you have. I always saw a Queen, Tess.”

Her mouth drooped into a pout. “You aren’t supposed to turn my lames jokes around.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to leave to be happy again.” Tears spilled down his cheeks again. “I never wanted you to feel that way. I’m glad you came back. I just want a chance to make it right. I really thought you left before I had chance to fix us.”

“May I have a kiss?” so broken he barely understood it.

It was his turn to laugh. “I am _dripping_ in all the wrong places, Tess. I need a bath terribly.” He didn’t want to rub his snot on her.

“Please?” she asked. When Alistair hesitated, she squeezed his hand over her chest. _“I more than love you, inside and out.”_

 _Their vows._ His heart shattered all over again.

“Broken and sewn,” he added, “for the rest of my days.” She nodded.

A small reminder they had once chosen _each other,_ for better or worse.

His eyes landed on her mouth; shiny, swollen from tears. He almost didn’t have time to lean in. Her lips were on him in a blink, sliding against his, pushing hard. A noise of bittersweet heartache burst in his throat, and warm arms tightening around him swelled his heart. Holding her; not for the last time anymore, but because _he could._ He was so afraid she'd left before he could do this again.

  



	65. Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tess finally faces her demons. 
> 
> A new Warden emerges from within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Possible Trigger Warning*** Angst, Emotional distress, remembering abuse.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [I am the Fire, by Halestorm](https://youtu.be/8hkmuTvkp_s)  
> [Caribbean Blue, by Enya](https://youtu.be/Jl8iYAo90pE)

**_Tess:_ **

_Choice is all that matters._

_San Amoldo taught me that. Choose to try or choose to cower. Choose to succeed or choose fail. There are no excuses and no one to blame but yourself if you do. The dagger completing its task is only as compelled as its wielder. The dagger is my hand; it is my choice to move it._

_I hate meditation. Always have. Every attempt to clear the clutter in my mind has been a struggle since Loghain. As a child, I had trouble sitting still; eager to move and prove myself. After Loghain and the mage, trying to separate my mind from the busy world became mental self-flagellation. Punishment I inflicted upon myself. Torture, being forced to live with my mistakes. I understood eternal damnation before I understood joy._

_Maker, no, I don’t want to cry._ **Shit**.

 _Here I am, sitting with everyone, trying to_ **meditate** , _and for Alistair’s sake I refused Morrigan’s magic. Maker knows I want it though, I don’t want to live with my thoughts. But I’m fucking sitting here anyway. I was too weak to leave for good, and now I have more pain on my conscience. If only love was a choice._

 _But it_ **was** _a choice. You chose love over loneliness._

_Oh great, my own fucking brain is scolding me now?! Like I don’t fucking criticize myself enough! No! No, this isn’t a fucking choice! I never meant to love him, it just happened! And I’m sitting here fighting myself because I’m weak and don’t want to wake up alone!_

_Everything is a choice. You know this._

_No! No! Fucking void, is this really happening? I don’t have an alter ego! What am I trying to do to myself?! No, you know what? You’re right -_ **I’m** _right! Fuck this, stop it! Yes,_ **everything** _is a fucking forsaken choice, but I wouldn’t_ **be** _in this fucking position, scared of my own fucking memories if it wasn’t for Loghain!_ **He** _made a choice_ **too!** _Everything I’m scared of today boils down to him! He had a_ **choice** _not to use me!_ **He** **made** _the choice to make me everyone’s favorite fucking monster! It was_ **his** _choice to see_ **wench** _where others saw a Teyrn’s daughter!_ **His** _choice to_ **touch** _me and-and_ **rob** _me of what should have been saved for Alistair!_ **He** _made those choices!_ **He** _called the mage,_ **he** _tied me down,_ **he** _panicked over the Teyrn’s daughter_ **possibly** _having his spawn! WHEN HE COULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING DIFFERENT! Maker forbid_ **he** _get caught, but it’s okay for_ **me** _to be punished?!_ **Loghain** _made all these choices that I can’t escape from today! It is_ **his** _fault I’m afraid of my own fucking mind - of_ **you!**

_But you had choices as well. You chose to follow him._

_Of course I did! The entire fucking country followed him! I was born to recognize him as the great general who led the King’s army! Loghain’s skill saved us from Orlais, of course I looked up to him! I was told I must! He was a hero! Who doesn’t idolize a hero? Fucking shit, just leave me! Go away, I don’t want you here!_

_But I_ **am** _you. I cannot leave._

_But I’m fucking sobbing! In meditation! When everyone is trying to fucking clear their heads and calm down!_

_So stop._

_What?!_

_Stop crying._

_I- what? How do I just stop when you’ve fucking shoved this in my face?_ **You made** _me remember him,_ **you** _made me bring it all back! This is_ **exactly** _what I don’t want!_

 _Now you are blaming me. You are blaming_ **you**. _This is good. Better._

_…What?_

_You are choosing to blame me now. But I am you. You are finally taking responsibility for your actions. You chose to think of him. I did not bring him up. I bought up love._

_No…you said it was_ **my** _fault._

_I reminded you the choice to love was yours. So if love is a choice, isn’t blame? Isn’t happiness? You would sit with your husband and let another man keep you from being happy?_

_I don’t have a choice! I’ve never had a choice! I never choose to think of him! Loghain poisons my mind from afar, I can’t stop him from entering!_

_No, thoughts cannot be prevented. But how you think them is a choice. Just as thinking how to use your dagger. Just as Alistair’s words can be a weapon. Just like San Amoldo said. You can choose to cut restraints or cut a neck. Words can thank or words can scold. Thoughts can clutter or organize. Even bitter memories can bring a smile if you think them right. Everything is a choice. So why do you choose this misery?_

_I don’t…I don’t choose it. I’m trying to be happy, I’ve tried so hard._

_We have tried to distract ourself with Alistair and this Blight. Distraction is only a temporary relief. When distraction is gone, when we have finally realized our happiness is not Alistair’s responsibility, there is is only one thing left._

_What?_ **What** _is left?_

_If our happiness is not Alistair’s responsibility, it is ours. But we are not happy. Are we?_

_No. Not right now. Not lately. It’s why I tried to leave yesterday._

_But we chose love. We_ **want** _to be happy. We returned to find it._

_Yes._

_So where is it?_

_…I don’t know. I don’t even know what happiness is. Every time something good has happened, the world just flips me on my back. I thought…I thought not marrying Cailan would make happy. I thought Loghain had the quickest path to that happiness. I let him. Oh, Maker, I_ **let** _him. I let Loghain do_ **everything** _to me._

_Do we regret it?_

_Yes. I wish I would have said no._

_But... then I would have married Cailan. I'd nev-_

_Maybe?_

_…No. I used to think so. But the kind of person I am led me straight to Alistair. And he is so different than I expected. He is so much more than I hoped he’d be. So…no. If I regretted it, then I’d regret Alistair. And I don’t. He has been every bit of hope I’ve wished for._

_…do I really hate Loghain? I never used to. I want to be happy with Alistair, not hurt because of Loghain._

_This was my choice._ **Is** _my choice. Isn’t it?_

_Accepting my fate?_

_Accepting my past. The present makes enduring the past worth it._

_Does that mean I forgive myself?_

_Forgive?_

_…yes._

_Yes. I forgive myself. I don’t want my past changed. I would not have found Alistair if it had changed._

_So it_ **is** _my fault._ **I’ve** _been the one keeping Loghain so close. I’ve been so busy trying to push him out but I can’t do that without erasing Alistair._

_Maybe I should thank him. Maker, how is this funny?_

_Thank Loghain?_

_Yes, thank him. Everything he did led me straight to Alistair. And Anora, I should thank her for marrying Cailan for me. I got the brother I wanted._

_This is the end I wanted. I never expected the journey to be like it has, but I only focused on the end, not_ **how** _I wanted it to end._

 _I wanted this. I wanted_ **exactly** _this. I_ **chose** _it._

 _I chose this life, even details like Celene and Teagan. I chose Alistair and he has been wonderful, even through our struggles._ **Life** _has been wonderful._ **My** _life._

 **My** _choice._

_No excuses and no one to blame. Not blame. Events; things that had to happen when I chose Alistair. Steps along the way._

_Oh, Amoldo. Teaching me even in death._

_The draft from the doors cools my eyelashes as tears part. It’s brighter in here than I remember._

_A deep breath. Full, cool, relieving. Relaxing my shoulders as it leaves my lungs. It’s never been this easy to breathe before._

 

 

**Alistair:**

Too sudden. Her tears stopped so quickly. Other than deep breathing, Tess was _so still._ Full, draining sobs, now…nothing. Stillness.

Alistair reached for her hand, but a sharp hiss tore his attention. He looked over to see Sten shaking his head. _Let her be,_ so quiet Alistair barely heard him.

Alistair didn’t know what to do. If she was sad, he wanted to hold his wife. But Sten thought she needed to be left alone. Was she dreaming?

With each breath, she relaxed more. Slowly her back straightened, breath regulating akin to when she slept. Her fists loosened until palms and fingers lay open on her lap. The heavy creases in her face smoothed before his eyes. Tess was changing. _Physically changing._

She giggled. _Giggled._ What was _happening?_

Another deep breath; fuller than the rest, expanding her chest, aligning her shoulders to this new posture. Her eyelids spread, blinking as she looked around.

 _Content._ As her eyes landed on Alistair, he saw his wife almost emanate a thing he’d only glimpsed in her before. For the first time since they met, _Tess was content._

Alistair did not question her change. Whatever happened in her mind, it was significant. Everything about her was at peace. No longer rigid, no darting eyes, not listening for danger. Words came out slower, movement fluid and… _graceful,_ even. He’d never seen her so comfortable with herself before. Her eyes beamed with love and happiness that did not wane as she left Alistair’s gaze. _Happy,_ Tess was _finally happy._ She held his hand, remained at his side. Stood on her toes for a kiss. _Asked_ a servant to fill the bathtub. Thanked Sten for leading meditation.

As Alistair walked her back to their quarters, eyes everywhere curiously watched the woman who’d drowned for _days_ in emotional pain till a moment ago.

He bathed her again. Tess closed her eyes and swayed under his hands, enjoying every stream of water he poured. She thanked _him_ now, for bathing her and taking care of her, for loving her enough to put her first even when he might need something more.

Alistair’s eyes watered. He poured another bowl of water, rinsing away suds, turning hair to silk that still steamed. Never could he have pictured this change in her. Even harder, _heartbreaking,_ to think all those days of laughter long ago, she was never truly happy. Alistair wasn’t even sure what _it_ was, but he didn’t dare risk losing it by asking what happened. “You never fail to amaze me,” he told her, so full of wonder and emotion it came out in a whisper.

It was a veil that washed over the manor and cleansed them all. _Tess_  was that veil, and they were all happy _with_ her. Relief was the new aura, just like that. Because of Tess.  

Before dressing himself, Alistair remembered the letter from last night. “Don’t forget Anora,” he said softly, fearing it might upset her again. “It said _tea;_ I assume she meant afternoon tea. You don’t have to stay,” he assured her. “Or I’ll leave, I can meet with her somewhere else.” He pulled her arms through a heavy wool robe; inside or out now, the chill called for extra clothes, even with fires roaring.

“No.” Her eyes moved in thought. The fear and anger he was used to in her eyes did not reappear. _Maker, please let this be a good sign._ “I’ll stay. I don’t mind. But I need to eat first. I don’t know if I can handle Eamon’s tea on an empty stomach after all that Qunari training. Have you seen my stomach?” she met his eyes. “I’m starting to see _muscle.”_ No longer quick to ignite. Surely this was something only the Maker could accomplish in Tess? 

Alistair smiled for his wife. “Well, then forget about me, _you_ can be the one to intimidate Loghain.”

She frowned in disgust. “You want me to look like _Sten?”_

Alistair laughed. “Maybe not. But if you were _that_ tall, it might make... _standing up_ a little easier.”

Her brows crossed in confusion, then her eyes flew open. Then she frowned again, accusation slowly melted into curious contemplation. She met his eyes again when he giggled. “You’re a naughty influence.” She pulled away. “I need to find food. Before I get any ridiculous ideas about chairs or something else to compensate for my lack of height.”

Alistair watched her disappear from the room, a deep sigh holding his chest. He was glad her mood had improved, but for how long? Before she woke this morning, Alistair had contemplated Anora’s request for tea a day early, and Tess upset over Anora’s reaction to him. Wynne’s advice from days ago came to mind, as did Alistair’s resemblance to his brother and father. Wynne suggested appealing to Anora’s sense of _love_ since Alistair and Tess reminded her of Cailan’s lack of affection. The only way Alistair knew to affect Anora so deep, _if_ the woman had really loved Cailan, was to _look_ like Cailan. It was an advantage they needed.

So much for relief and happiness. Tess was going to _slaughter_ him.

Alistair shoved his legs through winter pants and darted down the hall, hoping Tess took her time in the kitchen. He yelped when he ran smack into Teagan. “Oh, thank the Maker! _Quick,_ I need shaving cream.” He motioned for Teagan to put it in his hands.

“What?” Teagan choked. He stared like Alistair was mad, his eyes landing on the bushy whiskers Alistair had so adamantly insisted on keeping. “That is _not_ the way to make amends when she is finally agreeable, Alistair! She will _kill_ me!” Teagan hissed.

 _“Yes,_ but you’ll have a head start, because she’ll kill _me first.”_ He braced Teagan’s shoulders. _“Please.”_

Teagan growled and sighed at the same time. _“Why_ do you wish to risk your marriage again so soon?”

“I’m not trying to risk my marriage. I look like Cailan, right? _Because_ I look like Maric?”

“Yes. An uncanny resemblance that beard has kindly helped disguise.”

“Well, _Anora_ is coming for tea today. Wynne says Anora misses Cailan.”

Teagan paused, then clapped Alistair’s arm. “I am _spitefully_ going to enjoy this.” Alistair followed Teagan into his quarters, waited while the Bann carefully mixed powder with water till it frothed and held in place. “If she catches you, this is _not mine,”_ Teagan said, filling Alistair’s hands with a bowl of frothy cream and a shaving razor.

Tess had not returned. Maybe she would eat in the kitchen and this would be easier than Alistair feared. He settled at the vanity in their quarters, lit candle around him till he could see his face clearly in the mirror, and reluctantly lathered his _entire beard._ He hadn’t shaved for over a year. _What did he even look like under there anymore?_

The first careful scrape brought a groan of regret. The patch of bare skin was like undressing in the Chantry; already he felt naked.  _What was he thinking?_ It was too late now though. He’d already started. He could not reverse it.

A metallic clank and multiple thuds tore Alistair’s eyes from the mirror. Over glowing candle tops, Tess stood agape, a platter and various foods scattered about her feet. Alistair froze, half his beard gone, blade stuck in mid-shave on his neck.

Tess frowned, her right hand in a fist; the only reason the wine bottle didn’t fall. She inhaled through her nose before jutting her empty left hand out of the room. _“Cailan,_ get _out_ of my room _right now!”_

Teagan’s voice burst through the manor like a bomb of laughter. Tess’ eyes diverted towards the hall with a deeper frown, then returned to Alistair when he chuckled. “Teagan wants you to know these are _not_ his shaving supplies,” he joked. Unsure of her true emotion yet, Alistair continued shaving. Hopefully if he tried to force humor, she would not be _too upset._

Tess crossed her arms, not moving from the doorway or the mess at her feet, even as Po trotted over and began eating. Wine bottle still in her hand, Tess remained in severe disapproval. “This is _punishment,_ isn’t it?” she said after watching him scrape off his mustache. “For trying to leave yesterday?”

Alistair laughed quietly. “No.” He met her eyes while he rinsed off the razor. So far no anger. Surprise more than anything. She rather seemed to be playing up her dislike. “Anora’s coming, remember? I want to shock her.” He glanced at her again as he put the blade to the other side of his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I knew what you would say-”

“Like, _Don’t fucking think about it?”_ she sassed.

Alistair smirked. “Yes, exactly. _But_ I think we need this advantage right now. I thought it a better option than me telling her what to do.” He craned his neck to reach his jaw. “It sounded better in my head, anyway.”

The frown on her face softened, but not much. “Well…I won’t thank you for _shaving,_ but…thank you for remembering…” she trailed off gently. Before Alistair could respond: “But don’t you _dare_ try to kiss me till that grows back! Am I understood?” Alistair had to pull the razor from his neck so he could laugh. She excused herself to get more food, and over the sound of Po’s slurps and chomps, Alistair heard his wife complain, intentional emphasis on _Married to a bloody twelve year old!_

Alistair laughed again, though as he scraped off the rest of his course face hair, he agreed fully. He looked _ten_ at best. He sighed at his reflection. Maker, this was…almost pitiful. No wonder his father had kept a beard.

Tess returned as he finished cleaning up. Despite his lack of beard, she allowed Alistair to eat with her before they dressed for tea.

 _Stared,_ rather.

They sat on the bed facing each other, the platter and wine between them, no words while Tess silently determined whether his beardless face was friend or foe.

“It’s not going to bite,” he joked, bringing the bottle to his mouth.

“I’m most positive it will.” Her tone was teasing, eyes and mouth flinching in amusement though she was determined to wear a frown. Whatever happened to her during meditation was more powerful than Alistair could imagine. He was glad she took him shaving so well. Glad she finally enjoyed something to the core for once.

Alistair tried to hide a smile with a chunk of apple. “I’m sorry I look so young.” When a moment passed, he met her eyes. Her lips were pursed off to the side, the strongest attempt to stop a smile he’d seen in his life. He crumbled into laughter, unable to hold it in. “Maker, I’m _so sorry!”_ he giggled. “It’s _worse_ than you said! I look fucking _nine!”_ Tess slapped a hand over her mouth when a noise tried to escape. Trying to quiet his laughter shook Alistair. “I want to you to know I _sincerely regret_ this! I have a feeling Anora will ask me where my bloody parents are!” Tess _burst,_ her voice ringing like a hundred bells and startled owls, laughter so hard it rolled her off the bed. The sweetest song Alistair heard in ages.

Her new confidence was inspiring. Tess stared at her reflection as Alistair straightened her gown; simple, bold, accenting the highlights of her eyes, though she needed no help from jewels or accents today. She was radiant, she looked _happy_ with herself; a thing unheard of till now, especially when mirrors were concerned. The first time she did not touch the scar on her face and look repulsed. Alistair led her down the corridor by the arm, trying to be a _proper_ gentleman as his wife walked delicately at his side. More than anything, he wanted to _show_ her he acknowledged her change.

 _Everyone stared._ Teagan shook his head in amusement. Eamon did a double-take in disbelief. Wynne said Alistair cleaned up nicely. Oghren grumbled something about _Sodding surfacers letting children run the place._ Shale huffed and Morrigan scoffed. Zevran jumped into the walk and hooked arms with Tess.

 _“So!”_ their blonde elf said, “I noticed you’ve taken advantage of Alistair’s vacation,” he began. Alistair grinned; Tess squeezed his arm with a smirk. “Personally, I would not have taken you for a _firesprite-”_ Alistair almost choked; Templars used that word to describe older female mages who charm younger men into romance. “-but while you are having fun, _when_ is it _my_ turn? No, do not worry, Alistair will _never_ find out.”

Tess snorted. _“Stop_ it!” she tittered.

“Nice try, Zev.” Alistair grinned at his friend.

Zevran widened his eyes and whipped his head around as if unable to find the source. He cursed in Antivan. “Did you hear that? I thought I heard Alistair. _Shit!”_ He pointed a finger at Tess. “This never happened!” Then slipped out of sight just as quickly as he fell in step with them. Tess breathed through laughter, her face pinker than Alistair remembered she could blush.

The announcement of Anora coincided with the sound of screaming kettles from the kitchen. Alistair and Tess stood side-by-side in the entry hall. For the first time, they _both_ stood tall, apt, hands clasped behind their backs, _confident_ _._ Last time Anora came for tea, only Alistair had been so assured. He glanced at his wife. Unwavering, bravely facing what she said triggered her past. Her chest heaved in regular motions, smooth, even. No sign of panic. No hint of anger. Tess looked ready for whatever Anora might throw at them. She _wanted_ to stand with him and approach their adversary. Inspiring indeed; it motivated Alistair even more.

The heavy doors swung open. Dust sparkled in the late autumn light as two cloaked figures stepped in. Anora pushed back her hood. Then froze.

 _“Cailan?”_ Unmistakable shock and wonder flooded Anora’s face. A moment of silence as Alistair returned Anora’s stare. _Hope_ \- or fear? - so strong it almost grew its own shadow. _The exact reaction he wanted from her._ She swallowed hard, blinking before her eyes moved to Tess, roaming up and down, trying to figure out why _Tess_ was with a man her father announced dead - a man who’d preferred Tess over his wife. Her sigh took its time arriving. Anora’s eyes twitched, incredulous she fell prey to their deception. “Ah. _Alistair.”_

Tess, poised and calm, shifted her weight beside Alistair. “Hello, Anora.”

 


	66. What We Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Migrating to the Couslands' Denerim home relieves the party of cramped quarters. But this is _Tess'_ home; back in her territory with her newfound confidence, Tess is in charge, and Alistair feels overshadowed. Insecurity sets in, though fear of her leaving makes him hold it in. Despite her plea, Alistair shuts down again, letting anxiety fester. He hasn't a clue how to fix himself, and doesn't know who he resents more, Tess or himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***NSFW*** Sexual; masturbation, sexual fantasy, sexual frustration, threesome, f/m/f. Light Dominance and Submission.
> 
> ***Trigger Warning*** Heavy Angst: distress, anxiety; nightmares; frustration, depression; self-degradation, self-loathing.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Madness, by Muse](https://youtu.be/Ek0SgwWmF9w)

Tess was a Queen in her own home. Through every room she doled out orders. What should be where and what to remove, Tess commanded the knights to restore the Cousland home. Every tent had a designated place around her property. The private barracks, once home to Fergus Cousland's most trusted knights, now belonged to Pádraig and the Elite Guard. The Wardens’ party and Riordan were given guest rooms. Teagan, despite more room at Eamon’s now, opted to stay with Alistair and Tess. They were Tess’ personal collection of people.

She did not bring up the argument that prompted her to leave, so Alistair tried to forget it happened. Instead, he tried to focus on accommodating his wife, but this left him empty. To him, it felt like they were putting on an act. Tess’ change was so potent it was not clear if she hid dissatisfaction well or was genuinely at peace. _He_ felt there was something missing.

…and there was. _Alistair_ was missing. Though it was _his_ choice to get up each morning and train, he relinquished all commanded to Tess. He feared her leaving so much he let her control everything. Pádraig came to him for daily orders, but Alistair referred him to Tess. Tess hired new servants for her house, but when they asked Alistair for direction, Alistair turned them to Tess. So afraid of her leaving him again that he refused to _try_. Never try, never fail; never fail, wife would never leave. He was aware of his actions and the consequences each time he deflected to Tess. First a bad husband, now invisible supporting spectator; that’s how he felt. He was making himself into the nobody-stable boy again, and he resented himself for it.

Fruition of training was starting to show. Alistair saw himself as if looking from above. He hit harder, ran faster, held out longer for muscle failure. He ate more and went through more water than everyone but Sten and Po. Tess made the kitchen staff keep up with his appetite. Fergus Cousland’s clothes were now too small, requiring Alistair to visit the tailor; for the first time in his life, _clothes meant for Alistair_ ,not clothes lying around that just happened to fit.

But it didn’t help his mood. As his size increased, so did his tolerance for drink; as if it wasn’t hard enough to get drunk already. Reclusive nights with ample strong drink; ale did nothing for him now. He pondered the motive of his efforts. Bulking up wasn’t even to scare Loghain anymore, it was nothing more than an excuse to hit something. At this rate, it would be  _Tess_ shouting down Loghain at the Landsmeet.

Pádraig, Zevran, and Oghren teased about a _look_ Tess wore when she eyed him, but Alistair didn’t see it. The silk ties lay on the bed one day; another day sat the box of _toys_ from Hot Lava; yet another lay the oil and bag of _plugs_. But Alistair dismissed them all. He didn’t see what the others saw, he didn’t _feel_ it. Tess tried to bathe him, but he dismissed this as well. Every day he hit Sten harder and harder, sparring without weapons -  _the only time he felt in control._ Fists and blood flew until Tess ran outside screaming to stop before they killed each other, though Alistair felt no pain. Tess cleaned his bleeding lip in privacy, where she let her hands trail, dip under his shirt, trace the grooves of his sculpting front … _but nothing_. In his fear of screwing up _everything,_ Alistair had made himself numb to touch.

 _He couldn’t remember the last time they made love._ Tess tried to talk to him, sat behind him on the bed hugging him when he wouldn't talk, but it didn’t help. He  _wanted_ to talk; wanted to say he needed her to _need_ him, needed her to make him feel important, mighty, _able_ again. Without _her_ need, he desired nothing. It was her _need_ for Alistair to keep her safe and happy that was his reason for survival since they met. He could not feel it on his own, _he needed her_ from the beginning. He _wanted_ her to rip his clothes off and _make_ him feel like a man again. Instead, Alistair blamed training:  _worn out, no energy_. How could he show his love without pushing her away again? Better to sit stagnant in reach than risk it all.

On top of feeling inadequate, Anora made things worse. Her visit the day Alistair shaved had been news: Anora overheard Loghain arguing with Ser Cauthrien about Denerim’s Alienage. It was only suspicious to the Wardens because Tess was denied access when she sought new servants for her home. And of course Anora wouldn’t risk her name soiled if her father dabbled in questionable activities. She insisted they help, though neither as _King and Queen_ or _Grey Wardens_ were Tess and Alistair allowed to investigate, and killing the gate guard achieved nothing. _A wasted trip to the Market and back, when Alistair could have been hiding in the library._ Anora came for tea again; her first visit to this Cousland home. No news, but irritated Tess had murdered mercenaries and burned bodies without official sanction. Tess declaimed in place of Alistair, dark and threatening in ways Alistair _used to be;_ Maker, was that only days ago? Anora took the opportunity to belittle them both: Tesslyn for falling back into _old bloody habits,_  and Alistair for suddenly playing the _woman._  Tess slapped Anora so hard the noise echoed and summoned Pádraig from two rooms over. But it was too late. Anora had cut them while their armor was down, _because_ Alistair was off guard.

They dreamed of the Archdemon that night. Screams shook house from floor to ceiling, causing Shale to break the door so the party and knights could _save_ Alistair and Tess. Riordan trying to calm the others down was almost worse. Trembling, sweating, their shelter from the world invaded, and still recovering their bearings, husband and wife screamed for everyone to leave. Neither fell back asleep. Nightmares from the Deep Roads flashed fresh in their minds as if they were back underground. Holding Tess for the first time in days, Alistair felt _Anora_ was responsible. She'd torn them down where it hurt, left them vulnerable for the Archdemon. Both trembled for hours, fright reconnecting them in a way Alistair didn’t want. He was not _manly_ for this. Nothing about an inconsolable nightmare was close to protecting a woman he used to kill for.  

Sleep deprived and running on adrenaline from Sten’s workout left Alistair irritable. He snapped at everyone, including Tess, which vexed _her_ , proving she wasn’t dealing with things as well as she appeared. Alistair's mind reeled, magnifying all noise around him. He fought with Sten when training ended sooner than desired, yelled at a servant about tea, then fought with Teagan over alcohol. Tess’ tension escalated him further, probing him to talk, then marching off huffing. He couldn’t handle it anymore. Days of being _Alistair the silent nobody;_  now failed husband _again_ because he couldn’t quell stress to appease his wife. He left the castle without a word, aggravated, sweaty and cursing, shoving past everyone. There was not enough room to himself. Internal flames that did not wane even though all Wardens were out of range.

Disappointment was an understatement. Alistair had driven his wife away, and now again he was doing what she made him promise to _try harder_ to avoid. Conscious of himself doing it, too, but he could not help it. In Eamon’s house where Alistair was treated as King, because Teagan insisted, it was easier. Alistair thought he knew who he was there; people bowing or submitting, no problems gaining  _respect_. In Tess’ house, Alistair was overlooked. _Overlooked._ Even if her only orders were tea or meals, even though the Theirin née Cousland banners hung in the main halls, this was _Tess’_ house. Alistair had no say in her house. He did not have his own space so what was the point of his own clothes? He was _just another Warden,_ just like he suspected he’d become if he turned down kingship. But he hadn’t even the chance to turn down kingship yet, it was happening _already_. It was chagrin and solitude, the need he expected his wife to know settled in his gut like a sinking anchor. She was the first person to make him feel important, and Alistair had grown addicted to that feeling more than she’d ever been dependent on lyrium or him.

A familiar face ascended the walk, blocking his route to the docks. Alistair diverted into the trees, ducking into the shade of a wide wintergreen. Ser Cauthrien was too busy arguing with the dockhand to notice him, though. Alistair watched her till she vanished, then dropped his head against the tree in a low growl. Another person to eradicate…if Tess didn’t talk them all down first.

He groaned again and pressed a fist against his belly. It was as if his pent up fear and insecurity had finally become a corporeal thing. The Chantry believed discomfort manifested from burying sin until it became solid holy punishment. Right now, he almost believed it.

Ser Cauthrien’s firm voice lingered in his ears. She had the same sharpness Tess used when arguing.

_Tess._

What was Alistair doing out here anyway? Trying to get away? The fire in Tess when she shouted at others used to drive him _wild._

 _Maker, who was he kidding?_ When he wasn’t consciously pushing her from his mind, he _loved_ watching her with Anora. The shrew brought out passion Alistair often saw on Tess when they made love. Oghren once joked the two women should fight naked; even Tess mentioned it, though on the verge of panic. Anora made Tess jealous and possessive. An instinct to hoard her territory. Alistair did it too, he’d felt it around Cailan, and Zevran for awhile, that’s how he recognized it. _Territory_. Alistair was Tess’ territory. He was raw nature furiously trying to keep her in reach, and terribly dependent on her nurture. All so he could provide food and shelter like he’d promised in the first place. Only now, she _had_ safety and food, forcing Alistair to wait until something strong weathered over and took her independence away. Until then, she _owned_ him.

The knot in his gut was growing, or sinking. Stretching below his belt towards his groin. A huff came out. _Owned_ him indeed. The _thought_ of her passion grappled him, it had from the start. He remembered Ostagar, her sassy interaction. Alistair had been _hers_ from the start. Attracted to the passion that broke through to help the wounded soldier, the passion that drove her to the edge but feared jumping. The passion that just needed someone to burn with. _Full of fire begging to be tamed._

A groan slipped his lips as he dipped his hand. _He twitched, scrunched up in his smalls as his fingers pressed through tangled curls. He hadn’t touched himself or let himself enjoy touch for so long. Every graze was dizzying right now._

Despite her addiction and withdrawals, she retained her fire. Bottled it up like a secret weapon, using it when it mattered most to her. _He pulled his hand, fingers fumbling to relieve himself of constriction._ Like yesterday. Watching her glare at Anora, watching her hand leave a mark on a face that knew how to fan flames. _Cool air danced at his crotch and shivered his spine. He was hot in his hand. Maker, he almost wish Tess was here._ Why did he want her to stop? _Did_ he want her to stop? She knew Alistair liked Battle Tess best, but that went far beyond whipping her daggers. When she controlled herself, she _moved_ different. Slow, lingering, _womanly._ Straightening her shoulders pushed her breasts out. Her hips swung wider. _A tight squeeze. Foreskin slid over his crown, almost hiding him completely. He wet his hand and clutched tighter. A small bead pressed out, glistening in the light reflecting from harbor fog._

He wanted them to kiss. He’d heard about it, angry romance, desire fed from igniting heat inside. Anora knew how to ignite her more than anyone. _Ecstasy rolled though him in waves with each tug. Sudden stimulation after cold negligence. Hips responded, filling his palm till his fist hit supple flesh._ He wanted her to watch. Wanted to take his wife right there. _Craved_  the glare on Anora's face as a man who looked like her late husband made Tess wail. He wanted to see her flush like when she’d mistaken him for Cailan. He could almost hear Tess’ nails scratch the tabletop.  _Swelling flow sculpted his shaft, requiring a harder pull. A tighter grip. He braced the tree, fucking his hand as if wife was right there with an open mouth. A breathless whimper._ He wanted Tess to slap her again. Wanted Anora to pounce. Clothes torn off and breasts smashing together as Alistair pounded his wife from behind. _Tess!_ _Her name escaped. Alistair looked over, checking for anyone who might investigate the sound of slapping skin and noble names. He pushed harder, pausing to tighten his fist. Didn’t bother muffling his grunt._

He wanted _Anora_ to make her whine. Feminine fingers pinching and grabbing his wife’s breasts. Nipples hardening under teeth and painted lips. Hips jerking, Tess  _strangling_ his cock.  _Fervent rubbing, faster, frantic. Need rose, pulsing pressure in his hand, gathering his sack. Lewd hunger he’d forgotten in dejection. Groin roaring in sensation. Alive once again. Tess should be here._ Wanted hands on him, squeezing, prodding him while he shook Tess to the core. He wanted Anora _inside him,_ squirming, exciting the pit beyond his sex that made him overflow. _He clenched harder, seeking pleasure from something far out of reach._

**_What was he thinking?_ **

_Rocking hips sped up, urgency designated by an imaginary feminine duet. The swelling rose._

_**With Anora?** Tess would kill him._

He’d flip her, let his weight fall upon her while he shoved where it made Tess cry the loudest. Give Anora room to use her mouth, teeth and tongue between thrusts as Tess glazed him.

 _ **Why** was he doing this to himself? This could never be. _ Tess would hit her, and Anora would pin her arms above her head.

 _A shudder surged his hips._ Pin her arms. Bind her. Alistair could pull out and finish in her mouth, just as hot, just as wet. Hold her hands where she could not reach him. Voice vibrating as she sucked. Anora busy behind him, fingers noisily peaking Tess as Alistair clenched up and froze.

_Heat raced past his crown. Breath caught, hips stuttering while fresh seed spilled from him like liquid bliss. A blink of rapture, a moment of peace._

Cold air returned him to the ground. Alistair looked at his mess dripping down the tree.

 _Shit._ How many times had Tess tried to entice him this week? How often did she leave hints of desire? And after refusing her touch, he stormed off to relieve himself without her. When he could have used his _wife_ for this? Wasn’t that half the point of _having_ a wife? _When he’d begged her not to leave him?_

 _Fuck._ But he felt so much better. Even with his head against rigid bark, his manhood hanging out for the world to see and icy fog to threaten it, Alistair felt better. Shoulders relaxed, weight lifted. Ready for a nap. He groaned and shoved himself back in. There was no excuse not to touch Tess anymore. He’d have to talk to her, have to tell her what had drawn him down lately. _Fuck again._ If Tess could clear her mind and _decide_ to be happy with the life she chose, couldn’t he? _No excuses now._ If only Alistair had thought of this indoors. At least he wouldn't have to walk back with his hands over his bulging crotch.

At least an hour back. His pulse normalized, skin cooled, and now the afternoon chill prickled his skin. No idea how to explain to Tess, but he wanted her. Wanted her body, her heat. That fire relieved himself to drove him _crazy_. _Did he really want it gone?_

 _No. Not gone. He just wanted it to himself._ Maybe that would count for something.

 _Maker, did he really fantasize about Anora, though?_ He did, he fucking fantasized about having his wife and Anora at the same time. Rather, he fantasized about having his wife, and _Anora_ having _both_ of them. There was no way he could tell Tess _that._

Frowns met him as he pushed the old doors open. Most of the party glared as if _it_ was Alistair’s fault.

 _“What!_  I can’t open doors anymore?” _Fucking great, right back to Worthless Alistair._

“Loghain showed up.” Pádraig was troubled.

 _“Shit.”_ Alistair’s gut flopped. “What happened?”

“Well…” Pádraig took a deep breath. “All went well until about...maybe a quarter hour after he’d arrived.”

“He recited _charges_ and _eye_ color.” Morrigan stood on the balcony atop the staircases. _“And_ besmirched her parents after threatening _death_ if his shrew returned with another mark.” She breathed through her nose. “While _you_ abandoned her for a leisure walk-" _shit, could Morrigan tell he just masturbated?_   _"I_ have been _unable_ to calm her. She only stopped screaming moments ago.”

“What?!” Alistair rushed to the stairs and took them two at a time. “And none of you thought to find me? _Don’t answer that, Morrigan!”_

He ran so hard his heart pained his chest. Alistair flung the door open to find Tess was better _and worse_ than he expected. Not rocking in a corner, but distraught all the same. Pacing, gasping, tear-stained face and puffy lips. Tess took one look at him and her face distorted further. But instead of flinging herself at him, like she always did in distress, she thrust out an arm.

The green silk tie dangled from her hand. Alistair met her eyes, no words needed to voice his concern.  

 _“Please,”_ she urged.

“Tess…” this was not what he expected. Even more than he did not expect Loghain to visit, he did not expect _Loghain's_ visit to leave her begging for bondage. A man who bound her for torture made her want to be tied?

_Didn’t he just fantasize about restraining her, though?_

“Alistair, _please!”_ she continued to pace, silk cloth switching hands as she turned, the hand gripping it always outstretched. “I thought I could do this. It’s easier in theory, _so_ much easier when he’s _not in front of me!_ But I can’t do it, I just need _out!”_ she whispered, eyes watering. “Anora yesterday, the _fucking Archdemon_ last night, and - and then I tried to sleep when you were gone, but I dreamt of my mother and nephew! And I woke up to Lo-Loghain _yelling_ through my home! I _saw_ myself, I saw them _staring_ , they _agreed_ with his _upbraiding,_ _I saw their faces_!” She returned to him, stuffing silk that matched her eyes into his hand and closing it at his chest. “Please, I _need_ this! I need you to think for me right now, just take my thoughts away! _Please?”_

“Tess, I can’t _take your thoughts away,”_ he told her. “No one can take thoughts away, they’re not…things I can just grab and throw away.”

“You _can!”_ she insisted. _“This_ way! It helps, it _does!_ I need you to think for me right now! It’s _your_ voice in my head when you do it, not- not all that out there reminding me I’ll _never_ be strong enough on my own! I can _breathe_ when it’s just your voice in my head! _Please?_ I need you to think _for_ me, _give_ me something to do! _I just need a break from my thoughts!”_

Alistair stared at her. Fresh tears spilled over, re-wetting cheeks already shiny and raw from tears shed before his return. She’d begged him before in times of dismay, but since the Deep Roads, tying her up and giving orders seemed… _wrong._ Loghain had planned her days back then, and she had scars from Celene's orders. It _felt_ wrong,like he was finishing their sick work.  _Alistair_ felt wrong for wanting to stay in control. He felt _perverted_ for missing those days in Rainesfere. 

This whole week he’d felt something wrong with him; wrong since they returned to Ostagar, in fact. The pressures now of being so close to the man who tried to squash Alistair’s existence were too much. Easier to act dictatorial towards Anora than risk becoming Loghain by dominating Tess. _Consciously_ remembering their days in Rainesfere as torture when secretly he wanted control back. _Dominion over his own life_ , just _one_ part of his life going as _he_ wanted. Forcing self-degrading thoughts like _vulgar_ perversion and a _twisted_ fetish to prevent reversion. Trying it for fun wasn’t close to the same; the idea sounded good, but when he _already_ felt good, it helped none.

But here was Tess, _needing_ him. _Begging_ him to tie her up and tell her what to do, not so he would become like Loghain, but to _free_ _her from_ Loghain. She _needed_ him, just like he’d needed her all along.

Fantasizing about the fire within her, the same passion she invested in loving him as she put in battle…Tess had never _needed_ him every day, that was _him. Alistair_ needed daily confirmation of his worth. In Rainesfere, she obeyed to clear his mind and seed confidence, so on days she _needed_ him, he was _able_ and it _worked_. _Shaping her well-being by allowing him control._ But it had been constant _so_ it could work. It made a difference on days like this when her mind fell apart and she couldn’t think to breathe.

He felt _immoral_ for needing this control. For _thinking_ he needed her obedience to feel believed in; utter trust his orders would benefit her. He could even blame this thinking on the Chantry, if he wanted. But was it really unnatural if it helped them both? Maybe she wouldn’t _need_ him tomorrow, but right now she did; even magic couldn't calm her. Just like before the Deep Roads, this was something only he and Tess had - going back to when they met, hadn’t it? A reciprocated need only he and Tess could offer each other; ordering Anora or his knights didn’t make him feel better. Was it wrong for him to need it when his wife needed it too?

_Was it really wrong?_

Her face pinched harder. Helplessness sank her shoulders; she had taken his silence for denial. Tess did not believe her husband wanted to help her.

 _No. Not wrong._ Alistair hadn’t wanted _this_ to happen to feel needed again. But he felt it all the same. _Maker, it had been too long._

Without speaking, he slipped his hand out and brought silk back to her wrist. She watched him as he tied, confusion, _fear_ he was making her take it back. A final tug, and Alistair brought his lips to the knot. Fear melted to _hope_ in an instant.

“It’s okay,” he assured her, tying his own wrist against hers. He tightened the knot with his teeth, making sure they would stay together. Alistair gathered her with his free arm, pulling her against him. Held her tight. He kissed her forehead. “I’m here. I have you.”

She cried. Clutching so hard her knuckles went white, clawing at his shirt, but the sounds she made were not sorrow. Relief, overwhelmed with gratitude, gripping to keep him there; _both_ of them. Sobbing waning into single tears. The moment lasted an eternity. Nothing but her quieting breath and a heartbeat struggling to fall in rhythm with his. Back in his arms, nestled in where she belonged, _believing_ he could take care of her again. _Just what he needed._

She asked for something to do. “Please,” she whispered, “Just make _this-”_ she motioned as if pulling something from her head and throwing it out. “Make it go away.”

Alistair wasn’t exactly sure what to do. He knew she loved her garden, though; it had been a place of peace for them in Rainesfere, a place they walked to disappear from obstacles. A place where they confessed fears and helped each other through them. The garden was perfect, actually.

Still tied at the wrist, Alistair held her hand, leading Tess through the house without looking at anyone else. She found his eyes as she descended the last steps, a pout and sadness still prominent on her face. Of all these concerned people, she was not comfortable opening to anyone but Alistair about her need. She chose to suffer alone until he returned. Alistair scolded himself for tarrying in fantasy by the harbor.

The Cousland garden was like Teagan’s, many of the same exotic plants. Wintergreen shrubbery so tall it concealed the rest of the grounds, girding them with unusual colors and a pleasant aroma. Fall blossoms were dying, but winter petals were in early bloom. All the blues and deep purples and whites reminded Alistair of Sten’s meditation advice: focus on cool colors - blues, violets, greens to calm the mind and accept peace. Whoever planted the Couslands' garden must have also heard this advice.

Alistair remarked the garden was lovely; they should have brought tea and blankets, he could just hold her out here away from human noise. But Tess did not see what he saw. She said there was _too much red, too much orange, harsh frantic colors_ that _judged_ her for breaking down after she decided to be happy. A curious thing. Alistair saw only a few reds; waning autumn blossoms. Tess, still unnerved, noticed only bright flowers that matched her reason for frenzy.

“Then pick the blue ones,” he said.

Tess looked at him like he spoke a foreign language. “What?” She glanced around, trying to find the  _blue_ he saw.

Alistair gestured. “Pick the blue ones.” He loosened the knot from his wrist. “Don’t look at the red ones, only the blue ones. Pick as many as you can find.” She wanted a task; Alistair couldn't think of anything better right now.

It was an interesting experience. Surrounded by blues and violets, but it took a long while for Tess to even see one. She walked by bushes and stalks, whipping her head away when she came across red and orange. He followed her, trailing behind, listening to her murmur _blue, blue, blue - no, blue, blue;_ like speaking it would summon them for her. She saw another, then a third. The more she found, the more she saw. Alistair said nothing as her right hand filled with blooms, then her left. And then it hit him  _why_ she begged for orders. Pouting and trembling when they entered the garden, unable to see colors that did not match her torment, but as she followed his task, she unwound. He watched her melt before his eyes, the unintended bouquets of blue proof he thought _for_ her. It may have been her body, but his words were moving her; she was the extension of himself; his hands exactly. Alistair's orders made her focus on something other than the source of her anxiety, and not necessarily _orders_ but _guidance_. Tess needed him to _guide_ her out of the nightmare in her mind. Guide her away from the pain and the fear, like he had done countless times before.

Tess found so many blue flowers she ran out of room to hold them; she was _only_ thinking of his directions now.

Not a single chain or whip involved. No pain; not begging because pain was a distraction or vent. Just his guidance, and her obeying small commands so he _could_ guide her. Him taking care of her because she needed his _love. His_ love. The  _way_ he loved, a love that soothed her soul even if he was distant and unresponsive. She might choose to make the best of what life threw at them, but Alistair was part of that happiness. His choice to be active in their love made such a difference just now. He _understood_ it now. Something she could not find in anyone else. Something _he_ could not find in other women. _This_ was how Alistair could actively be the man his wife needed.

He felt different, now. A drip of satisfaction of finally understanding how he could fix their marriage after so long frustrated by his own failed expectations. Also a pang of guilt for taking so long to understand what _active marriage_ meant.

She stood before him with fists of blue. “I can’t hold anymore,” she apologized. She searched his face, almost bashful it took her so long to see the blue flowers. Yet full hands were _proof_ that his _effort_ of activity in their relationship helped clear her mind. Replacing her nightmares with to-do lists, replacing _her_ ideas with his _own; taking away her thoughts for her._

Alistair smiled, stretching one hand around both bunches. He _more_ than loved her, was _so proud_ of her - and proud of himself. This was a new experience for him, taking pride in understanding _how_ he could help his wife; it had naturally fallen together, before, there had been nothing to figure out in the beginning. It was an accomplishment for _Alistair._ He wondered if he looked as giddy as he felt. “There are a lot of blue flowers in this garden.” He took one bouquet to free her hand. Alistair did not notice his thumb had circled the back of her hand until she looked down. He watched their hands for a moment, wondering if he changed like Tess did, if others could see him change? He _felt_ better; Maker, he felt _beyond_ better. “Are you hungry? You hardly ate before I went out.”

“No.” She shook her head, then nodded and curled up against him, tucking her arms in, bracing his neck. “Yes. Will you cook for me?”

A smile dominated his face. “You’re only hungry if I cook?” He didn’t quite know what this new ambiance between them - _in him_ \- was yet, but it fell into place as if they’d always been in it. Didn’t feel strange or out of place. It just… _was._ Just them. Like they’d finally found their way back to each other. Alistair held her against him, stroking under her hair. She pressed in when he kissed her forehead again.

“Yes. I miss it. You always cooked for me.”

Alistair thought for a moment, mouth still against her face. His eyes moved over the garden; now perfectly lacking in blue. He squeezed the flowers and squeezed her. “Just us,” he said. “Wherever you want to eat, but only us.”

It felt the same. Bustling around the kitchen preparing supper felt just like before. Alistair was  _personally_ attending to Tess. He ignored protests from the scullery staff, sweeping them from the kitchen and larder when he stepped on toes. Zevran and Oghren teased him from the doorway; _Cute dress, Warden; It’s called an apron, Oghren, get out before I decide roast dwarf tastes better than boar!_ Zevran said Alistair might cook better if he were naked under the apron; Pádraig added he could summon a painter in no time. The three burst in laughter when Sten volunteered to paint. Alistair went through a third of rum just to finish cooking.

He did it. For the first time in over a year, Alistair cooked supper for his wife. Just the two of them, with the door closed and the fire roaring, candles lit around the room. A blue vase cradled her blue flowers on the nightstand. They shared a glass of wine, sitting so close their arms sweat against each other. And when Tess held his gaze as Alistair held up _his_ first bite, he fed her. A deliberate stare, _wanting_ him to dote on her, _craving_ his attention. Alistair instructed her hands stay on her lap; her job was holding the glass. Between his own bites, he fed her. He cut off the crispy ends just for her, lavishly dipping in her favorite jelly. She kissed him between sips, no complaints his beard had not grown back. 

Platter cleared and dessert wine in hand, Alistair held her in front of the fire. Comfortable and comforting, clicking together like a puzzle of two. 

 _Thank you,_  she said.

No other words, but Alistair knew what she meant. His eyes misted as he pressed a kiss through her hair. It was _peace._ Them and no one else. He didn’t know if this is what Tess felt during meditation that day, and he didn’t know if it would last tomorrow. But he was _husband_ again, _needed_ again. Appreciated. _Wanted._

Maybe she didn’t _need_ him on good days, but without persistence, he wasn’t as effective on bad days. And maybe it was his _effort_ to love that gave her confidence when he’d refined his control. She _was_ strong, _was_ able without him, but he made her days easier. He saw that now. Just as no matter how strong _he_ was in battle or in court, her heartbeat against him at night made life easier. A weighty distinction. One he hoped would never again revert.

Funny how Tess taking care of him of presented itself in _Alistair_ taking care of _her._

 


	67. Taking Care of Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denerim is a disaster. Anora suspects the unrest in the Alienage is Loghain's doing, but trying to gain access reveals just how uncooperative the streets are. In order to investigate the Alienage, the Wardens must first conquer the rest of the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Mild NSFW; mention of light dominance/submission; mild angst.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Kogan, by Two Steps from Hell](https://youtu.be/FsAeAVfwDFM)

“Do you suppose we can go back to the way we were?” Alistair looked at Tess across the stack of documents Anora sent over. “Back to how we were at Ostagar? When we met?”

A glare from the fire light moved from her irises as her gaze strayed in thought. “Giggling over nonsense?” She met his eyes. “Drinking the day away? Wasting time under trees giggling at turkeys?” Tess shook her head. “We were different people then.”

“It seems like decades ago.” Alistair set down the letter and rubbed his face.

“At least.” She paused for a drink. “Looking back, it’s hard to think that was _us._ I hardly recognize our faces anymore from that memory. No one told me growing up would change me so much.”

“When I was a child, I remember thinking sixteen years was adult. Then when I was sixteen and the Templar recruits would retire in the barracks each night, I thought they were childish. Eager to tattle on one another, always fighting over who the pretty girls smiled at. The clever ones blackmailed possible fraternization. It was a popular method of dominance where the Revered Mothers could not see. Or there was the _studious_ ones yelling at the others for not taking their callings seriously. It never stopped.” Alistair sighed. He leaned over and stoked the fire. “When Duncan conscripted me, I thought I was free of that. At first glance, the other Wardens looked like they had it all together. They were _men,_ some older than Duncan. No more childish squabbles, so it seemed, all professional in public.” He shook his head. “But when it was just us Wardens, they bickered like little boys. Always competing, always drinking, and even louder when they were drunk. I thought it was silly at the time, told myself they had a right to act like kids when they'd die in thirty years.

"Now, though, after everything you and I have been through…I wonder if people aren’t meant to grow up like we have? Or, if we _are_ meant to grow up, how does the rest of the world manage to evade adulthood?” He turned his head to find Tess watching him. “Seeing you with Anora is a huge difference, too, even before you lef-” he sighed without noise. “Even when we first got here. You, at least, used civil words until she pushed you too far. It makes me…” another heavy sigh fell from his chest. “It makes me wonder about Cailan. How did he handle everything? Although...I guess he didn’t, did he? All those hunting trips he went on with Teagan; same with Maric, I suppose, _he_ left all the time _too_. And how in oblivion did Anora run the country _for_ him? Cailan wanders off to get drunk in a tent, and Anora lashes out at everyone she sees as a threat?”

“I think you’ll be a better King than that.”

Alistair met her eyes again. “No pressure, right?” he cracked a smile so brief it almost never happened. “Maric, Cailan, and Anora spent all these years addressing what? Only personal threats or chances for adventure? I’ve got to fill shoes that fit all three of them together. And because of what we’ve been through, I actually think I _can_ do it better. But I can't even _start_ that until I get rid of Loghain. Claiming my throne in bloodshed.” He dropped his face into his hands and groaned. “I never wanted to grow up like this. I never wanted _this_ to be the kind of adult I became.”

“Neither did I.” Tess reached over and squeezed his hand. “But it hasn’t killed us yet.”

The smile stayed a little longer this time, remembering his friend’s timely arrival in the Deep Roads. “Pádraig has good sense for timing, doesn’t he?” He laced his fingers with his wife's. “I feel more grown up than anyone around me. _The Father of my country,"_ it came out like a bitter complaint. He found her eyes again; looking at _his wife_ made the struggles of being king worth it. "And  _Mother_ of my country.  _We_ are grown up.” He brought her hand to his lips, then cradled it under tender circles. Circles didn't work for calming anymore, but it was a gesture of togetherness. “The _only_ grown ups in a city full of… _badly_ misbehaved children. What in the world do we do now?”

“Whip them all soundly and send them to bed?”

He couldn’t help a laugh. “Right. Naughty, naughty Denerim.” Alistair reached for the goblet. Sweet bitter juice spilled over his tongue and down his throat. “How long would it take for that ship to get to Tevinter and back? The one Anora said Loghain sent?”

Tess’ eyes strayed in thought. “Two…and a half months, if all goes well. _If_ they stick to sea; which tends to be more discreet. Faster to stop in Ostwick and ride northeast, but if he's trying to hide, he'll go by sea.”

“What could he want there?”

Tess shrugged. “Powerful allies?” she guessed. _“Ruthless_ powerful allies.”

“Perfect. We’ll be at war with powerful mages soon. _Thanks,_ Loghain,” he thought aloud before another full drink.

“Maybe it’s time to take Branka and Shale to the Alienage? We won’t need a gate key with them.”    

He studied Tess. “And the city guard,” he added. “But I’m pretty sure Anora knows by now we won’t support her at the Landsmeet. We’re probably just the lesser risk, if Loghain’s really against her.”

“We could always try the whorehouse.”

Alistair raised a curious brow at his wife.

 _“Not_ for _that!”_ she accused with a frown. _“I_ meant for rumors or information!”

“Uh-huh,” he teased.

“They’ve cheaper ale than regular taverns, so most people can afford it. People nobles don’t usually notice. People who tend to visit regularly and tell their favorite whores their woes during foreplay.”

“First chains with the Empress, now adept knowledge of whorehouses?”

Her eyes narrowed. “People who will spill secrets no one thought they saw for only seven silvers because that’s how much a whore and an ale cost.”

“Business. Right. I knew that.” Alistair cleared his throat while Tess smirked. He downed the rest of the wine. “I bet Zev and Oghren would love to come along. And Morrigan, just to see the look on her face." He smiled to himself. "And Shale, for the same reason.” Alistair leaned back on his elbows and thought, staring off into the flames. “Alright,” he agreed. He studied Tess again. Firelight lit half her face in dancing amber. Alistair always loved how it painted her skin. “Then after tea, that is what we’ll do. Meet with the city guard, and… _Investigate_ the whorehouse.”

“No, you may not hire one.”

Alistair laughed loudly. “No, I’m not eager for any diseases they carry.” He paused. “But the _noises_ are _exquisite._ You’ll need to keep an eye out for a dark corner while we’re there.”  

“Hm.” she mused. _“You deserve privacy when I touch you;_ one of the first things you said to me about sex. _Now_ you’re talking about dark corners in a whorehouse.” Her eyes twinkled though. “No. No going back.” She shook her head.

His mouth stretched on either side. “What can I say? I’m a grown man.”

 

Pádraig insisted they take the elite guard. Alistair wanted just him and Tess wandering the market, but with his armor being modified to fit his new size, overprotective security measures won over. Pádraig was more than happy to order Tess' guard to ready themselves. Leliana and Zevran slipped off to the markets to investigate before Alistair and Tess left. They returned reporting  _everyone_ thought bright colors were the key to attention; as Leliana put it, _Orlais’ most contemptible and overused colors got sick in the market place._ But the rogues already had a solution: Alistair and Tess match in natural, _comforting_ colors; leather armor hidden under noble raiment _at Pádraig’s_   _request._  Dark woodland brown accented by greens of lush basil and pale mint, complimented with a white opal broach. _Easy on the eyes,_ Leliana said, _and colors no one would think to distrust._ In a city so packed with merchants and refugees, every gaze would be on the only sight for sore eyes. Teagan supported the bard’s advice, stating nobles wandering the market would be drawn to variety on chance it meant a new trend.

After an hour feeling foolish sipping tea in matching outfits, Alistair and Tess set off on trotting horses. Pádraig and the elite guard marched briskly behind, each helmet bearing a tiny Theirin-Cousland flag.

Alistair stopped his horse just inside the gates into the markets. _Ugh,_ Leliana was right, it was as if shoddy Orlesian fashion threw up here. Alistair understood the need to make substantial impressions at a time when Loghain’s ability to inspire evanesced, but it didn’t change the fact that in a moment, Alistair and Tess would be the most welcome sight in the marketplace. As if sensing his apprehension, Tess thrust her hand out to him. Alistair took it, gripping tight as he drew circles for his own comfort this time. When he looked over, Tess swallowed and her chest heaved.

“Have I mentioned I don’t like people staring at me?” she said. She was just as uncomfortable as he was.   

Their horses and knights were not the source of attention today; district Templars, city guard, and nobles were all just as active. As Leliana planned, their _attire_ drew stares. Alistair and Tess were contrast to every vendor, visitor, and commoner, which quickly allowed for recognition. It came in gasps: _It’s the Heir!, Maker, the ghost of Maric is back!,_ and _Do you think we should fetch the regent?_ Alistair, Tess, and their guard had no trouble navigating the busy market streets. Envy, awe, even dreamy sighs came from all over. A few guardsmen paused their tracks to stand at attention as Alistair and Tess trotted by. When they stopped in front of the tavern to dismount, Pádraig raised his arm in a single gesture. Clanking armor came to an abrupt halt. Pádraig met Alistair’s eye with a smirk when a city guardsman saluted with the elite guard.

“Keep smiling like that, Pádraig, and I’ll get the idea you _like_ forcing men to submit,” Tess joked with a straight face.

Pádraig’s grin grew. “Who better to lead your troops, Your Majesty?”

“If _lead_ and _troops_ has something to do with that secretive smile you and my husband often share, I’d rather _not_ hear about who is _better.”_ The corner of Tess’ mouth upturned in a smirk of her own.

“Those pillows were for _you,_ Your Majesty, I swear it!” Pádraig fought to contain his amusement. He also stopped Alistair from opening the tavern door.

Alistair sighed. “Pádraig-”

“Nonsense. We’re not here under pretense today.” Pádraig held the door open and gestured again. One by one, the elite guard marched in, keen, without flaw, every step synchronous. Though Alistair could not see the patrons, the tavern noise dimmed in a blink as the guards’ orderly march echoed through the packed house. The elite guard sewed themselves in chronology, each knight turning sharp, metal heels scraping in a perfect about-face.

Clacking metal stopped, and Pádraig motioned inside. Alistair peered in; the elite guard had made a private walkway. Alistair glanced at his friend; _when did Pádraig organize ceremonial march?_ “Pád, you sly fox. You owe me a story tonight.”

“Absolutely. Now get inside, Your Majesty.”

A glance to Tess, then Alistair straightened his back and stepped in. Armor gleaming brilliantly in torchlight made the knights around him look even more impressive. Alistair turned and held out his hand for Tess. With a quick frown to Pádraig, she picked up the hem of her dress, and joined Alistair between their shining knights. Husband and wife met eyes. The last time they were here, both were in tears and Alistair begged her to not to leave him. But Alistair was sure none of that was remembered now. Whoever they were days ago disappeared in the matching king and queen surrounded by proficient knights. Shoulders squared, Alistair led Tess through their guard, not a sound through the tavern, now, save for their leather soles on a stone floor.

The faces of two men they needed to meet wore interest. Bann Sighard of Dragon’s Peak, father of Oswyn who Tess rescued from Howe’s dungeons; he owed them a courtesy. Arl Leonas Bryland of South Reach, friend of the Couslands; also Howe’s brother-in-law, though he hated Howe with a passion. They could not pass up meeting these men.

“I’m not sure what I’m surprised to see more,” an accent reminiscent of Orlais broke the silence. “Young Lady Cousland with scars her parents would proud of, or Loghain letting _his_ country acknowledge Maric’s bastard.” Alistair frowned, but Arl Leonas Bryland held up a hand. “Barkeep! Get your tavern back in order! These drunks have no business eavesdropping!” the nobleman barked. “Come. Join us,” he motioned for Alistair and Tess. Bann Alfstanna shared his table off in a secluded corner.

“Can we trust him?” Alistair muttered.

“If not, you know two professional assassins and a professional bard,” Tess whispered back.

‘Right. I’ll have Leliana _sing_ him to death.”

Arl Bryland was a better contact than Alistair hoped for. The man had been fond of the Couslands since the Orlesian war, an event that ended his friendship with Rendon Howe bitterly. Bryland was relieved to see Tess alive. Relieved Tess had found and made a king out of _Maric’s bastard,_  though forwardly he referred to Alistair as _Your Highness._ He was _most grateful_ to the Grey Wardens who liberated his niche of the Bannorn from Darkspawn. Though Alistair had not heard much of Bryland growing up, Alfstanna and Tess were familiar with him: the Arl of South Reach, whose responsibility included Lothering. Both towns were vital stops between Redcliffe and Denerim before the Blight. Leonas seemed just as venomous towards Loghain as he was of Howe. _And_ he was an _Arl,_ not just a Bann. A stronger vote than Alistair had guessed.

Bann Sighard was furious with Loghain. In the time Alistair and Tess worked out marital problems, Sighard and Alfstanna had pulled together their personal guard and stormed the Denerim Arl's estate, searching for other missing nobles. Though they only found Alfstanna’s brother Ser Irminric, they tracked down Vaughan Kendall who added to the tale from Oswyn. It was enough to make Sighard spit fire. He’d been loyal to Loghain since the Orlesian war, opposed the rumors about Loghain killing Cailan. All his support, only to have his only son imprisoned and tortured. Oswyn’s legs would heal, his physician said, but he would need a walking cane the rest of his life, and magic could not remove the surface scars. Gratitude for Tess, a girl he once suggested should be hung for suspicions. Impressed by Alistair’s entrance as the rest of the tavern. Bann Sighard promised his support at the Landsmeet. He also insisted they accept a forty-sovereign reward for saving Oswyn. _It’s not much,_ the Bann said, _but perhaps it will help with armor. It’s the least I can do when I…raised Oswyn to believe you should be hanged. Forgive me, Teyrna._  

Their exit was just as impacting as their entrance. Brother Genitivi caught them as they left the tavern and insisted on tea. The scholar was returning from the Chantry and delighted in seeing them both at once. Pádraig shooed them into Genitivi's house, and when the door shut behind them, the elite guard snapped into attention; Pádraig was showing off again.

The tavern held no news other than new political support, but Brother Genitivi had news. Elves from the Alienage who escaped before the lock down begged for healing prayers from the Brothers and Sisters in the Chantry. They told of a strange sickness taking over the Alienage and refugees. It struck Genitivi as odd because he saw no ill humans. The last the elves heard was word of specialist healers from Tevinter soon to arrive in the Alienage. Brother Genitivi said he prayed for the elves, but he feared something sinister. The words _healer_ and _Tevinter mage_ did not coexist unless one was a loyal citizen of the Tevinter Imperium.  

The captain of the city guard had waited for them. After leaving Genitivi, Alistair and Tess questioned the new Alienage gate guard. The elite guard stripped him and searched for a key, but found nothing. Needing a break from dead ends, Alistair directed his party to the smithy to drown out market noise. But the guard captain stopped them. He’d watched them since their arrival, waited for signs of trouble like Ser Cauthrien warned of when she passed out fliers with Tess’ face. _Tess’_ face, not Alistair’s. Sergeant Kylon did not believe the Grey Wardens abandoned King Cailan to encourage the Blight, especially when the survivors were the son of Maric and the last Cousland. But he was in no position to side with them now.

Kylon was in over his head with incompetent new men; criminals and outcasts from around the country. Lazy louts who didn’t know the difference between _peace and order_ and _brutality._ When Tess asked if he had a key to the Alienage gate, Kylon shook his head. He reported he couldn’t keep the city under control long enough to piss, let alone check his keyring. Kylon sent letters to the palace asking for proper reinforcements, but neither Anora or Loghain answered his plea. The city was falling apart. If Loghain failed to stop the Blight, the Darkspawn would have no resistance taking Denerim.

Sergeant Kylon gave an exasperated apology, insisting he only meant to thank them for not adding to his problems. Before Tess or Alistair could reply, Pádraig threw up another gesture. The elite guard shuffled from attention to at-ease, then snapped back into attention. Alistair was not the only one impressed.

“With Her Majesty’s permission, Sergeant, point us in the right direction,” Pádraig offered.

Kylon laughed. “Only two dozen men? I _wish_ my problems could be solved with so few.”

“Do not underestimate the Queen’s guard, Sergeant,” Pádraig told him. “And if need be, we’ve golems, as well.”

A glimmer of hope ran across Kylon’s face. “If you can spare the numbers, I would be eternally grateful.”

Alistair shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “Just tell us where to go. We’ve got enough men, we might even get it all done by nightfall.”

Kylon sighed. “The tavern, for one. Some mercenary fool who thinks his little gang is infamous. All they do is crowd the tavern, mistake visitors for wenches, and threaten the barkeep for free ale. The proprietor asked _weeks_ ago they be removed by force, but I've got no men. Howe sent me little boys who cry at splinters.”

“Must be those drunks in the hearth room,” Alistair recalled.

“Kill them, Ser? Or just run them out?” Pádraig verified.

“Edwina’s hoping for violence. But as long as you can get them to leave, I’ll be happy. One less thing for me to worry about.”

Alistair looked over. A nod to Pádraig prompted another gesture. With a booming masculine noise, half the elite guard turned sharply out of formation, readied their weapons, and marched back to the tavern.

Sergeant Kylon slouched in hopelessness. “Maker’s breath, that obedience. _Please_ train my men. I  _beg_ you!”  

Tess turned her head to hide a smile, but Alistair didn’t bother. His grin stretched his face. “We’ve got a Qunari you can borrow.”

“That’s a good job for Sten.” Tess recovered.

“Give him a week. He doesn’t allow failure,” Alistair assured.

“Oh, thank the Maker! I hoped this praying stuff would come through.” Kylon sighed in relief. “You haven’t even taken the throne yet, and I’m already in debt.”

Alistair chuckled. “Trust me, helping you is in my best interest. I’d like to keep trade flowing when I’m King. I need to ensure my streets are safe for that.”

“No offense to the city Arl or the King’s widow, but I’m relieved to hear you say that. They seem to forget people _live_ where they neglect security.”

The elite guard returned from the tavern with bloodied swords and red splatter. They fell back into formation as if they hadn’t violently solved a problem. Eirik, the bloodiest of the twelve, announced the proprietor requested guards to move the bodies. Kylon almost laughed in relief.

Alistair asked just how bad the city was. With a frown of shame, Kylon relayed all the complaints he’d received. Outside of normal duty, small gangs had taken up home in alleyways all over Denerim. Notable people were reported missing. Burglaries, assaults, rumors of blood magic. Sometimes complaints of an old gang would cease, only for a new gang to rise up. The Alienage was another problem: complaints like any other district, but with access cut off, Kylon couldn’t assess it.

Denerim was in worse condition than Alistair guessed. Problems that had first shown up months ago when Howe became Arl of the city.

 _Anora lied to them._ The unrest was not a recent event; she had let the city fall. Alistair suspected she was using Denerim as a fail safe: leave an overwhelming mess in case Alistair took the throne, or deter him with it.

Alistair’s mind hardened. He would _clean up,_ all right. And he would make sure neither Anora or Loghain could take credit.

They departed from Kylon with the promise to return when daylight favored them. Alistair contemplated the duration of the return ride. He heard Tess’ voice once or twice, but his mind was too busy planning. He dare not speak; Anora knew how bad the city was, she must have eyes and ears everywhere. It made him wonder how many citizens Anora or Loghain paid off.

Without prior discussion, Alistair ordered Pádraig to send ten regiments to secure the docks. Kill the harbor guards, send them to sea aflame on canoes. Alistair alone would control the port, daily reports mandatory, no unauthorized activity; no exceptions. 

“Was there something wrong with saying _Hey, Tess, what do you think about commandeering the docks?”_ Tess asked.

“I wasn’t going to suggest it out loud at slow trot from the market,” Alistair said. He looked at his wife in curiosity. _“Commandeer?”_

“If you’d sent your rogues, it would be  _commandeering.”_

“This time I’m going for the _Oh shit they’re coming straight for us_ approach.”

Tess sighed. _“You_ can deal with Anora when she comes running, then. I almost hear her screeching now. _Bitch and moan, blah blah, unauthorized burning bodies, my father, blah blah._ ”

A grin spread on Alistair’s face. “I hope she does.”

Anora indeed came running. As soon as morning tea was served, Anora burst into the castle. She ran up the staircase, frantic for an answer to why the docks were on fire.

“Oh, good, you’re here.” Alistair set down his tea, dabbed the napkin at his mouth, and crossed the room.

 _“Oh, good you’re here?”_ Anora echoed in disbelief. _“I_ barge in saying the _harbor_ is ablaze, and all _you_ can say is _oh good you’re here?!”_

“No, of course not. What kind of person do you think I am? Of course I’m concerned.” Alistair grabbed a bundle of readied Theirin-Cousland flags and pushed them against her chest. She embraced them in reflex and confusion. “Do me a favor and take these down to the docks, will you? I'm worried these won't make it in time. You _are headed_ there, _aren’t_ you? Make sure they get to a _John_ from _Sixth regiment.”_ He clapped Anora’s shoulder with a smile, her thin body moving under his hand. “I appreciate this, thank you. You’re always helpful.”

He might as well have slapped her face. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding.”

“Why would I kid about something like this? Isn’t that why you’re here? I thought we were working together?” Alistair re-joined Tess at the tea table. “I already knew about the docks. Unless something _new_ happened? My men are all right, aren’t they?”

Anora scoffed, wide eyes and a visage that said she couldn’t believe this was happening. “Oh my… _Maker bloody help me!”_ she didn’t bother hiding her tone of disapproval.

“Oh! Anora!” Leliana came through the door in pleasant surprise. “I’m glad you are here! I stopped by the marketplace earlier, and I’ve made a decision. A wardrobe that overshadows the commoners will make the best impression, don't you think? I’ve some lovely purples and gold picked out for today. Might I convince you to match Alistair and Tesslyn? _Think_ of the _statement_ it will make!” Alistair and Tess struggled to suppress grins. “Ferelden’s beloved Queen is a _close acquaintance_ of the Grey Wardens. _Ooh,_ you’ll look so _cute!_ The _three_ of you in _matching outfits,_ just like-”

 _“No!”_ Anora cut her off, staring at the bard like she was mad. _“Why_ would I want to match-” she scoffed, took a deep breath, and dropped the flags. “I’m done. I’m _done_ for the day, I’m done _here_. I _can’t_ believe I fell for your theatrics _again!”_

“I- no? You do not _like_ purple, then?” Leliana asked in doubt as Anora stomped off. “Well, I suppose it _would_ be fitting for the Queen to wear more gold than her people-”

Alistair called out with a grin, trying to hide the chuckle in his voice: “Anora! Where are you going? You forgot the flags!”

“All of you leave me alone!” Anora’s voice rang through the halls. “And if I hear _one_ more word about _matching clothes,_ I will charge tailors for every piece they sell!”

“But a _deep purple_ will _compliment_ your _skin_ so…” Leliana’s voice trailed off as hurried footsteps dimmed.

Alistair met Tess’ eyes again, and though Anora could not be out of the house yet, they broke down in giggles.

“Well, that was mildly disappointing.” Leliana reentered with a smirk, correcting the spilled bundle of flags on her way across the room. “I was hoping Anora would leap at the chance to show where her support lies.”

Alistair hummed in amusement. “I suppose in a manner she did.”

“Yes, she did, didn’t she? It’s a shame, though, she _would_ look lovely in purple.”

“Speaking of which,” Alistair sipped his tea, “you aren’t serious about that, are you? _Purple and gold?”_

“Oh, yes.” Leliana nodded. “I won’t give away the surprise, but let’s just say you need to wear _vibrant_ colors today. Deep, bold purple, striking crimson, and splashes of gold. _Regal_ colors, don’t you agree?”

“Leliana, we can’t dress up today,” Tess chimed in. “Alistair has decided we’re going to save the city. _All_ of us; our little party. Including you.”

“Oh! I can work with this, you know! I can braid fabric into a surcoat or a makeshift tabard-”

“Of _deep purple, striking crimson,_ and _splashes of gold?”_ Alistair asked with one brow higher than the other.

“You will look _fabulous_ in battle today!” Leliana held up a finger with a broad grin. “Do not move! I will be right back!”

Surprise was an understatement. Each of them on a horse, the Wardens' party plus the elite guard, they saw it all. Almost everyone today wore the same greens and brown Alistair and Tess wore yesterday. A total of _three_ did not follow the crowd, not counting the city guard or Templars who wore uniforms. Alistair had heard of this, people hoping to gain royal favor by dressing in the monarch’s favorite colors. But _this_ was _ridiculous._ The _entire marketplace_ looked like human foliage. The splashes of color only added  _flowers_ to this human garden.

“See?” Leliana giggled. “What did I tell you?”

Sten made a noise like a low growl. “Disgusting.”

“Exactly,” Alistair agreed.

“We have _got_ to stop dressing alike,” Tess said. She adjusted the loose-braid sash of deep amethyst, ruby, and citrine across her chest.

“If you keep tugging, your _cape_ will come loose,” Alistair teased.

She shot him a look between regret and annoyance. “We’re becoming a _fashion_ statement. _We_ are.”

“That is exactly it!” Leliana beamed.

"The Qunari dress according to station and environmental conditions. What purpose does it serve to dress like someone else?" Sten stewed in disapproval and confusion.

“These people admire their style from yesterday," Leliana explained. "Women trying to fill your chosen colors with the same grace _you_ showed, Tesslyn, hoping to attract men as majestic as Alistair. Can you not see it? In Orlais, this is a compliment, a show of who most popular.”

“And when we return today splattered in blood?” Alistair asked Leliana.

“I think it is too late to hope they will make fools of themselves," she giggled. "Some are already making mental reminders. You can tell by how they look at you.” Leliana pointed a finger from _admirer_ to _admirer._

“And you wish to leave me here amongst this mockery?” Sten frowned as they rode.

“Maybe they have a nice, dull training yard,” Alistair said.

Sergeant Kylon took one look at Tess and Alistair’s new colors, then glanced around with a quizzical expression. “I'm confident I can predict tomorrow’s fashion,” he said. Alistair almost kicked himself for chuckling. The thought of this overwhelmed Sergeant surrounded by purple was amusing. 

“If your men impress, perhaps I will have time to correct that, as well,” Sten offered.

"Maybe it will take your mind off the city," Alistair joked.

“I suppose we should be thankful we’re not in Orlais. This could be worse.” Kylon seemed just as grateful for a crack at humor as he was to hand over a list of city problems and locations. With Sten training his men and the Wardens clearing out what Kylon alone could not, the guard-captain said he would have time to filter his keys and paperwork for access to the Alienage. “And if all else fails, I’ll say I let you break in when someone screamed fire. Duty to the citizens.”

Denerim was a disaster. One look at the list, and Alistair couldn't believe the city guard still existed after almost a year of inability to deliver. This _would_ be a job-a-day project  _if_ they could get to and from each suspect area without an ambush. But bandits, thugs and mercenaries were everywhere. If the Wardens’ party liberated one neighborhood a day, they _might_ finish in time for the ship to return from Tevinter.

Freeing the city every day reminded Alistair of Templar training, minus mages. Up before sunrise for physical training with Sten; _Alistair’s armor refitting was put on hold when he grew again;_ baths, tea and breakfast, then long days of winding through roads and alleys to hunt criminals who knew the streets better than Tess. No rest until they corrected one complaint a day. But after a week of returning to the Cousland home after dark, Alistair needed a break. He assigned regiments to specific complaints, and relished in his first day off. Even better, the sixty-man regiments returned before sunset. Once again, he was grateful Pádraig trained his soldiers well.

Alistair began taking every other day off. He used that time to ride and walk the streets, learning his city. He made sure to check on the docks on his days not fighting, read the names of all recorded visitors by sea. And when he and Tess remembered, they stopped in the tavern for drinks with the nobles. More poured in by the week, lesser nobles like farmers and proprietors whose crops and goods the Blight destroyed. Before long, they all knew him. The title _Maric’s bastard_ disappeared as word got around Alistair and Tess aided the city guard. Most would not address him as _Your Majesty,_ but they called him Your Highness. They acknowledged him as a legitimate heir to the throne; more than Alistair expected. People in the marketplace followed, women curtsying and men saluting as Alistair rode past. He hoped Loghain and Anora were spying on him. He hoped they saw his _fashion_ mimicked and heard _Prince Alistair Your Highness_ ring through the streets.

Busy days. No energy for complaints other than aching muscles and hunger. Duty to  _their_ city subdued any problems Tess and Alistair still needed to work through. Little drive for intimacy and _proving_ dedication after strenuous combat all day. Both weary, though they tried anyway. No matter how tired, Alistair made Tess supper each night, and she kept whiskey and tea ready for him. Neither desired deep conversation, but the affection resulting fromnurture despite fatigue was promising. Often they lay together listening to the other’s heart beat. Alistair realized he missed this. Breathing, heartbeats, soft noises between slow kisses; it was their private song. Away from the world, away from fighting, away from demand. The need to relax reunited them body, mind and soul, more than Alistair thought he could recover in his marriage.

Still wary of tying her to a bed again, Alistair tied her to himself, like when she last broke down. It quickly became habit to bind their wrists together as soon as they retired and undressed for the day. Moving as one awakened opportunities to rekindle closeness and passion. From bathing to massages to making love, they were dependent upon each other, learning to move without struggle. _Flowing_ with each other. A dance of soul and body that stitched vents in their relationship. A time for remembering, for healing as husband and wife. _Intimate, private,_ a remedy for needing something only _they_ could share. New sensations inspired, opening curiosity to new positions and richer sounds. Sensual creativity accommodated their binding. New ways to regain his dominance that left Alistair dizzy for her reliance. Utter trust in him again, and _his_ trust that Tess was always there when he moved.

It became a new comfort. Though idly Alistair still drew circles, it was more for something to do. Now when either of them sank under stress, his wrist was tied to hers. Fingers entwined and wrists locked; sometimes _just because._ Wynne called them _silly._ Morrigan rolled her eyes and reminded Tess there was _truly no need for Alistair, do you recall? Something about surviving a prison without him._  Zevran suggest they mail away for fur handcuffs. Sten commended their control when they moved as one. An indiscreet show with a hidden meaning: _they chose to need each other,_ even when they could survive alone. Comfort birthed by choice.

Every other day of _rest,_ they checked in with Sergeant Kylon. While Alistair felt progress was slow, it was more effort than Kylon had seen in almost a year. The guard command was relieved to _finally_ archive concerns of threatened peace. When the last complaint was rectified, a month had passed. Sten made a significant improvement on Kylon’s incompetent guardsmen; Alistair didn’t need details to know how Sten’s training changed a man. For the first time, Kylon said in wonder, the city guard knew how to swing their weapons and none shirked duty anymore. Responsibilities were honored, and the men took up practicing in their off hours. They even respected Kylon’s command now. More importantly, they understand now the Blight was a real threat that would not spare them for pleading or ignorance in battle. _Denerim will always host trouble,_ Kylon said, admiring the sight of his reformed guard, _but now she has a fresh start. She knows we mean business._ With what must have been his meager personal savings, Sergeant Kylon thanked them, promising whatever he could to bolster the Wardens’ reputation in town.

Only a few regiments from Pádraig’s army had been sent to correct city problems, but that did not mean the rest were idle. As Sten trained the city guard, Riordan taught the army to fight darkspawn; a thing Alistair had not considered to do. They’d all _trained_ together, but where Alistair and Tess only _spoke_ of ways to defeat the Darkspawn, Riordan _showed_ them. With city crime under control, Alistair resumed extra training, but watching Riordan was not what he expected. The graying man had memorized darkspawn movement. Every swing, every arrow shot, even the way Darkspawn held their shields, _Riordan mimicked it_. The first day not needing to aid the city, the Wardens’ entire party joined Alistair, though their own training delayed. In a line they stood staring. Tess frowned, flinching, squeezing Alistair's hand. The others next to them almost as troubled; no one forgot the Deep Roads. They watched Riordan - a sane, capable warrior - move like the monsters from the deep. _Effortless._

Alistair caught a chilling glimpse of his future self as he watched his senior. Riordan had said his Calling was near. _Is this what happens to Wardens whose time expires? They become like Darkspawn?_ No one else seemed affected by Riordan’s performance like Alistair and Tess were.

The docks were an easier task to handle. Though Alistair forced himself through overexertion again, his down times consisted of riding to the docks. Small groups of mercenaries, ship captains trying to cheat docking fees; nothing Pádraig’s knights couldn’t handle. No sight of the ship Loghain sent to Tevinter. Alistair’s city from sea to highway was under control, for now.

Once, Anora was there when Alistair arrived at the docks. Observing from her horse, no doubt watching for her father’s ship or her father’s men. Alistair stopped his steed just ahead of hers and replied _Widow_ when she acknowledged him. An otherwise silent reminder _he_ was in charge. No matter where Anora went, _Alistair_ owned Denerim now, not her. He felt her eyes, though, a stare that grew in intrigue as the moment wore on. Anora wanted something from him, and he wasn’t convinced it was _just_ political support anymore. It made Alistair uncomfortable.

Not a week later, Anora burst into the Cousland castle, startling servants and disrupting group meditation. A child messenger ran to the palace with news that _could destroy the city almost worse than the Blight,_ Anora panicked. Near the Alienage, men wearing what the boy described as _fancy mage robes_ led chained elves over the laborer’s bridge; a reinforced patchwork bridge used only by servants and labor grunts, never by nobles. Had the boy not walked right into them and spilled his delivery, the port fog would have hidden them. Up close, one mage wanted to kill him, but another said they were already late, the boats would not wait in Amaranthine. The only mage robes described as _fancy_ were Tevinter robes. With this new information and the Alienage still closed off, Anora assumed the city elves were being smuggled to ships at Amaranthine's city docks. It was a good enough way to ship unnoticed.

“Every elf in this city is a registered servant, a merchant, or lives in the Alienage,” Anora said. “But _now_ elves are being led away, hidden by fog, by Tevinter mages. I believe _this_ is what my father sent that ship for. I suspect my father is selling our elves.” Had she not already lied to gain political favor, Alistair might believe the concern in her voice. A more realistic guess was she worried the Vints stealing elves would reflect on _her_. _“You must stop this!”_

Alistair sighed. Of _course_ she said that. 

 


	68. A Minute of Blood Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deeper plot to discredit Alistair's claim to the throne is divulged as the Wardens investigate the _unrest_ in Alienage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING*** Graphic Violence: blood and gore, detailed combat, being held captive; heavy Angst: self-blame; haunted house. 
> 
> Mood Music:  
>  _for the Orphanage:_ [The Corruption, by Jesper Kyd, Darksiders 2 soundtrack](https://youtu.be/tMkd8s0iKRY)  
>  _rescuing the elves:_ [I Am the Fire, by Halestorm](https://youtu.be/8hkmuTvkp_s)

“No.”

“What?!” Anora stared at Tess like she was mad.

“Anora, you are disrupting the aura of my house. Please wait until meditation is finished.” Tess closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Perhaps you misheard me, Tesslyn, but _elves_ are being smuggled out of the city! This fares poorly for _all_ of us!” Anora insisted.

“Anora, unarmed people drenched in sweat in their underclothes are _not_ going to catch Tevinter mages who disappeared into the fog,” Tess said, her voice calm, though she relaxed her shoulders again and again. She was trying to force inner serenity. Alistair reached over and clasped his wife’s hand. “If you absolutely cannot wait, you have your own private guard to investigate. Otherwise, find patience until our meditation is complete and we bathe, eat, and dress. Quietly see yourself out, and know as soon as we are able, we will attend to the Alienage just as we have the rest of the city.”

“And what? Give them time to sneak _more_ elves out? You know damn well I cannot order my guard without my father knowing!”

“I sense animosity,” Riordan spoke up, his eyes still closed. “This is unhealthy between Wardens and the head of country during Blights. Perhaps the young lady should join us?” Whether or not it was Riordan’s intent to irritate Anora by exposing a flaw, it worked anyway. Anora huffed and stomped through the halls in her regular exit pattern. Those in meditation took a simultaneous breath of relief.

They took their time. Bath time lingered today. They dawdled over tea and a small meal, and not even to spite Anora. Armor was triple-checked along with weapons and potions. Mage problems _again,_ and magi from the Tevinter Imperium had a reputation for acting superior to the rest of Thedas. If that really was the source of Alienage trouble, unethical practices were the best they could expect. No one was in a hurry to engage more abominations.

“Haven’t we had enough of blood mages?” Wynne recalled.

Though unlike the Circle tower at Kinloch Hold, the Wardens now had an army and two golems. They could only hope Branka and Shale would inspire fear and surrender.

There were no matching outfits today. Eyes turned anyway as heavy footsteps shook the ground. Shale alone grabbed attention, but Branka was taller and heavier than everything but buildings. Sergeant Kylon fell dispirited when Alistair warned Branka would smash the Alienage gate open, easing only when Tess promised to commission repairs. It now occurred to Alistair the city guard might not have income with Howe dead.

The Sergeant warned them about Denerim’s elves: _they_ were the ones who demanded the gate, but the gate itself cut most ties to the city guard. Every time Kylon had gone in to investigate in the past, the elves wasted days arguing the need for _shem_ help. They only gave in when Kylon threatened to let Anora deal with their resistance, for Anora was known for not granting second chances; a preventative tactic for rebellion, not stubborn elves _._ The elves' fear of dying out left the Alienage easy prey for crime, isolating themselves into unclean, unsafe streets. Top that with whatever reason for the quarantine, the Wardens and their massive golems were in for trouble.

Branka and Shale silenced the marketplace with their fists. Deafening blows to the old gate shook the walls and ground around them until metal yielded to golem force. Broken and bent to allow Branka to pass, the gate stopped no one now.

Kylon's warning was confusing. From the noise at the gate and the presence of the knights, Alistair expected elves to charge with pitchforks and simple swords. But the Sergeant must not have visited in awhile. From the state of things, the Alienage must have been closed longer than even Kylon knew. Overgrown weeds and cinder piles Alistair expected, as city elves by rumor had little resources and nowhere else to burn their dead; unlike Dalish who buried them. But there was no crime, not from the naked eye. No screams of horror, no fighting. Bony stray animals darted about, a few elves sat or leaned against houses. The only sounds were incessant coughing. Sounds of illness, not aggression. Tess recalled what Brother Genitivi learned in the Chantry: a sort of plague that only affected elves.

A larger picture formed before Alistair. If it was a racial plague, it would take weeks, sometimes months, to discover it affected no one else. Kylon said he’d heard no complaints from the Alienage since Howe became Arl of Denerim. A slow-blooming incurable plague in a district no one payed mind to made whomever called in _expert healers_ seem like a hero; even if the _experts_ were from Tevinter. The Tevinter Imperium, reputed for blood magic and slavery, was also the pinnacle of the supreme magical healing. It suggested a ploy to cover up slave trade. An irrefutable excuse to _relocate_ plagued elves if the Vints were caught smuggling them out. A mystery sickness no average person would object _relocating_ elves for. _Greater good_ bullshit.

Alistair’s blood heated. If Loghain pulled this off and decided to blame Alistair, no one would even care about the truth. As King of Ferelden, _Alistair_ would be blamed for Fereldan slave trade. Open war would destroy what was left of the country in _weeks,_ inviting the surviving Mac Tir _to the rescue_ when the Chantry sentenced Alistair.

 _So many things to ruin his reign before he even took the throne._ Alistair hoped he was wrong on all accounts.

The canal bridge lead led them through a narrow street that bent in unlikely angles. Rafters and mismatched stacked houses expanded homes to accommodate what must be a growing population. It looked unfinished: gaps between wall boards, slats about to crack, what seemed like whatever available cloth filled in the gaps, visible roofs no different than walls. Shacks stood atop houses, sometimes atop other shacks. Slanted supports somehow had not fallen. Shanties afore houses and shacks protruded into the street, causing the narrow walk. Some were nothing more than a rusty sheet of metal or a few slats just above ground.

A pitiful sight, yet something Alistair would have longed for as a child.

 _"This_ is Denerim’s _Alienage?”_ Tess whispered, caught between horror and disgust as she looked around with wide eyes.

“This is surprisingly better off than where I grew up,” Zevran told her.

“What?” Alistair and Tess asked in unison. “You mean this is common?” Alistair searched his friend up and down, unwilling to picture a _friend_ growing up in such poor conditions. His _own_ pitiful childhood seemed like a bad dream, but he always assumed everyone else had it better.

Zevran shrugged. “In poverty, why not? I can’t speak for all Alienages, but the whorehouse in Antiva City? The neighborhood behind it was much worse. It was not uncommon to hear a shabby high rise crash to the ground. Running around as a child was risky business, you’d never know when a house would fall on your head. The front of the whorehouse was safe enough, other than your average mugging or murder. But this?” he gestured around. “Vagrants in Antiva City would give an organ to live in this luxury. A _vital_ organ.”

 _“Zevran!”_ Tess hissed. “This is _not luxury!”_

“I almost feel guilty for wanting to be away from the tower, growing up,” Wynne said. “No wonder the elven apprentices were so eager for bedtime.”

“It is easy to take comfort for granted,” Leliana added like a sage.

“I can’t-” Tess huffed. “Highever’s Alienage was _not_ like this! We didn’t even call it an _Alienage! My father_ took _care_ of the people! When their stores spoiled, we sent them our extra! My mother sent quilts and wool every winter, there were regular patrols! They did this for _every_ district! It was _just another district!_ _This_ is-” she was appalled. “How does Denerim survive like this? How do these _elves_ survive?”

Branka made a noise. “And _you_ worried the _Anvil_ would hurt people. No need for shelter and food if you’re made of rock. Speaking from personal experience, of course.”

“Branka, not helping,” Alistair said.

“The guard captain said the elves would not let him address crime,” Morrigan reminded.

“That’s no excuse! Cailan and Anora were responsible for it being up to code! If _Arl Kendell_ failed to report its condition, it was _royalty's_ job to find out _why._ Elves are a _huge_ part of commerce!”

“Hm. Kendell, you say? Like that fellow I told you not to release from the dungeons but you did anyway?” Zevran looked at Tess with one brow raised and the other clenched.

“No, that was his son.” She shook her head, then sighed. “But yes, it was _also_ _his_ responsibility. _Father_ made _Fergus and me_ walk the city with him.”

“That pompous ass is an excellent answer, then.” Zevran told her.

“I just…I always assumed everyone else took care of their city like Father did…” Tess was learning an unwanted truth about her world after being misinformed her whole life. Alistair squeezed her hand. _“My city was not like this!”_ she insisted.

“What do you think, Alistair? You are awfully quiet over there,” Zevran observed. “You must be able to see _everything_ from way up there, yes?”

“Wishing we had coin to help everyone isn’t going to make it better right now,” Alistair said. “We’ll do what we can when the Blight is over.” He sighed, though. “Hopefully houses mean beds, at least.” He grabbed Tess’ hand. “Come on. Standing around won’t make any of us feel better.”

The path inward wound unevenly around more shanties and shacks. Sometimes detouring from the actual road, the path beneath their feet was worn down; a route accepted instead of a road restored. _Was it really like Sergeant Kylon said? Were these elves so stubborn they refused outside help?_ Tess was right, cities could not function when districts isolated themselves. Alistair had a feeling once upon a time, before pride took over, the marketplace was swarming with elves. Servants like Erlina severely misled elven life in Denerim.

At the heart of the Alienage in the center of the district stood a symbolic tree. But the stories from books at the Circle did not sound like the tree before Alistair. Tales told of the Vhenadahl, a sacred tree reminiscent of Arlathan, the ancient elven homeland. Roots stretched across Thedas and leaves spanned the skies, blessing all elves with eternal life. But this? Shin-high spikes erected around it to keep people away. Even without the warding pikes, the tree seemed dull and lacking care. Zevran guessed the spikes were there to keep elves from urinating on the _sacred_ tree. Nothing about the elves’ most prized possession looked sacred and respected. If anything, it looked unwanted. Like the rest of the Alienage so far.

If a neglected heart of city elf pride wasn’t bad enough, the elves rallying near it was. No, not rallying. Wailing. Sickened elves. Hacking, sallow complected, hunched in pain, they gathered before a building where men in robes guarded a door. Robes of Tevinter fashion. The Wardens were close enough to distinguish mage robes from clothes, but even with Shale and Branka thundering about, the party went unnoticed. A single elf shouted. At first Alistair thought she yelled at the mages, but as they drew closer, her words cleared up. She was not only healthy and energetic, but she claimed the plague did not exist. She scolded her people for letting themselves be tricked. Called them foolish for turning so quickly to humans who raped their women and kept elven slaves.

“Andraste’s ass! Why does no one listen?” the female elf spun with a frustrated growl and stomped off behind the crowd. Fiery hair matched her mood. She paced with heavy feet, weaving around stray cats without looking. She muttered to herself through a few turns before noticing Alistair’s party nearby. Eyes smaller and duller than Dalish eyes flew over all of them before she froze. She frowned deeper. _“Oh. Wonderful. More_ blighted shems!* Are you here to infect the rest of us?”

“Is that any way to speak to those come to your aid?” Morrigan stood stiffer than usual beside Tess.

“We have enough problems without shems and your mages interfering. Go back to your noble manors where you belong, huh? Just leave us alone.”

Tess sighed with a roll of her eyes. “I am _really_ tired of hearing _shem._ Listen, you,” she stepped toward the elf. 

“Oh, this ought to be good.” Zevran stood closer to Alistair to watch. “Ready your shield. City elves aren’t afraid to fight back,” he muttered, hands on his daggers.

 _“Excuse_ me, shem?”

“Exactly, _excuse you. I_ am Teyrna Cousland _and_ a Grey Warden, _and_ future Queen of this country, so you-”

“You think titles mean something here, shem?”

Tess breathed deep through her nose. “You will _respect_ our presence here, _or_ there will trouble. We came to _help_. If you’d _rather_ we let the Vints smuggle your people out for slavery, then _continue_ this _shem_ stuff. I will turn _right_ back around and _forget_ you when my husband takes his throne.” Firm, controlled; typical Tess when someone challenged her position. Alistair would be lying if he said her fire no longer bothered him, but it also still excited him. A never-ending battle he hoped would dissipate soon.

The elf’s face changed in a blink. _“Slavery?_ Maker, you don’t really think -” fear and horror etched her face as she looked back at the Tevinter mages. “Oh, no. Oh no, oh _shit no.”_ She turned back to the party. “You’re here to stop them. Aren’t you? Shit, _shit,_ I’m so sorry, I just assumed-” she took a deep breath. “These shems- _humans_ have been causing trouble for weeks. First the Arl’s son a year ago, then the new Arl since spring, now these guys. _Say you’re here to stop them?_ Maker, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be such an ass, we’ve just lost so much already," she rushed. Another deep breath. "My name is Shianni.”

“Better,” Tess’ face and tone softened to compassion. Her pride in her nobility was certainly effective when they needed it to be. “Now,” she continued, “we were only given speculation. What exactly has been going on here? Why is this district quarantined?”

“The plague. Not long after the King died, Arl Howe of Amaranthine became _our_ new Arl, and he brought…” The spitfire elf looked pained. “We hadn’t recovered from Arl Urien when Arl Howe gave us his _gracious welcome.”_

“What does that mean?” Alistair asked. _“Howe_ brought the plague?”

“Is that possible?” her eyes darted in wonder. “He stood at the gate and let his guards just _take_ our women - right after after Arl Urien’s son did the same. Those who came back were…infected or something. I thought they caught it from the guards. But Arl Howe said it was the Blight plague, and if we wanted the cure, we had to be _good little elves._  Or else he wouldn’t send for the Tevinter healers and we’d all die,” she said with a scowl.

“That’s impossible. I don’t feel the Taint here.” Alistair shook his head.

“What?” Shianni look at him like he spoke nonsense. “But our people _have_ been sick! They’ve been coughing and wheezing, and those without treatment have died!”

“We would feel it if there was Blight sickness.” Tess kept glancing to a door ahead of them.

“I don’t suppose this is the same _sickness_ that affects refugees also?” Alistair guessed.

“That’s what they told us. _Only dirty people get_ ,” Shianni recalled with a scowl. “He said it spread through soil, and called us all _shit eating vermin,_ said it was our own damn fault we’re sick.”

“Would it be any consolation if I said he was a lying sack of shit?” Alistair asked, leaning on his heels with his arms over his chest.

“Our people are still sick, so no, not really. But I like the sound of it.”

Alistair wanted to smile, but the conversation was too dark. “Humans are not sick. Aside from the average cold, which is normal this time of year, no one’s sick and dying in Denerim. If your people really had Blight sickness, they’d start to decay while they’re alive. And... eventually lose their minds. They become cannibalistic ghouls. Whatever your people have isn’t from the Blight.”

“So what is it? We _have_ people sick and dying!” Shianni looked at all of them.

“A moment ago, 'twas no sickness. You called your own kind foolish. But now there _is?”_ Morrigan was skeptical.

“Someone has to watch out for us! No one who’s gone into the hospice has come out! I'm the only one trying to prevent them from going in! Shit shit _shit_ , do you really think they made it up just to takes slaves?”

“It’s _Tevinter_. They consider experimenting on people a service of the greater good.” Tess frowned at the door she kept staring at. “It’s possible they planted the disease. Probably something that only affects elves and uses humans as carriers. If your women were... _hurt_ and came back, that might do it.” She gestured toward the door. “What’s going on in there?”

Shianni glanced over. “The Orphanage? That’s empty. No one’s gone in there since Arl Urien’s guard came to arrest my cousin Soris. He tried to rescue his bride when Urien’s son Vaughan took us- _took her_. I... was the only one alive when he found us. Then they stormed in, called it an _Uprising,_ and slaughtered us. What you see now is only a _third_ of what we used to be. They cut through the Orphanage like they were rioting adults. _Our children.”_

 _“That’s_ what Anora was talking about,” Alistair muttered. Anora had said _another uprising would look bad on our end._ Only she’d never mentioned her own Arl caused it. Just another thing added to Anora’s list of lies.

“The Queen?” Shianni said. “Neither her or the King made time for us. We weren’t even allowed in court.”

“Have these mages been in there?” Tess gestured towards the Vints without tearing her eyes from the Orphanage.

“What are you thinking?” Alistair asked his wife.

Tess turned her head and met his eyes in uncertainty. “My bones are buzzing.” The lyrum that still thrived in her marrow. She’d stopped complaining about pain after the Deep Roads, but after the Deep Roads, nothing compared to dying by the Anvil. “I thought it was the Tevinter mages at first, but it’s not. It’s from _here.”_

“Perhaps these _healers_ were sent for additional purposes?” Morrigan suggested.

The _unrest_ in the Alienage looked more grim by the minute. “Selling elves isn’t enough these days? They have to tear the Veil, as well?” Alistair speculated.

“That might explain the Templar.” Shianni said. “There’s a blind Templar towards the Arl’s gates, but he’s not much use. He’s been here since the new Arl locked the gates. A Chantry sister came to pray for us after Urien’s men killed everyone, then she sent the Templar. Obviously they don’t care much since they sent the _blind_ one. Only a few of us have spoken to him. He keeps praying out loud to find the _source of corruption.”_

Alistair huffed. “The source of corruption? He’s a few districts off. You should have pointed him towards the palace.”

“Tevinter mages, a torn Veil, now a blind Templar.” Tess reached for her daggers. “We need to stop them. Abominations running loose won’t help anything.”

“Wait, _wait!”_ Shianni grabbed Tess’ arm. “You can’t just go in _attacking!_ What if they start killing _us?_ ”

“We’ve been efficient so far,” Zevran assured.

“But they’ve got our people inside! If they _are_ slavers, what if they kill everyone inside to cover their tracks? Our _hahren’s_ in there; our Elder! Our _leader?_ He can’t die!”

“And what if I ask _politely_ and they decide they’ve got enough time to slaughter anyway?” Tess asked.

“Oh shit. No, no, no, _dammit!”_ Shianni sighed and let go of Tess. “You know, I was really trying to watch my swearing, too. Then all this _shit_ starts and it just never ends.”

“Do you have a suggestion, then?” Alistair asked.

 _Discreet as possible._ Shianni didn’t want anyone else to die, the Alienage already lost its children and most of their capable fighters. _Discreet_ was not easy with two golems, a Qunari, and a pristine elite guard. Not to mention Alistair’s height.

But the solution came easier than expected. Zevran and Tess, by all fighting appearances, were Antivan Crows. Antivan Crows were expected to be armed, and the party was diverse enough to pass for mercenaries. Shianni would continue yelling at her people, and Zevran and Tess would slip in to discuss buying the elves out from under Loghain _for the Crows_. Zevran could provide valid Crow broker names, should the Vints already be familiar. Zevran insisted he was already a wanted man, so what harm was this? They would be the distraction Alistair and the mages needed to explore, while the golems and knights kept watch out of sight.  

Shianni had no problem talking at the top of her lungs again. She threaded in words of the _new shems_ breaking in to take over; _shems_ didn't care about them, they couldn’t trust _shems,_ the _shem healers_ didn’t care the people they helped might die any moment with these _shem_ thugs here. Alistair watched as Zevran and Tess, minus their colorful sashes, strolled with purpose to the mages in _fancy robes._ From this far away, they were convincing; rather, the Vints did not attempt combat. So far so good. The others, minus the golems and elite guard, were free to look around.

The blind Templar was not as Alistair expected. Only half blind, and still sound of mind, active at the Chantry except for his time in the Alienage. He recognized Alistair had two mages with him from the familiar hum of lyrium in their veins. Alistair was _almost_ honest with him: they were Grey Wardens investigating slavers from Tevinter; truth of Tess' witch needn't be told. The Templar didn’t know about slavers, but he felt the Tevinter mages as he felt Wynne and Morrigan. He suspected they had something to do with the strange aura of the Alienage, but with his poor sight, he needed assistance to know for sure. The elves were apprehensive and would not assist him, but Grey Wardens could, and if the eerie feeling led to the Tevinter mages, then all the better. Hidden from the Vints by the mages, Leliana and Sten, the Templar joined them back to the Orphanage.

Alistair ushered them in, then stood in the doorway and yelled. “Zevran! Amoldo!” he addressed Tess by her old master’s name. Both his rogues looked over. “Come!” Alistair motioned. “If they won’t budge, we’ll find our own.”

Zevran and Tess bowed as they backed away, both suave and fluid, spinning into step. Tess held Alistair’s gaze as she approached. “Amoldo, huh?” Her eyes smiled.

“Is there another legitimate Crow name I should use?” Alistair teased his wife.

“Call her Zevran,” Zevran said. “Zevran and Zevran. The half-twins of the famous traveling Crows.”

 _“Traveling Crows?_ _Thanks,_ Zev. You’re welcome, Zev,” Tess joked, stretching her voice. Alistair and Zevran shared a grin.

There were no jokes in the Orphanage. It didn’t matter Alistair could not feel the low hum of the lyrium-thick Veil Tess, the Templar, and mages felt. The air was chilling enough. Cold indeed, their breath showed in front of them, but also uneasy, wrong. It was like ascending the Circle Tower, sinking dread seized their guts and twisted the further they went. Something present that shouldn’t be.  

The first room held a bad sign. Broken beds, broken chairs, blood stains in the center of the floor. No, not stains. Wet blood, though it held a stale stench. Shianni said everyone was killed months ago; something was keeping this blood alive. The Templar prayed aloud.

At first glance, the second room was in better order. No blood or broken beds. But when they walked through, scattered toys on the floor jumped with electricity. _Lighting in the toys._ As if that wasn’t hard enough for Alistair, he missed a doll and walked right over it. Jolts exploded through his right foot and up his leg, every nerve suddenly hot and aware. Harsh stimulation toppled him, forcing his blood round his body like a racing horse, pulsing his brain, thudding his heart like a hammer. It _burned._ Tess tried to help him, but one touch and her left arm absorbed the shock. Lightning flashed through her skin, nails, hair and eyes, arching her unnaturally, rigid and crackling almost like a bolt from the sky itself. Then in a bright blaze, it stopped. Her eyes rolled and knees weakened. Morrigan and Wynne weren’t even needed to stop it, Tess absorbed it all. She recovered under a healing spell with a bloody nose, and persistent curiosity from Morrigan.

Tess and Alistair sat until the numbness waned. Everyone waited for Tess to answer Morrigan’s questions, though she never needed to. The blind Templar said it all in only a few words: _There is something to be said for taking excess lyrium._

 _Ostagar._ That overwhelming night at Ostagar when Tess swallowed a pouch of lyrium dust to absorb Blight magic. _Becoming the rune,_ she’d said. A Tevinter experiment. Alistair watched Tess now, slow swaying, a little dizzy. It had been so long, Alistair forgot her trick was possible. He counted themselves lucky a bloody nose and a numb arm was the worst of it today.

The next hall wasn’t any better. Voices of children echoed around them, cool breezes rushing by their legs. The party looked down around each other as nursery rhymes and giggles echoed with each step. Wide-eyed and confused, they sought the invisible source. Not a child in sight, only voices. The Orphanage was haunted. If the Veil _was_ torn here, it must have been closed, and the souls of the children who lived here trapped. Were the flooring and furniture not destroyed and bloodstained, laughter and rhymes would be welcome.

Then the children rhymed about _dying in pain._

Out of thin air, a spirit materialized. The shape of a young boy turned and looked straight at Alistair, then ran down the corridor shouting in fear. A glowing mist trailed after him, leaving greenish fog on the bloodied floor and ruined rugs. Leliana began praying, Sten following in his native tongue. Morrigan said _Tis interesting choice of spirits when there is so much blood. Perhaps this is a trap and they are the lure?_ The Templar prayed louder.

The next room held a crazed spirit. A transparent glowing entity with a woman’s voice charged at them. Maniacal laughter filled the air as it whirled through giant cobwebs that snagged those alive, leaving them defenseless. If they’d never fought their former selves at the Temple in Haven, Alistair would not believe this was a _spirit_ fighting. Its laughter echoed in his brain long after it disappeared. He could not shake this chill. They were walking through a ghost story.

Further in, there was no trace of blood. The Orphanage fell silent as they made their way. Prayers silenced, even from the Templar. They were all listening.

Then another child’s voice stopped Alistair’s tracks.

_One, two, Maric’s run through._

The hair on his neck and limbs stood up, even under the weight of his armor. Had this not mentioned his father, it would be just another rhyme. Stiff in caution, his head turned; Tess wore the same expression he felt on his own face. Wide eyes, afraid to breathe, wary of provoking something worse.

_Three, four, the kingdom’s at war._

What was this?  

 _Eight, nine, and now you die!_ Giggles filled the air, as if the invisible child had just told a joke.

Then silence again. Alistair’s chest painfully gave in to breath and heartbeat. _What in Andraste’s name was this? Some some kind of omen about Alistair’s fate with Loghain?_ He jumped when the blind Templar put a hand on his shoulder and prayed for calmness.

The bloodstains returned, along with nerve. Masculine spirits attacked like trained soldiers, protecting bloody floors and ravaged bodies. The Templar noted _still no blood coagulation._ The bodies weren’t even decomposed. Slow to spoil, a smell of sour flesh, all kept on the brink of death. It made the mages, Zevran, and the Wardens sick. Kinloch Hold was just as fresh in memory as the Deep Roads. Po would not stop growling.

Disgust turned to antipathy as they fought their way through. The fact this happened to _children_ enraged them all. Room after room, bloodier the further they went. _Bones_ and bloodied beds, unseen children sobbing not to be taken or killed. _More_ piles in red puddles. The sound of teeth chattering as a ghostly child stammered his way to death. Tess was outraged this happened in _the King’s city_ where it could have been prevented by Cailan or Anora enforcing authority. She recalled Highever and her last night there, the screams and blood as bad as they witnessed it here now. Appalled _Arls_ stooped this low, had murdered children and got away with it by calling it an _uprising._ A whole generation of elves _eradicated_ because of Arl Urien's son. She scolded herself for freeing Vaughan Kendell.

The Templar coaxed out a rage demon. From a wide glossy puddle of blood, it rose from the solid floor as if crawling from a lake. Like cooling lava as it stretched and moved. It goaded them, taunting their belief in the Maker, never staying on the surface long enough to hit. Morrigan made the killing - and only - blow. A bolt of ice straight through, then the molten demon slunk back into the puddle of blood. The Orphanage fell silent once again.

For a moment, it seemed they defeated it. _Was anything this easy for them?_ Perhaps the Circle Tower and Deep Roads strengthened them more than they realized.

Then they felt it _move_. A zipping course of energy under their feet. It led them down more halls, through more bones and more puddles, _more more more._ More red, more death, more whimpers. Like it was showing them a preview of dying; they did not need another one. The voice of a grown woman pleaded for _men_ to take her, not the children, followed by a piercing scream. Entire rooms with bones lined up against the wall, though blood littered the center of the floor. Countless bones and skulls behind broken makeshift barriers. Slaughterhouse hooks dangling from the ceiling. Tess counted each hook in horror; _Maker, what did these men do?_

Not just men. Abominations like the ones Uldred summoned back at the Circle tower. Mages who gave into the unnatural strength of blood magic and transformed into monsters. A spirit of a child led them straight to the ambush, and the party had followed in desperation to find the way out.

But the sight gave them strength. None of them eager to repeat the a trip to the Fade or battle more _Uldreds,_ they charged. The Templar stayed back, calling forth Holy Smites while the others bashed, slashed, and electrified like their lives depended on it. They refused to let it get worse.

 _Shades, abominations. Demons._ An unwanted reunion between the Wardens party and blood magic. _Wynne_ even said the Rite of Tranquility should be used more often; _Maybe then mages elsewhere would not get such imprudent ideas!_

Their adrenaline did not prevent death. The rage demon returned, hurling a pitchfork through the Templar without time for defense. Half in shock and half-enraged, the party battled in vengeance and for life. The demon and its ilk had fed for _months_ on these bodies, a Veil tear sustained with the blood of frightened children. _Raw energy;_ a more powerful asset than the magic at Kinloch Hold. Alistair realized he could not afford to forget his Templar training.

Finding their way out into fresh air did not mean a break. As they came around the other side of the Orphanage, Tess ordered the golems and the elite guard with her. Pádraig didn’t have time to show off his knights this time. Alistair stopped Tess, though, pressed for answers, made her breathe and talk.

She loathed her nobility now. The _potential_ to abuse her station like Urien and Howe lived in her veins. _Those monsters could be me!_ Tears of anger. When Alistair could not find words to comfort, Tess wiped her cheeks, stood on her toes, and kissed him. Then she spun away and marched swift, commanding Zevran to take the side mage.

“EVERYONE GO HOME NOW!” Tess yelled as she pushed through the crowd of pleading elves. _“NOW!_ Unless you want be casualties!”

“What in the- ?” a Tevinter mage stared as Tess and her small army advanced. Shianni urged the elves to hurry away.

“I don’t care _who_ butchered the Orphanage! I’ve had _enough_ of blood magic and demons, and _I know_ _your kind too well_ to think you'll just _walk away!_ There is a quarter of missing elves and an entire building of dead children!” With a final stride, she pulled a dagger and stabbed a _healer_ through the neck. The Vint in the shadows stiffened and quaked as Zevran’s dagger struck nerves. Alistair was still learning Tess' moments of rage solved problems with little resistance. “You are the only mages here, so _YOU-”_ she twisted her blade a she yanked it from the neck to stab another. Leliana’s arrow pierced a guard Alistair hadn’t noticed. “-take blame for the demons!” Tess dodged a swinging shield, then shoved him against the door and kneed his groin. “I _dare_ you to stop me!” While the Vint guard doubled over, Tess reached for her rose dagger. She grabbed his hair and stabbed at the base of the skull; a quick crack ended the last Tevinter guard’s life.

Alistair only now noticed screaming residents fleeing to their homes.

“Holy shitting Andraste!” Shianni gasped. She staggered back over with large eyes. Alistair couldn’t tell if she was afraid or grateful.

Tess wiped her dagger as she looked around. “Is everyone inside?” Her eyes fixed on points past Alistair. “No.”

“Almost. _Prophet’s ass,_ though! You did it. Maker, you really did it.” Fear _and_ hope. “You really are here to help us.” Shianni sounded like she hadn’t believed it before.

Tess spun on guard and scoured the door behind her. “How many men are in there?” she asked.

“I don’t know. They change shifts every few hours, switch places with the guys out…at your feet.”

“Get your people into a single house,” Alistair told Shianni. “Branka and Shale, stand watch, make sure no other elves are hauled off. No humans come through that gate, no elves leave.” He readied his shield and sword as he reached his wife. “That,” he leaned down and brushed his lips on her cheek, “was incredibly stimulating, my dear.” He kissed her ear; she fought a shudder. “How many dark corners do you think we can find?” he murmured.

 _“Ah,_ that _look_ on your face, dear Warden. Alistair, _why_ don’t you ever talk to _me_ like that?” Zevran teased.

Tess froze in mortification and amusement, staring beyond as Alistair chuckled. _“Shianni,_ meet your new King and his royal problem solver,” Tess said, trying to hide the flush in her cheeks. But the look in her eyes as she met Alistair’s was humor and contemplation.

“I- wow. Okay. A dangerous Queen and a racy King.” Alistair glanced over; Shianni held her hands up. _“Everyone in one house._ As you wish, Your Majesties.” Shianni turned around. Alistair heard her over the noise of the marching elite guard. “So I’ll tell everyone to…go…Maker, you’re huge.”

“Kind of it to say,” Shale responded over Alistair shoving open the hospice door.

Only a handful of Tevinter guards, but unlike the ones outside, these ones were ready for attack. The Tevinter Imperium didn’t slack on training, Alistair had to credit them that. But a handful was no match for the Warden’ party and the elite guard. Pádraig was a beast in battle, grateful for a chance to use his blade in combat, not just threats. Alistair stepped aside, watching Pádraig jab his greatsword hilt into an eye then kick. Alistair jumped back when Pádraig swung wide; the head rolled clean off.

Alistair bowed before his friend with a smirk, but Pádraig laughed. _“Don’t even,_ Alistair!”

“I’m the bloody King, Pád, I’ll bow whenever I fucking want to.” A moment of laughter between two friends, not King and Captain.

Cries from a side room drew their attention. Elves stuffed in two cages like livestock. Bruises, blood, a stinking body covered between a cage and a wall. _What kind of people do this?_

“Look at this.” Zevran pushed his way through with a key and a list. He unlocked the cages while Alistair read. Alistair frowned at the note; a shipment order for _eight males and six females._ He met the assassin’s eyes. “We are _killing_ them _all,_ yes? I cannot stand by you if you allow this, Alistair.”

“What?!” the elves cried out. “No! Please don’t kill us! Please, we just want to go home! We’re not even sick!”

Zevran hushed gently. “Do not fear. I am elven too, see?” He shoved the door open. “We are not here to kill elves.”

“No one’s killing anyone,” Alistair assured. Tess growled at the shipment order in his hands.

“Except the bad guys, yes?” Zevran open the other cage.

“Except the bad guys,” Alistair agreed.

“So…we can go?” The elves stumbled out of the cages almost in shock. The look on their faces told Alistair they never expected freedom.

“Absolutely,” Alistair opened his arm and stepped back. “Wynne, stay and do what you can for them. If you judge it’s safe enough, have Shale run to Eamon’s for a basket of food, I’m sure our new friends are hungry.”

“I hope you know how much your heart shows, Alistair. Don’t ever try to play heartless with me again, young man,” Wynne teased over the sound of elves crying in relief.

“Don’t you dare tell Shale, she won’t talk to me if she thinks I’m soft,” he joked back. His eyes found Tess as the last elf followed the elderly enchanter.

Alistair’s wife gazed in pride and adoration; the kind of King she wanted him to be. Before Alistair could roll up the note and hold her hand, Tess stood on her toes and pulled him down for a kiss. Tender, lingering, _so proud. More than love._ His heart swelled. He didn’t even care it was in front of his friends. Her pride in him was better than a dark corner.

Alistair giggled into her mouth when Zevran grumbled _See? Like an old toothless couple._ Pádraig chuckled an order for the knights to turn away.

Shianni waited outside when the party left through the back door. Peering right into the alley the back door led them to, she asked if the Wardens found the _hahren_ or her uncle Cirion. When they showed her the note, her face paled and her knees gave out. Pádraig caught her before she hit the ground.

“So…it’s true?” it scraped off her throat. “They were selling us. The Arl was…all those people who went in there…for two weeks they’ve been here… _everyone."_

 _“Two weeks?”_ Alistair’s eyes flew to Tess.

“The ship only went to the Free Marches, then,” she said. She sighed and closed her eyes with a wince of regret. _“Why_ did I think he’d try to be discreet?”

“Don’t blame yourself, love, we both thought it. He was trying to hide this, discretion seemed the logical answer.” Alistair said. “It can’t take only two weeks to get to Tevinter, though. Can it?”

“If they have fast steeds and never slept?” Pádraig suggested.

“Unless Anora lied to us again, and that ship actually left before we arrived in town,” Alistair guessed.

“They could have had a contact waiting across shore. Shianni, that building in back-” Tess began.

“The apartments?” Shianni asked.

“How big are they? Is there another entrance? Could they take anyone through there without witnesses?”

“Andraste’s-” Shianni nodded, trying to hide a forming pout. “It curves around and opens to the Arl’s gate.”

“Shit.” Tess turned in movement so fluid Alistair thought she might faint. She took off running instead. Alistair ran after his wife, positive he knew her thoughts: if there was a chance to save that shipment of _eight males and six females,_ they could waste no time; especially if the shipment was children.

The clanking metal of loyal knights came to a halt as Alistair threw his weight into the door. A bout of coughing interrupted a scream, but the elf tried again when the stampede of armor rushed into the building. Hall so narrow it only fit two at a time, ceiling so low Sten had to duck. Alistair jumped in a room Tess flung into.

The same elf who screamed did it again, hoarse, violent hacking interrupting each wail. Tess demanded where the Vints went, but the frail elf tucked up closer to her hearth, shaking her head. Tess pushed from the doorway and took off again, not waiting for the elf to calm down. Alistair called after her, catching up in no time, but she was focused. Door after door flew open, most of them empty, and more startling as they went along. Blood stains, a ripped doll, rooms disheveled wall to wall, a broken vase with dried blood and hair stuck to it. But no elves. Evidence people had been taken by force. Alistair bet they didn't even lie to these ones about a plague and a cure.

The condition alone bothered Alistair. Mold stains on the ceiling and walls. Apartments with more chairs and beds than there was walking space. Some without a fireplace. Most units with smaller beds had no toys, and Alistair doubted the slavers let children take playthings. It sickened him. People like Arl Eamon complained of _ripped tapestries_ when a stone’s throw away, beds lay bare and children had no toys or books to distract them from cold nights. Alistair made a mental note to amend this as soon as he was able.

Their heavy horde ran around another corner and scared the daylights from another elf. A male, gaunt and dirt-stained, more afraid they’d kill him than of being caught sifting through refuse. Skittish when they questioned about the Vints and missing elves. Tess had the sense to offer gold for information; everyone counted what coin they had on them. The elf's voice broke every other word, but he recalled it all. He was beneath the floor trying to reinforce the beams when the mages cleared the apartments. Through the cracks, he saw it as he tried to creep. Parents fought to keep their children, but nothing worked. Those who resisted were killed, made an example of. Bright lights and crackling like the skies opened inside, blood dripping down. The survivors agreed in fear to leave. By nightfall the apartments were almost empty, only two others remained, one too elderly, the other too sick. The hahren Valendrian was taken days ago _._ They took visiting elves and children. Some females were raped in open rooms while new batches of chained elves marched out. Through the landlord’s old office and never seen again; _then they come back and do it all over again._

Tess asked how long ago the shipment of _eight males and six females_ came through.

“I- I don’t know, I wasn’t checking body parts.” He shook his head, checking down the hall again.

“Maybe they were still collecting them,” Alistair told Tess, taking bits and silvers from Leliana and Oghren. “The hospice only had five men and four women. Maybe we stopped that shipment.”

“Then when did they last take people? How many?” Alistair hadn’t seen Tess this worked up over people being wronged before. Not even her rant to that Dalish Keeper Zathrian had been so inflamed. Maybe she really felt this corruption was her fault?

“T…two days ago? Valendrian was with them. A bunch of our men. There might have been female, but they came through so fast.” The elf shook his head.

“Valendrian. That’s your hahren?” As soon as the elf nodded, she bolted. Zevran dumped his earnings in Alistair’s hand and dashed off after Tess, just as determined to end this as she. Alistair called after them, count of coin already lost. He shoved the spilling coins into the elf’s arms and chased after them, pushing past Oghren to catch up to his wife.

They stopped just outside the door, not expecting guards. Only six guards, but the reason for an already secluded place to be watched drew suspicion. Maybe the captured elves were fighting back? Maybe the Vints expected resistance. Either way, no one would hear this handful die out here. It _was_ the second garden Shianni mentioned; now it served as a trodden watch post for men whose shields bore a religious symbol.

“The Imperial _Chantry_ is involved?” Alistair said in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“They use slaves too.” Tess glanced at him as one guard turned around. “Though kinder than most doesn’t mean much.”

“Another shipment?” the guard sighed. “Didn’t those idiots read the note? What am I going to do with _one elf?_ Wait…” his eyes narrowed as he noticed Sten, Oghren, and the knights behind them. “You’re not-”

Zevran didn’t give him time to finish. Soaring from somewhere, he landed on the guard, shoving him to the ground where he sliced the neck with a wide arc of his arm. Cries of surprise came from the guards ahead. Tess whipped out her daggers and ran again, Zevran racing next to her, crouched and ready for a low strike. By the time Alistair reached them, two more were down. The three of them took the last one at once: the archer backed himself into a corner, where Zevran slashed around Alistair’s shield. Alistair shoved until the archer’s buckles sparked against stone, but it was a glittering dagger that ended life, whizzing between King and Crow. Breath and pulse catching up from the unexpected flying blade, Alistair looked at Tess. She met his eyes for only a moment, then she yanked her dagger from the trickling forehead and stepped back. Her mutter carried:  _Not one of them. I am not like them!_ As if she had to convince herself. She believed noble rank caused all this.

Alistair caught up with her again, this time forcing her to step aside and cool down, take a drink, breathe. “You’re beating yourself up over nothing, Tess,” he told her, limiting her view to himself. “None of what happened here is your fault.”

She met his eyes and lowered the waterskin before taking a drink. “Isn’t it?” she asked. Alistair put the skin to her mouth and squeezed, _making_ her take a break. She caught a leak from the corner of her mouth, smearing blood on her cheek at the same time. “I grew up with elves, Alistair, all our servants were elves! I never saw them hungry or cold or frightened of kidnap, and because of that, I never thought it _could_ happen to them! This is just as much my responsibility as Cailan’s or Anora's! If the King and Queen fail to protect this country, it falls to the Teyrns! As _daughter_ of a Teyrn, this is _damn_ well my responsibility! And now, not only did the King and Queen fail, but a _Teyrn_ is commissioning this! _And_ two Arls helped! _How_ am I not responsible when I didn’t catch this in time? When I could have stormed in here a month ago and prevented it?”

“We couldn’t have known, Tess.” There was no time to bind their wrists, but he held her hand as if they were tied. “None of this is your fault. Anora and Loghain have played us like puppets, they’re better at this game than we gave them credit for. But I doubt Loghain counted on us smashing the gate and interrupting.”

She searched his eyes with a wild frown, then her gaze drifted in thought. “I don’t want elves,” she said. “In the palace, after they crown you…I don’t want elves there.” She shook her head.

“I agree completely.” He pushed his lips to her forehead. “But that's for later, all right? Right now, we're _here._ We don’t want to keep them waiting, do you?”

“No we do not.” Zevran was ready near them.

“Thank you for eavesdropping, Zev,” Alistair joked without a smile.

“Who else would remind you there are assholes to stab?” Zevran flipped his daggers and gripped tighter, more ready than Tess to deliver justice.

The door to the other wing of apartments led to a female elf and her human guard. She accused them of obstructing official business. Well-crafted armor with an ornate bow; better off than any elf they’d seen so far. She ignored Zevran’s warning to surrender; still partial to his own race even though humans blocked the exit. Out of respect for Zevran, Alistair offered to spare them if they stayed their weapons, but the female elf refused. She meant to stop their party, nothing else.

Tess had her against the wall faster than Alistair could blink. _“Where are they?!”_ The Vint guards raised swords and bows; Pádraig and the knights spread out with weapons drawn before the Vints could aim.

“We have permission to operate here!”

“Permission from a man who kills his kings and frames his daughter for _your_ slave trade?” she slammed her. _“Where are they!”_

“The smell of gold changes morality faster than relig-”

The diamond coated rose dagger cracked through another face. The Vints lunged in attack as the female elf fell to the floor; slack jaw and dripping, a gory hole above still eyes. Tess flipped the dagger and spun, almost slicing Alistair with a backwards stab. Traps separating the other room couldn’t be disarmed in time; Sten improvised, kicking a guard then dragging him to the traps. He walked on the screaming man like a stepping stone, and the knights followed suit while the rest of the party helped Tess and Zevran.

Tess took off again with Zevran at her heels. This time Alistair kept up, through a double set of doors, down another hall, right into an ambush of crossbow archers. Tess and Zevran wove themselves, one on the floor while the other attacked high, interchanging. Alistair caught on quick, _keep moving._ While he charged an archer, Tess yelled for Morrigan. Alistair glanced back and groaned, but intercepted anyway. He rammed the guard who’d dropped his bow an raised a wood axe at Morrigan. The skull cracked beneath his shield, he felt the vibrations as it caved in like a fragile vase. _Finalizing;_ Alistair now loved that shudder beneath his arm. He stepped back and shook chunks from his shield, ready to scold Morrigan for not looking out for herself. But Tess’ witch was wounded. A frosty bolt stuck through her arm; her ice spell had been too slow. Alistair yanked Morrigan into the hall away from the battle, ignoring her protests.

“It’s not deep. Good thing you don’t use a sword, though.” Alistair squeezed her arm to keep the skin in place. Morrigan’s face twisted in the first show of pain he’d seen of her. A firm hand landed on his face, but Alistair couldn’t help a laugh. “Don’t move, you’ll make it worse.” A hard tug pulled the bolt right out. Morrigan’s mouth hung open in a silent cry of pain. When she opened her eyes and squeezed her wounded arm, tears flooded long lashes.

Morrigan’s first piercing. She’d never received more than a surface wound or twisted joint before.

 _Fucking void._ Alistair hated feeling sorry for this witch. “You’ll have to use your magic, Morrigan,” for Tess’ sake, he kept his tone gentle. “But it’s not bad. Probably feels worse than it is.” He reached into his belt pack and pulled out a wrap. The fearless Wilds Witch gasped with wide eyes. A heaving chest shook her torso, spilling more trickles of blood with each inhale. Easier to inflict than to accept. _“Breathe,_ Morrigan. If you don’t heal yourself, the blood won’t clot. The wrap won’t stop you from bleeding.” He wound the mesh cloth around her arm, tightening it with each loop until her skin bulged on either end.

Clatter of combat ended and Tess called out. She ran around the corner, skidding to a stop with a grip on the doorway as she found them. More worry than Alistair wanted his wife to feel over this vile woman. He repeated what he told Morrigan _, it wasn’t bad._

Tess approached in caution and peered at the blossoming stains on the wrap. Alistair met her eyes, still wrapping, then stared at the hyperventilating witch. “She’s in shock,” he guessed. “She won’t heal herself. She needs stitches, but a little healing now will make it easier until we get her back.”

More surprises from his wife as she took Morrigan’s good hand. Tess stroked her face, pleaded with concern for Morrigan to breathe and calm down. Alistair watched the strange interaction, his curiosity peaking as the moment wore on. Morrigan slowly came to. Tess repeated she could not heal her, and if Morrigan continued to panic, she would lose blood. The Witch stammered _it's like_ _fire_. “Yes,” Tess nodded. “That goes away after a while. Usually after your skin closes up. We can get you a potion when we get out of here.” Alistair tied the wrap tight. Intriguing to see Tess use techniques _Alistair_ used on _her:_  palms on her chest, filling breaths to define  _in_ from  _out. Breathe with me, I’m here._ If any good for _Alistair_ came of out this, it was knowing he had a steadfast impact on his wife. _His_ way was Tess’ _only_ way now.

Morrigan leaned against the wall. Still trying to break her panic attack, but better off than she was before Tess joined them. Deep breaths, squeezing Tess’ hand as the tremor in her shoulders dissipated. With her eyes closed and head resting back, a pale golden aura lit up Morrigan’s hands. Tess slipped her hand out, only to grab Alistair’s. As the sparkling glow spread through her arms into her chest, Morrigan’s breath slowed and tears dried. Alistair still didn’t like her, but the fact she panicked so hard over an arrow made her seem… _human_. Alistair had problems, Tess had problems, Zevran, Leliana, and Sten had problems. Wynne was possessed and Po was Tainted. Not to mention Shale or Branka. Now Morrigan panicked over her own blood. In a way, it was like Morrigan was finally _one of them._

Morrigan couldn’t continue with her injury. Alistair ordered four knights to escort her back to the Cousland home, where Riordan and Teagan could see to her recovery. Tess threw her arms around Alistair’s neck and thanked him for helping when he hated Morrigan.

_Ugh, this witch was going to be with them for the rest of their lives._

He was grateful Morrigan’s injury did not wane Tess’ resolve. His wife snapped back to reality and flew down the flight of stairs ahead of everyone else. Alistair made the first step in time to see her fly in the air between two barrels. “ _TRAP!”_ she yelled, landing in a roll to dodge an arrow

“Trip wire!” Zevran corrected as he, too, jumped over.

“Zevran, I don’t have time to debate proper lexicon when I’m trying to stab people!” Tess’ voice echoed in the tiny stone corridor as she slid on her knees.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it!” Leliana called over, dropping her bow to fiddle with the the closest barrel. “No no! Alistair, don’t! If it catches, it will detonate!” She stopped him. Alistair and Sten growled, but Leliana was quicker than expected. She had one end loose and coiled up to the other barrel before they had time so slouch in impatience. But even then, Zevran and Tess had finished the trio of guards and already began on the next batch.  

Another room of beds and Tevinter guards. The room itself appalled the party almost more than the Vints. Piles of extra blankets, plenty of firewood, clean rugs, neat nightstands. These Vints saw the state of the Alienage, yet gave themselves cozy quarters.

Only four guards this time, easy to overpower even with their mage and four knights gone. The party had no sympathy for these men. They tired of chasing these slavers with their traps and Chantry shields, only to find more of them when they _needed_ to find elves.  

They took a break for water and breath, checking for wounds overlooked in the heat of battle. Domhnall kicked down a door, too impatient for a rogue’s lockpicks.

And there they were. Some of them, anyway. No more than eight elves, separated in cages across the room from each other. A welcoming party of a single Tevinter mage and his dozen guards stood between the cages. Alistair joined Tess at the balcony rail.

“Well, now. Your reputation precedes you, Grey Warden.”

“Oh? Finally Loghain can't get me off his mind?” Tess frowned deep.

The Tevinter mage laughed. “Closer than you might think.”

Not the way Tess meant, but a good sign all the same. Now that she was healing, _Loghain_ was the unstable one. "And you find this quality in your patrons reliable?"

“We are wasting time! He dies!” Zevran hissed.

“Formalities first. My name is Caladrius. I must say, after all you’ve been through to get here, it is an honor to meet you, Warden. And of course, _Your Majesty.”_ Caladrius bowed with his eyes on Alistair. Alistair’s eyes narrowed.

“Caladrius is the name from the shipment order!” Zevran hesitated no more, racing to the the stairs.

Dagger in her teeth, Tess jumped the rail, almost not removing the blade in time before rolling. The sounds of daggers chiming on metal enshrouded Alistair's sigh. He wished she wasn’t so reckless when her mind was set. He rushed around the corner, pushing through guards who climbed to stop him.  

Alistair tried to keep an eye on Tess, but the Vints hit hard and knew where to swarm. They prepared for resistance. Alistair spent more time bashing and kicking than he spent in offensive blows. Arrows flew everywhere, but no bodies fell, he had no idea who shot. The party pressed and held ground. Though their own force more than doubled the slavers, the fight was even. Alistair wished he’d brought the golems now. They would at least knock these Vints off their feet long enough for Alistair to strike.

Every now and then a shower of sparkles swam across the ceiling. He could not see Tess, but the diamond dagger reflected magic. Zevran laughed in spite between _chings_ of clashing metal.

Po tore off a leg, felling a guard and opening a window for Alistair to assess. Zevran and Pádraig at Tess' back, the three took on a mass of guards surrounding Caladrius. Sten and Oghren and half the knights helped Leliana push back the other wall of Vints across the room.

The guards closed in, separating Tess from Zevran and Pádraig. An arrow shot through Pádraig’s leg and pinned him to Zevran, and Alistair yelled. He tightened his grip and rammed his shield, shoving until the body before him slammed into a cage. He kneed and bashed, shoved again until the cage scraped and sparked against the stone floor. The elves inside screamed, but Alistair ignored them. The hilt of his sword knocked the guard down, and Alistair stamped his foot till the skull cracked. He jumped over Po, yelling for his friends and wife.

A barrier of men concealed Tess. Though they freed themselves of the arrow, neither Pádraig nor Zev could reach her. Alistair rammed again, but only one guard staggered under his weight. The clustered Vints were too strong. Still no access to Tess. _How could they be overwhelmed when they outnumbered them?_

A blast of energy sent them flying. Alistair sat up and grabbed his sword, but the sight froze him. The remaining Vints suspended in air like rag dolls on a string, red drops misting the air in ribbons from each body. Before Alistair could scramble to his feet, the pink mist thickened to streams of blood on a path to Caladrius. Noiseless screams as weapons dropped from hollowing bodies. _Shit._ All Alistair could think of was more demons, more abominations, _more nightmares in the Fade._

Tess was the first on her feet. Daggers out, she lunged, but Caladrius was quick. He abandoned the draining bodies to restrain Tess. A body clanked in front of Alistair, interrupting his cry. Knights charged; another blast knocked them back again. Alistair pushed to his feet and ran; an invisible mallet smacked his forehead and shoved him away. Caladrius kicked a barrel and dragged Tess to a corner, repelling Pádraig and Zevran’s paired attempt with the same force used on Alistair and the knights. The mage wedged himself in, leaving no room to be flanked. Arm hard against her neck, Caladrius used Tess as a human shield. They couldn’t stop Caladrius without harming Tess.

_No. NO! It couldn’t end like this!_

Tess wiggled an arm loose and stuck a thigh. Caladrius roared and held her tighter. The mage whispered in her ear, hiding behind her head. He watched every attempt Alistair made to reach his wife. Alistair couldn’t get close enough to drain mana, and each time he began a Holy Smite, Caladrius knocked him off his feet. The blood of his guards left Caladrius with a never-ending supply of magic. Alistair couldn’t even call for archers, there was no room, they’d _kill_ Tess trying to stop the mage.

Tess held face no longer. Tears leaked as she gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes. She swung her head back, and Alistair ran again, but Caladrius recovered too quick. He grasped her left fist and drove the diamond dagger into her right arm - _made Tess stab herself_ \- and twisted, distorting her face in a scream that ripped Alistair’s heart. Caladrius released her hand; the dagger fell with a chime too divine for the scene. Blood lifted from the wound, swirling up around the mage’s hand like a dance, pulling it faster than it should leave her body. Tess froze agape with bulging eyes. Leliana muttered a prayer beyond eyesight.

“So much lyrium,” Caladrius drawled loudly at her ear, like he wanted Alistair to hear. “So much _energy._ I should have used you fir-” An arrow struck fast and hard, cutting off the mage, widening Tess’ eyes. The elves in cages screamed in her stead. Alistair and Leliana yelled her name as one, and like she dared herself, Tess leaned and turned her head. Her left hand reached up, lowering with blood. Before Alistair could reach her, she frowned and dropped, grabbed her daggers, and spun with a crosscut before the body fell. Caladrius hit stone without his head.

Tess swayed. Daggers fell, and she reached up again. Alistair scooped her up and squeezed tight. Brushing away her hair revealed a chunk of ear along the northwestern rim was gone; cartilage and liberal bleeding. _“Mother of Andraste!”_ Leliana breathed, rushing over. “I feared I shot you! I mean, I _did,_ and I’m _so sorry!_ But praise the Maker, this could have been worse! You poor thing, I’m so sorry!” she rambled.

Alistair sat Tess on a crate, and for a moment, just held her. Darkspawn, broodmothers, golems...and a minute of blood magic could overpower it all. Tears wet his neck and seeped under armor to his shirt. He rocked to redirect the swelling around his eyes. Only when Pádraig nudged his arm and held out a gauze roll did Alistair remember she still bled. Gouged, spilling more blood when he checked how deep, Alistair wrapped her arm; she would be unable to use this arm for awhile again. How many scars could one get before the body stopped working? They needed less bad luck and more holy intervention.

Glancing around as clanking resumed, many of them had taken arrows. None of their men dead, but most wounded. Oghren yanked a bolt from his shoulder and latched onto his flask like it was no big deal. Sten, bleeding from an arm, went around beheading the dead Vint guards _just to be safe_. The ground was horrendous, shriveled bodies trickling the last of their life force as the portion Caladrius did not use painted the floor like arrows. Those of Alistair's party not wounded searched for keys to the cages, though had more success finding tiny red bottles; potions interim till they got home, at least. The elves grew nerve to speak, asking what happens now, asking if they would be killed. A female pleaded for their lives. Zevran, limping and bleeding, searched with the knights as he assured the elves they were here to help.

Pádraig slumped against a nearby barrel and removed his punctured greave with a wince. “No offense, Alistair…" Alistair cracked a smile in anticipation. "But being your friend is a risky business.” Pádraig peered at his wound, hissing as he poured a healing potion. “Does everyone around you get stabbed, shot, and become victims of illegal magic?”

Tess made a noise between a groan and a laugh. “You should have been with us at Ostagar. Ogres pretty much do all at once. He actually helps out with those sometimes.”

Pádraig gave a weak laugh. “I’ll take your word for it, Your Majesty.”

“Look at you both,” Alistair chuckled. “You get injured, and it strikes your cocky nerve. You’re both terrible, you know that?” he teased.  He and Pádraig shared  an exhausted grin.

“Your Majesty? You don’t look like Queen Anora. Have we truly been gone so long?”

Alistair glanced over to see an elderly male elf daring to step closer. “She is not Anora. Tesslyn is my wife.” He retrieved Tess’ daggers, then helped her stand.

“If she’s not a queen, who is she? Who are all of you? And why did that one call her Your Majesty?” The silver haired elf backtracked only to help kin to his feet. “Why do any of this? If you’re not with them,” he gestured to the dead Vints, “who are you?”

“They are the _rightful_ King and Queen,” Pádraig spoke up, forcing authority back in his voice. “Alistair Theirin, son of Maric, and Tesslyn, daughter of Teyrn Cousland of Highever. Anora and her father _caused_ this mess. They don’t deserve to be honored.” Pádraig replaced his greave and stood with another wince. “Is this all that’s left of you?”

Alistair silently counted as he looked around. One female, six males. He sighed. So much work to save so few.

“It is. None of us knew. When we entered the hospice for healing, it was too late.” The elderly elf paused. “Forgive us. You’ve slain our captors, yet we are still cautious. To be aided by the King and Queen is even more foreign to us.” He took a moment for a deep breath. “I am Valendrian. Tell me, were you able to free more?”

Alistair shook his head, but Tess spoke. “Valendrian? The hahren? Good.” She breathed, nodding. “that’s good.” She sighed and fell against Alistair. “Can we go home now?” she choked out. Alistair agreed in a heartbeat. The day was too long.

Only sixteen residents saved from the Tevinter mages. They had proof of sale signed by Loghain Mac Tir. They freed captive elves and destroyed demons. But looking around as they walked through the Alienage, it seemed like so little accomplished. The two remaining children ran around, trying to forget being caged and Maker knows what else. A Templar had died trying to help. Hunger in the residents eyes as stray cats and dogs walked by. Homes still shoddy and lacking; not like there had been time to repair. They lost too many to the Arl’s guards or to slavery. Even if Alistair was named King today, the could not get those people back.  

Alistair wanted to help them. He wanted to make it right.

He squeezed Tess’ hand, stopping to let her lean on him while they had a moment to breathe. Together they watched the elves: cying, hugging, celebrating those who returned, mourning those lost. It was like the Wardens’ entire journey summarized before their eyes: joy, tragedy, joy, bigger tragedy, repeat. Strife no less potent than theirs even though Deep Roads and darkspawn were not involved. Alistair wanted to make Anora see what her negligence had done to these people.

Husband and wife shared silent communication: these were _their_ people, it was _their_ duty to take care of them. Teagan's lessons resurfaced: _What offends your people must offend you, you must be willing to go to war for them._ Prevent tragedy from happening again. It did not matter the Tevinter slavers were stopped and the Alienage was safe. The condition of it startled them all; almost as bad as the Deep Roads, though this time living victims continued to suffer. Alistair vowed to change the Alienage after securing the throne - and defeating the Archdemon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * _shems_ = derogatory slang form _Shemlen_ meaning _humans;_ Elven language copyright of Dragon Age/Bioware.


	69. Scalepan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinship, surprises, courage. Fears, worry. The only way to endure is through friendship, support. Alistair and Tess are reminded of duty, and find comfort alone before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING*** Substance use - alcohol, drinking, getting drunk; mild angst.  
> ***NSFW*** sexual - foreplay, intercourse, sex to relieve angst.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Prophecy, by Adrian von Ziegler, 0:00-0:13 sec](https://youtu.be/INaM813ohL8)  
> [Turin, by Two Steps From Hell](https://youtu.be/_Nctslb1934)

**_Tess:_ **

_It’s strange to know I can think for myself._

_Rather, it’s strange to realize I’ve been thinking for myself all along, but didn't recognize it. I thought it was nonsense, often not knowing how Alistair ever understood me. At best, it seemed like what I thought was unimportant. Didn’t seem like it helped, because how could a person so broken know how to fix anything? I thought my ideas were just as disarranged and unworthy as my body. Words come out that way, anyway. I understand_ **madmen** , _Maker have mercy on me._

 _Perhaps it takes_ **time** _to feel comfortable without assuming my thoughts are lyrium daydreams?_

 _No one treats me different, at least. Except for Alistair, but I think now he realizes me_ **wanting** _to stay is better than me_ **needing** _to. It’s a very different feeling from thinking I’d die without his care. I don’t know how to explain it right; words just don’t come out how I think them, not usually. We were too close, or maybe_ _simply never apart, and I awoke within myself without warning. I know it’s hard for him. He loves doting on me, I see it in his eyes, it brings him peace. It’s not easy learning to move as two different people after being one, and then learning how to move as one in another way all over again. After everything, though, I want to stay. Meeting him really did change my life. I know if I leave, I will never find another person like him. I think it’s okay for me to be a little selfish and never let him go; we're going to die in thirty years anyway. Better than need, right?_

_Morrigan’s treated me different, too, I suppose. But in trying to learn why, I think I know her, myself, and Alistair better. Morrigan seems relieved I’m not racing to Alistair every time someone asks me a question anymore. Well, there was that other day, but that was just a hard day for me; there are more of those to come, no doubt._

_I suppose that’s a matter of opinion, though, running for help. Our opinions on what requires help differ greatly. Morrigan certainly doesn’t need to know the details, nor do I believe Alistair wants her knowing; what Morrigan doesn’t know won’t vex her. I don’t think I’ve_ **always** _raced to Alistair when questioned, but I’ve always gone to him for calming. When I didn’t need soothing, he was there to make me smile. Just because I’m not running to him for help all the time doesn’t mean I’m not running to him anyway. Maybe running_ **for** _him is more like it; the very thought of it makes me smile. I don’t think anyone’s picked up on it, and I’m rather grateful. Awkward stuff to explain. Easy to hide in little stuff like making tea. Perhaps it’s only considered_ **running** _to him, though, when he give me time limits? Thankfully Morrigan’s not watching me bite my smile right now._

 _When we met, when she joined us to Lothering, Morrigan saw something in me I could not. Maybe the same thing Alistair saw? I don’t know. Now, looking back, I guess I’ve always been strong and able to control myself. It wasn’t lyrium that gave me strength and clarity, but I believed it did because I always took it when I started panicking. I don’t remember_ **not** _taking it when stress hit; and then Alistair came into my life and took over for lyrium. There was never a break to figure it out on my own, before. A long, winding mountain path in my mind that only Morrigan seemed to understand, but in her own twisted way. She still fights Alistair every chance she gets, though it used to be worse. I used to get so mad at her for berating him, but now I see why. I don’t_ **like** _what she’s said, but I get it now. She thought Alistair was trying to control me like I let lyrium control me - like Flemeth controlled her._

 _In…a way, she’s right. He_ **did** _take his place at my hip where I kept all my lyrium. But it’s also like_ **he** _said: It’s not something we want, it’s something we need. Now it's a different story, but back then? He needed to feel important, needed to feel his life had purpose. I physically needed help, and it just happened to coincide with him needing to feel needed. It worked. But Morrigan saw the flaw we could not, she saw how he replaced my escape outlet. Alistair also said back in Honnleath I used lyrium as an easy way out. They’re both right. Alistair was not doing it to be cruel, though. He did not intentionally hold me back…but he grew dependent on me needing him; I saw that in the Deep Roads. And I was afraid to step out of his reach because I didn’t have anything left to fall back on. By the time I learned I wouldn’t die without him, it was too late for either of us to wean in moderation._

_They’re both not as vile as they think each other are. They’re actually more alike than they will ever admit. It’s a rather hilarious irony._

_He’s not with me now. Alistair is somewhere in the house with all our troublemakers. Oghren, Teagan, Zevran, and some knights are drinking and doing manly things. Domhnall has taken up challenging Alistair’s reach; they’ve a cute competition of height between them, though I’ll never say aloud I think Domhnall is taller. Every now and then I hear an explosion of boyish laughter. I don’t know how Pádraig’s sleeping through it all. Wynne must have slipped a sleep draught into his pain potion; Pádraig is more stubborn than a cranky child._

_This is good for Alistair. Between Pádraig and Zevran, I feel like my head might explode sometimes, but I’m glad Alistair has them. He spoke often of how lonely he was as a child. Cailan was never there as brother should be, as Fergus was for me; I know that’s not Cailan’s fault, with Alistair a... But Alistair needs this. I think they will help him see there are more ways he can be needed. He’ll need his friends in case I don't…well, he’ll need them in the end._

_Morrigan giggles again, and I look at her. Whatever Wynne gave us for pain made Morrigan more loopy than me. She’s been giggling for at least an hour now. I accidentally passed wind when I crawled to poke the fire, and she laughed so hard she broke it herself. She’s been giggling since, I can’t get a clear word out of her. Leliana wandered in some time ago with wine, but she needs none to giggle herself. Neither of us have seen Morrigan laugh like this. I’d pay to see her thoughts right now._

_It’s quiet now. Except for Morrigan’s giddy giggles, of course. We’re in my father’s old study. Less a study than a comfy library with a couch Leliana can’t seem to get up from, and a plush rug Morrigan keeps petting. The hearth in front of us is warm and roaring, and our only source of light. Morrigan’s goblet of wine has gone untouched; from her, anyway. She doesn’t seem to notice me drinking it. Leliana’s on her second fill. She’s mastered dainty sips and delicate cupping of the bulb. Other than that, it’s quiet and dark. Calm. It seems like it’s been a lifetime since it was last calm._

_“Do you know what happened today?” Leliana asks._

_“You mean besides abominations and demons and illegal slave trade?” I ask. Alistair’s favorite whiskey burns my throat. He wanted me to fetch it hours ago. I never brought it to him. A giggle slips my own lips. Maker, I feel naughty. I keep waiting for him to come get it, but he hasn’t yet._

_“I know what you mean. I, too, found it abominable those men wore such pretty gowns while_ **_we_ ** _were in gaudy blood splatter and ugly boots.” Leliana plays well for drinking so much._

_“Yes, men wearing fine silk gowns while women clamored in hideous shoes is certainly punishable by death.” Morrigan grins like she’s daydreaming. I shake in another bout of giggles with both of them._

_“No, all joking aside,” Leliana pauses to sip, “I learned something about myself today. Battling them, those Vints - silly name, yes? But I’m getting distracted. It’s a little unnerving,” she says. “I enjoyed killing them. I told myself I did so to protect innocents, but we often had no innocents to protect, and I still enjoyed it.”_

_“Tis always pleasurable to know you_ **made** _an_ **impact** _on someone,” Morrigan keeps a straight face until she closes her mouth._

_Impact. Because Leliana used her arrows today._

_Amusement comes out as a snort. “Maker, of all the puns, Morrigan. You need another dose. WYNNE!” I yell, laughter catching me again._

_“Oh! Impact, I get it now! That was good, Morrigan, for being so...euphoric!” Leliana’s titters fade into a sigh, then silence. “But no.” She takes a long drink, then swirls the wine in her goblet. “No. It made me wonder if I should be following the Maker. You know? The Maker does not condone unnecessary killing. It was unnerving to realize I enjoy ending life when I spent my days in the Chantry praying for it.”_

_Morrigan groans. “Can we not be free of your religion for one night?”_

_“We’re not in the Chantry, Morrigan.” I take a mouthful of Alistair’s whiskey and shudder when it burns my throat. “I doubt the Revered Mother would let us call it a freedom.”_

_“Much closer to the truth,” Morrigan murmurs. She closes her eyes and sinks back against the couch, tangling her fingers in the rug again._

_“Freedom?” Leliana asks like she’s pondering this._

_“Yes. Like…not like a release. Not a vent, but…” I feel my face strain as pry my brain for the right words. This? This is still hard for me. Spoken intellect is not my talent. Shouting down nobles isn’t a good example, it’s nothing more than reciting lessons. No need for new words when you recite. “Proof? Proof my actions and…thoughts can be made into something, when praying and faith in the Maker are slower to fruit.”_

_Morrigan sighs. “I cannot fathom why you offer loyalty to a god who does not show himself or his mercy when 'tis needed. I should think our desperation and our dealings with this Loghain vermin are all the proof you need.”_

_My brows pinch together. “It’s a battle I’ve struggled with since Loghain…since he lied to me. I only began praying again after my home burned, the month it took to reach Ostagar. When my_ **boss** _was still alive and none of this Blight stuff was_ **my** _responsibility.”_

_“Morrigan?” Leliana swallows the rest of her wine. She leans over the edge of the couch and tips the wine bottle into her chalice._

_“Yes? Do you need something of me, or am I to watch you inebriate yourself?”_

_Leliana giggles. “Watch me, please, I’m not sure I’m doing it right.” Morrigan scoffs, and a cackle tosses my head back. “No, listen, Morrigan. You say we did not have the Maker’s mercy in the Deep Roads. But how do you know Pádraig rescuing us was not of the Maker’s doing?” An audible slurp spills burgundy from the corner of her mouth. “Ooh, maybe I’ve had too much wine, yes?” she giggles again, dragging her palm up her chin._

_“You are not serious.” Morrigan stares at her._

_“I am no lightweight, but I don’t have Tesslyn’s Warden tolerance!” Leliana’s pupils dilate and contract in the firelight in wide eyes._

“ **No** , _'tis_ **not** _what I meant. But informative all the same._ **I** _referred to you calling_ **Pádraig** _our_ **divine savior**.”

_A shrill laugh crinkles my face. “Pádraig the Divine! Hero of Wardens! I’m getting him a shield! Mightiest Knight in Ferelden, with shining golden locks and a brilliant halo of divinity!” I can’t stop laughing! Maker, I hope he’s not listening!_

_Morrigan makes a nose. “Pádraig does not have golden locks, you drunken fool.”_

_The giggle that slips out sounds almost sinister. “I don’t care!” I shake my head. My whole body is shaking. Why is this so funny? Because it’s Pádraig, the man who flirts with my husband and Zevran just to tease me, then turns around and orders his men to nanny me. Maker, what I wouldn’t give to see the three of them try each other just once. Imagining the look on Alistair's face if I ask him makes me laugh harder. “I’ll put it on the shield anyway!”_

_“Nor does he use a shield.” Morrigan sighs. “What was that about_ **Tesslyn’s Warden tolerance**?”

_Leliana titters like two squirrels playing, and it shakes my lungs even harder. Pain digs at my ribs.“Ow! Ow ow ow!” I lean towards Morrigan, holding my side. I sound like a mabari pup howling at a full moon. “You two, stop it! I’ve only got so many ribs left!” Deep breaths aren’t much help right now._

_“But Tesslyn, you have the most adorable laugh!” Leliana coos. Her eyes sparkle against the dancing flames._

_“Where is Wynne?” Morrigan huffs. “I am growing far too sober for this silly play. Where is my wine? I-” she huffs again when she looks into her empty goblet, yanking another giggle from me._ “ **Tesslyn**! _Your_ **own** _drink was not enough? No wonder you are so frivolous!” She hums with laughing eyes, though, filling her goblet so full I see tiny splashes shining in the firelight. “Tis a good thing Leliana has not emptied the bottle yet.”_

_“But I am trying to, I swear it!” Leliana’s giggles again._

_For a moment, the only sounds I hear are noisy sips of wine and our attempts to stop laughing. Deep inhaling, uneven exhaling. The fire crackling and sparking; Morrigan leans forward to stoke it. Short bouts of muffled giggles interrupt every other gasp. My eyes are still watering! Ohh, Maker. Thank You. It is hard to calm down and my side still hurts, but thank You. I needed this._

_A familiar buzz heats my body. Not the fire or the drink. Po is likely off wooing the mabari bitches again. Riordan has no reason to wander my house in the dark, though I don’t doubt he has all the exists memorized. That leaves only one Tainted man left._

_...His footsteps are silent. My husband is spying on us. I shove the squared bottle to my lips to hide a smirk._

_His drink! Oh shit, Alistair’s come for his drink! No! I’m not ready to give it up yet! I tip my head and chug; rich and peaty, and burning every bit of my throat. I rip it from my mouth with a cough. I almost feel him laughing to himself._

_Leliana and Morrigan don’t notice Alistair or my sudden chugging. Our conversation picks up right where it left off as if laughter did not stir us. “So, Morrigan, Pádraig coming to rescue us when we were on the brink of death was not divine mercy?” Leliana asks._

_“Oh!” Morrigan scoffs hard. “Must we continue this religious nonsense?”_

_“I’m tempted to leave the room and let you two at it,” I giggle again. “But I might stay and watch.” I also feel Alistair laughing at me again._

_“Tesslyn! You and your mind on drink!” Morrigan scolds._

_Leliana giggles too. “I have no objections.”_

“ **Both** _of you! Enough!” Morrigan can’t help her own laugh, though._

_“I am curious, though, Morrigan-”_

_“See?” I interrupt. “Leliana_ **wants** _to know you, Morrigan.” I feel so impish right now. Morrigan makes another noise and swats me with her good arm, and Leliana’s snickering isn’t helping._

 _“No, I am being serious! Tesslyn, you are_ **too** _playful tonight!” Leliana laughs. “Ah, no,” she continues with a sigh, “What was I saying? Oh yes. Morrigan, do you really think we were not helped by some invisible force? Even when we were at a point where nothing but prayers and faith could sustain us? When it was all we had?”_

 _A hum rumbles in my throat. “And love,”_ _I say. I take another drink. Alistair’s eyes weigh upon me. I mean my words, though. I remember when we found Caridin and the Anvil of the Void. I sort of remember when Pádraig found us. I did not care as much as Alistair there was no food. I had him. I had my husband, my best friend, my other half. That was enough for me, then. I was confident he would be with me no matter where it took us. That was **all** that mattered to me._

_“There you go again!” Morrigan waves a hand at me like I’m smoke in her face. “You’ve that foolish grin again, the one you always get after that oaf kisses you in front of us just to see me ill.”_

_I laugh loudly._ “ **No** _I_ **don’t**! _I don’t_ **grin** _when he kisses me!” I pause and think. Alistair is laughing inside again. Maker, is that right? Is he siding with Morrigan?_ “ **Do** _I?”_

_Leliana giggles. “Sometimes you do. You get a dreamy look on your face and stars in your eyes. It’s very cute,” she insists. “He’s quite the romantic, for being raised in the Chantry.”_

_Morrigan says, “He must be well enough in bed, yes? That_ **is** _the reason you returned, is it not? I can’t imagine his conversation skills made you crawl back to his arms.”_

 _My cheeks burn. I’m a bit embarrassed Alistair is watching us right now. We’ve always kept the details of our romance between just us. “Maker, I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you both.” I feel him laugh harder inside._ “ **Yes**! _Yes, he is…_ **fabulous** _in bed, you have_ **no** _idea!_ **And** _he looks wonderful_ **naked**. _BUT!- yes,_ **butt indeed** _. He has a_ **perfect** _bottom! Grab-able in_ **all** _the right spots, and_ **not just** _his bum,” I nod, my eyes narrowing as my brows arc. I don’t need to look to know Alistair’s blushing like the rose he put on my dagger. Leliana giggles again and Morrigan chuckles like she’s amused at such a confession. We’ve so far had broodmothers, undead, demons, but oddly no lewd conversations, at least not between us. Oghren and Zevran's euphemisms didn't quite come close. “Although,” I say, “sometimes we stay up till sunrise just talking. Not so much since Sten took over training, of course, but still there are long nights of talk. There is so much_ **more** _to him than his body." Alistair's presence now is pride, affection. "We read to each other. He sings beautifully-”_

_“Oh, does he?” Leliana perks up, almost spilling her drink. “He could sing the Chant with me, then. I miss that.”_

_“Ugh, I think I prefer the divine intervention lecture,” Morrigan groans. She changes the subject as Leliana and I laugh. “Answer this, then, Leliana: If the Maker is real, would there not be a healing chant? A chant to heal wounds as it is spoken?” I turn my head and stare. The two of us are bandaged up, my right arm, her left. Unlike me, she’d never been so physically wounded before. It was too big a puncture for her first. Injury kits and healing magic don't undo wounds._

_“The chants are stories and prayers, Morrigan. Anyone can pray for healing, yes?” Leliana asks. “You are worried about your arm, I can tell. Have you never cut yourself before?”_

_“I do not worry!” Morrigan snaps. Her chest rises high and falls deep after a pause. “Nothing like this. Splinters as a child, those I had oft, but I do not remember them other than they were small. I did not feel them when they pricked. Tis an advantage of being a mage, avoiding direct combat. Usually.” She pauses again. “Flemeth never told me what to expect should I be wounded.”_

_“You panicked,” Leliana recalls. “It is a natural instinct. Most creatures panic when they lose blood.”_

_“For a moment, I truly thought I would die.” Morrigan stares at the fire. “Flemeth taught me_ **practical** _skills, not feelings. I did not know_ **feelings** _were affected by injury. It…played a larger role than I expected. It revealed just how fragile my life is.” I share a glance of concern with Leliana while Morrigan swirls her goblet. She takes a long sip. “I’ve taken it for granted, all the games with Flemeth in my youth. Running from Templars and angry Chasind, provoking those wary of the Witch of the Wilds. Tis a grim thought to know death is more accessible than I believed.” She huffs and waves us off with a shake of her head, then drinks again. “Do not coddle me. I see the look on your faces. Tis mild shock, nothing more,” her voice has hardened again. “I am over it.”_

_“Morrigan.” I want to hold her hand, but I know she won’t let me._

_“We are all afraid of death to some point,” Leliana tells her. “But you were not meant to die today. Perhaps the Maker allowed you to get shot so you could learn how quickly your time could end, but without dying? This must mean He has plans for you, yes? A lesson to value life, perhaps?”_

_Morrigan scoffs with a dramatic glare._ “ **Ohhh**! _No, I do not believe in this Maker.” She waves again as if waving the Maker away. “He must stop pestering me so!” We can’t help but giggle at her. “Besides, he did not heal my arm when I panicked,” her frown in the firelight looks too much like an exaggerated pout._

_We laugh again. Morrigan can be so adorable and hilarious; I need to get her drunk more often. I rock back in giggles, crashing right into Leliana. In shrieks and louder laughter, her wine splashes on both of us. Morrigan joins in cackling._

_Alistair chuckles from the doorway. “All right, ladies. It's time I collect my wife.”_

_Morrigan whirls so fast her own drink spills, her surprise drowning in more squeals and laughter. “You!" she scoffs. "You have been spying on us?_ **Ohhh** , _Tesslyn, you knew he watched us!” Leliana laughs so hard she's about to fall off the couch, and I don't know what I'm laughing at anymore. “Dare I ask how long you've been eavesdropping?" Morrigan glares with glazed eyes._

_I giggle harder. “Morrigan, stop it. My rug is ruined from wine, I don't even know where to replace this!” I peek back at Alistair with his whiskey to my lips. His jaw shifts with a tight knowing smirk. “He's been here for awhile,” I admit to Morrigan._

_“Why did you not warn me?” she scoffs again._

_Another giggle escapes. “You didn't say anything. I figured you didn't mind,” I tease._

_Alistair steps around spilled drink to stand in front of me. “Don't worry, Morrigan, I'm sure I'll forget you asked my wife about my_ **performance** _in a few days,” he jokes, still smirking. He drops down as Morrigan turns away with a huff of embarrassment. Another devious giggle slips from me as Alistair takes back his whiskey and caps it. “Wasn't this supposed to be in my hands hours ago?”_

_“Maker, has it been that long?” Shit, I didn't mean to say that. “I mean, no. I fetched it fair and square, as I was told.” Alistair chuckles. He leans in and braces my bandaged arm to help me stand. I smell ale on his breath, but he doesn't seem drunk. “How are you sober and I'm not?”_

_His laugh is husky in his throat, striking chords that strum my lady parts. His eyes watch my mouth as I breathe a coo of desire. “That's what happens when you pass the night with your husband's drink,” Alistair says, his voice low._

_Leliana giggles again. “That explains why you drank so fast.”_

_Morrigan groans. “Please refrain from your private festivities until you are alone. Tis bad enough your voices echo through these halls.”_

_Alistair grins. He ties his wrist to mine, tightening the knot with his teeth. I lean in and steal a kiss, letting myself linger. He returns it with greed as always in front of Morrigan. His lips are cool, moist, and plump; I can already feel them roaming down my front, his beard tickling my skin. The thought alone makes my hips squirm, I can't help but moan. “No promises, Morrigan,” he says between kisses, the grin back on his face._

_Leliana makes a noise of adoration while Morrigan groans again. “I need a proper drink.”_

 

**Alistair:**

Tess did not last as long. So drunk passion did not sober her up, she climaxed too quick and rocked to sleep under Alistair, and so Alistair did not last long either. After mixing wine, whiskey, and pain potions, he was amazed she made it up to the bedroom on her own feet.

In a chair betwixt the bed and a window, Alistair watched her now. Smooth amber drink sloshed over his tongue and stung his throat; a small comfort when his world had grown still.

He felt old. Drink in his hand, his favorite chair by the window, the wife asleep on his pillow; a breath between trouble. A significant problem put on hold because of a petty squabble. Alistair felt like a father needing to discipline children just so he could work.

 _King._ Alistair felt like a _king_. As much a _father_ as the countrymen were his _children_.

He sighed and took another drink. No way Alistair would back out of kingship now, but it didn't seem normal to feel like such an old parent so young. For the first time, he wondered if Maric or Cailan ever felt like this, like men far too old for their time.

From his slumbering wife to the grounds below, Alistair’s eyes grazed. Fog receded. A gradual process starting nights ago, less and less fog rolled in, each batch thinner than the one before. They should have had first snowfall already, but Ferelden was stuck with frost and fog. It was almost like she dared to revert to spring. Riordan’s Taint had grown stronger, as well, a steady hum that moved through the castle as if the Cousland home was Tainted. Or was it his own? Alistair assumed it was Riordan; the elder Warden said his Calling was near. It could even be Tess; her Taint was also more concentrated - and, _a thought he dare not admit aloud,_ more comforting.

Too warm for winter, not enough fog, Taint too strong. A sense of foreboding knotted in Alistair’s gut. Equally suspicious, they had not dreamed of the Archdemon for some time. Absence of threat itself seemed a presage.

Even worse, Tess felt it; lyrium in her bones made her more susceptible. Alistair studied her. She never mentioned it bothering her, but come night, she twitched in her sleep and mumbled. Alistair was afraid to ask Riordan, afraid of the answer on chance it meant Tess’ Calling had arrived. It made him question why he once envied Grey Wardens.

She mumbled now. Alistair watched Tess, brushing hair off her face while closed eyes darted. Her irregular sleep disturbed him to the core. Hopefully it only meant the Archdemon was closing in, _not_ her Calling.

 _To wish a dragon of death upon the land instead of his wife’s incoherency._ It sounded greedy. But a dragon could be killed, it’s destruction ended with a blade. The Calling could not. _Maker,_ he hoped that’s not what this meant, not when they worked through so much.

A feathered caress down her neck produced a shudder. She shook her head with a hum, smacked her lips, and rolled over. For a moment, all was still. No mumbling. Tiny snores picked up, signaling deep sleep for the first time this night. Such a subtle change from muttering and restless slumber, but it was significant to _him._

She made a noise and muttered again, and Alistair’s chest tightened. This was too hard. No amount of drink could make him forget the similarities between how the Taint her in the Deep Roads and how it affected her sleep now.

It was the first night he knelt in prayer since leaving the Chantry.

 

Daylight was not as bright as it should be. The sky was dull and gloomy, though snow clouds hung above the city, not rain. Like true winter was held out of reach.

Those wounded in the Alienage took morning training easy; some, like Sten and Oghren, treated wounds like thorn pricks. Zevran led a light exercise for those who could not run. Slow, graceful stretching like a spiritual dance allowed freedom to train without augmenting injuries. Tess ran with Alistair, but joined Zevran during Sten’s muscle failure routine. She seemed familiar with Zevran’s technique. Watching them provided distraction when Alistair’s muscles struggled, also insight. He had a feeling their party was among the few to witness Antivan Crow training methods. No wonder Tess and Zevran were so limber in battle.

Teagan returned after lunch. His trip to the tavern in the marketplace had been fruitful: the last of the nobles had arrived. Half died to the Darkspawn while the Wardens were underground; most of them lesser nobles who'd perished with their crops. _That_ wasn’t good news, but the fact the remaining nobles were mostly Banns or Arls was; _respected_ votes.

Teagan met his eyes with a nod, and Alistair breathed deep. _It was time for the Landsmeet._

They could not delay and give Loghain time to dispose of anyone else. Teagan suggested they send patrols in shifts to watch over the nobles at the tavern; Pádraig sent off soldiers without hesitation. The remainder of the day and the next would keep the smithy hot; last adjustments to Alistair’s armor, finalizing new armor for Tess. Interacting with the blacksmith reminded Tess of something in the markets, though, and she rushed off before the smith could see if her armor fit.

The smith sighed. “With your permission, King Alistair, I’d like to tie Her Majesty to a pole so I can actually fit her.”

Alistair couldn’t help a laugh. “If she doesn’t return in time, I’ll hold her down in the morning.”

“Oh, I won’t be sleeping tonight. But I suppose I can start on a breast plate. Same design as yours? Theirin-Cousland crest?”

Alistair opened his mouth, but Riordan spoke for him. “I have a better idea, if I may interrupt?”

Alistair turned to find Riordan holding a shield almost forgotten from memory. Alistair took it in awe, too overcome to think of asking first. “Where did you find this?” He ran his fingers over the gryphon’s head. _Duncan’s shield._ Alistair smiled in memory of his old mentor complaining it jabbed his buttocks when he ran. Duncan had not taken it to Ostagar, preferring daggers over what he called _dead weight_ upon his arm.

“Since you are advancing as King, perhaps Tesslyn should be the one to represent the Wardens?” Riordan suggested. “The stories are about her, after all.”

Alistair smiled again. “I once joked I’d make her Warden-Commander.”

“I suspect the Landsmeet will more willingly believe we are Wardens if we bear the symbol. I have a gryphon of my own on the way, a simple pauldron,” Riordan says. “But this shield will be of particular use. Enchanted silverite. If you can shape this to her, it will provide a protective edge,” Riordan told the smith.

“If I can get her to stand still for a proper measurement, I absolutely agree.” The smith pushed on the bellows.

“Oh, you don’t need her for that,” Alistair said, paying more attention to the shield than his audience. “I can show you how big she is.” Without thinking, he held up a hand and squeezed, as if he was squeezing his wife’s bosoms. Only when Riordan sniggered, then coughed to disguise it, did Alistair realize what he’d said and done. Alistair looked at the both of them, a grin of embarrassment spreading so hard his cheeks hurt. “Maker’s _fucking_ breath, _I_ did _not say_ that, are we clear?” he hissed though a giggle. Perhaps Grey Wardens never truly grew up.

An agreement between Riordan and Alistair: Duncan’s old shield for Tess’ breastplate would be a surprise promotion. Alistair had once hoped for something of Duncan's to remember him by, but it felt more fitting, now, to give it to Tess. It felt like Duncan's last offer of help for the war from the beyond; better protection than memento on the wall. Protection for when Alistair could not be at Tess' side against the Archdemon.

But Tess’ sudden trip to the market outshone their surprise. She returned quicker than the breastplate was ready. She interrupted archery practice, drawing gazes as she strode. Something long wrapped in hide balanced on her hands.

If he was honest, Alistair was glad for the break; Leliana was not the best teacher. Marksmanship did not matter now, though. Tess’ steps stole his attention. Never breaking eye contact with Alistair, on a mission to reach him with no interjection. Pádraig kept pace at her heels, a knowing smirk as he caught Alistair’s glance. Tess halted before Alistair, looking down only to unfold the hide.

A glowing sword lay on her palms. _Glowing._

_Where in the world did Tess find a glowing sword?_

The bow fell from Alistair’s hand. He stepped up and met Tess’ eyes, then perused the sword. Etchings like the divine, splendent even without sunlight or campfire glares. Like lyrium in the Deep Roads tunnels, but it did not hum beneath his fingers like raw lyrium did. _Glowing_ designs among dark metal. It illuminated his skin as he hovered above; leather ties around the handle took on the same opalescence as his hand. He’d never seen the metal either. Blackened blue, not close to silverite or steel, and not scorched. As far he knew, Thedas had no such metal.

“Do you remember that star metal we found?” Tess asked.

Alistair met her eyes. A mound of dusty black ore they found returning to Redcliffe from helping the Dalish elves. Sten and Zevran called it _star metal_. The party had no use for it then, but Zevran said it was of great worth, only coin-sized chunks ever found. They had planned to sell it, but the Deep Roads happened. Before long it, was just another piece of buried cargo. “This is that strange ore?” it came out as a whisper. No wonder Tess stood so proud.

“A smith my father once hired passed through here the day you sent me to pay for Eamon’s repairs.” Her eyes searched him as he awed over the sword. “I hired him to forge the ore away from here. I was supposed to meet him two days ago, but I forgot. Thankfully he waited. He calls it Starfang.”

“Starfang?” Alistair echoed. _Maker,_ this was really metal from the stars?

“It’s _yours,_ King Alistair,” Pádraig said.

Alistair stared at Pádraig, then Tess. The night sky had been forged into a weapon...for _him?_

 _This was for_ **_him?_ **

“You needed a sword,” Tess said. “Maric’s sword was unique to the world, and when it passed to Cailan, it became a symbol of Theirin strength and power. Of _Calenhad_ power, the blood that _built_ this country. But you are so different from them. A _new_ rule for Ferelden, just like Teagan said. You need something to symbolize that. A display of your _own_ power." She wet her lips and swallowed, studying his reaction. " _Take_ it,” she insisted when he hesitated.

Alistair couldn't help it, though. A glowing sword made of metal that fell from the sky, and according to Sten, Thedas had never seen so much at once. _And it was Alistair’s?_

“Oh, for crying out loud, Alistair, pick up the damn sword already.” Pádraig’s eyes twinkled with laughter. “We didn’t spend _months_ planning this just so you could stare at it. It doesn’t blink, Alistair, you’re going to lose,” he joked.

He huffed a laugh. “Oh, just you watch! _Wait,_ months? _Who_ planned this?”

Pádraig grinned. _“Aye,_ Your Majesty. Why do you think your wife chose to practice with _me_ all those times?” He shared a smile with Tess.

“How did _you two_ become so sneaky around _me?”_ Alistair marveled at this as much as he did the sword.

 _“Just pick it up!”_ Pádraig laughed. “A very potent moment, you know, when a man first bonds with his weapon.”

“Eh…are you talking about the _sword,_ or _the sword?”_ Oghren spoke up.

“Always ruining the moment with vulgar euphemisms, Oghren,” Zevran said. “Maybe Alistair needs to be alone, yes? It is a very private thing, the first grip. Some people are uncomfortable waving it in front of others.”

A round of laughter rang out. Alistair met Pádraig’s eyes with a lopsided smile and burning cheeks. It didn’t matter how many times _Alistair_ joked like this, when someone else did it, he always flushed.

Alistair took a deep breath. This sword looked _alive,_ of _course_ he was hesitant. He forced his fingers closed around the hilt before he could change his mind. Cool, like any other metal out in cold air, and a bit heavier than the sword he was used to. Admiring it as he stepped back, he transferred it from hand to hand. The grin already stretched his face before he said it: “You might want to step back. I haven’t done this in awhile, my aim is lousy.” Another round of laughter erupted. Tess was the one who blushed this time.

A swing of the sword took his breath away. Heavy, but it moved through the air like an arrow. Smooth, _effortless._ Alistair saw feet shuffle out of the way as he turned towards the training dummies. His eyes followed the iridescent blade as he changed hands again. As easy to swing with the other hand, and he _felt_ it, like the muscles in his arm extended into the sword itself with every move. _Another extension of himself._ He gripped with both hands and raised to block, then swung and jabbed. When he sighed, it felt like it sighed with him. The sword seemed to mimic the pulse in his palm.

_Mine._

_Maker, this was unreal._ Was it really like Sten said, weapons _destined_ to fit the hands of only one man? He circled the sword at his side, bracing his left hand like he held a shield. Alistair advanced on the dummy. The sword sliced through air as if he held a whipping branch, or maybe like a grown talon. _Part of him._ Like Tess and her bow and daggers. In front of the dummy, he lunged back and spun. _His sword sung around him._

But…the dummy had no cuts. Alistair judged the distance between the dummy and himself, then looked at the sword. Maybe he wasn’t close enough? _Ah,well._ It was still an incredible sword, still a gift from two beloved people. He’d practice more, learn to move better with it. It would take no time.

A breeze swirled, blowing scraps of straw from the dummy, chilling his fingers and the hand guard. _Starfang_  stole his breath again. Warm beneath his skin, cool in the wind; it might as well be alive.

“Shall we leave you two alone?” Pádraig teased. Alistair chuckled with the others.

He played up his fascination, but it wasn't hard. He was still awestruck. Alistair traced a fingertip up the luminescent etching. Another gust of wind; from the corner of his eye, the dummy toppled over. Looking over sparked his wonder all over again, though.

Only _half_ the dummy fell. Clean cut, straw, burlap and wood, straight through where Alistair had tried to slice.

Not _tried to._ Alistair _had_ sliced through, so quick and clean gravity wasn’t aware the dummy was attacked.

He looked from his sword to the broken dummy. Part of him said _well, it’s only straw and wood,_ but the other part argued _wood does not cut so easy._ Maybe this was his inner childhood-adventurer winning, but if it cut through wood like this, the sword was already worth it. Shields and hilts were often made of wood, and leather armor would be easier. He could only imagine it piercing metal. _This was a good sword._

 _Mine._ Alistair couldn’t help but smile.

If Alistair was impressed with his surprise, Tess was stunned by hers. She stood before a mirror in her armor, at first to check for missing seams or obvious weak points. But when Riordan attached her new breastplate with promotion of rank _,_ Tess froze. _Commander of the Grey._ She looked at Alistair in question.

“I know we only joked before,” he told his wife. “But we - Riordan and me, we agree it’s perfect. The heroic tales are about _you,_ after all, and you’ve made all the defining decisions that won us our army. Riordan will have to report back to Orlais when this is all done, and who knows what I’ll have to deal with as King. Ferelden needs a Warden-Commander, though. I can’t think of a better person, Tess.” Alistair was proud of her; he was always proud of her, proud to know her, proud to work beside her, proud she chose _him._ He hoped his pride showed for her now.

“Warden Co...” her voice trailed off as she caught her reflection. Duncan’s shield; enchanted, reshaped, bearing a polished engraving of a gryphon. It stood out from Riordan’s gryphon in size and presentation against Tess’ black gambeson. A perfect way to show _Tess_ was _The Warden._

If she had doubts, she didn't show it. Another curiosity came over Alistair as he watched his wife stand speechless. He saw it in her face, a dawning reminder of the Blight and her job as Warden, a reminder it was _real_ and not some distant nightmare. But she also looked reminded of her own greatness, as when the Dalish poured gratitude. Commander of the Grey was not a lowly rank, earned only by those who _proved_ they do what must be done. Tess embodied it already.  _She_ had done good by doing what must be done, and she would be known for it; not her past.

It made Alistair reflect on his reaction to the star metal sword. Tess fretted at Ostagar that not having a sword specific to the Theirin line might discredit him. He realized now the importance of such a family heirloom. It was a symbol, one that happened to have its own power. Alistair would have to make Starfang the new Theirin sword, he _must_ live up to the sword's unmatched strength and power. Just as Tess must forever live up to the crest on her breastplate and be _Warden-Commander._ It was not a matter of choice, not this. It was a matter of duty.

 

Night proved uneasy and unfair. The thought of _duty_ plagued Alistair's mind through supper and tea. It was easy for him to focus on being _King,_ but observing Tess' reaction and his own reminded him he had another duty. He was _also_ a Grey Warden, and proving himself worthy of his sword would be first tested against the Archdemon. His first duty as _King_ at the Landsmeet didn't come close.

The Landsmeet. _Shit, that's tomorrow._

Alistair sat with a drink in the privacy of Bryce Cousland’s old nightcap parlor. Tomorrow's possible events worried him till his limbs trembled. So much could go wrong. He already predicted Anora would betray them, but she was almost not his biggest concern. Alistair tried to come up with a winning argument for every possible accusation Loghain might throw at Tess. It stewed in his mind, making him forget things like _how late the hour was_ and _time with his wife._ It wasn't until hands squeezed his shoulders did Alistair even realize the heat in his veins wasn't from stress.

He looked up to see his wife standing behind him, her brow dropping in concern as their eyes met. Alistair leaned into Tess, holding her arms around him. She kissed the top of his head and nuzzled in, her breasts cradling his head as he breathed her scent. It was like she knew he needed her arms. A distraction from his troubles and his overworking mind. He was glad she came.

“You are tense,” she murmured as he sipped aged whiskey. She slid her hands back up and rubbed his shoulders. “I came to see how long you'd be, but perhaps I should refill your drink?”

Alistair tilted his head, meeting her eyes before her lips heeded his silent call. The fire highlighted scars, creases, and concerns of her own. _Age._ His fingers tucked loose hair behind her ears. She looked world-worn; a survivor despite the odds. Right now, Alistair imagined he looked older with worry than her. They were both _too old_ for their age. Too much weight hung from them.

He pulled her around to his lap, her night robe opening as she straddled him to reveal an inviting slip, lace beautifully framing cleavage. “I’m glad you’re here,” his voice reflected the strain on his mind. “I thought I was figuring it all out, but it’s only stressing me out more.” He closed his eyes as her fingers threaded through his hair. “I’m anxious about tomorrow. They’ve already done so much.” A sigh escaped him as she massaged his scalp. He always relaxed more in her hands than any drink could ever soothe him. “How are you holding up so well? I feel a wreck.”

“I’m not,” she admitted. “But I’m trying not to think about it. I know if I start, I’ll be a disaster in no time. I fully expect to break down tomorrow, Alistair. I already feel like I’m on the brink of it.”

She gently pried the glass from fingers and leaned over, setting his drink on a tray. Alistair studied her breasts as she moved. The orange glow of the fire cast dynamic shadows, accenting shapes that had filled out in their time in town. Strength had defined as well, but Eamon’s cooks insisting Tess plump up upon arrival certainly paid off. Alistair slid a hand between engorged breasts, allowing her to spill around his fingers, enjoying for a moment what she gave to him and no one else. Slowly he ascended her neck to brace her jaw. Their eyes met before he pulled her down for a kiss. Her interruption was exactly what he needed. She’d always been his cure from the world.

Lips lingered, drinking in the other, tender kisses till tongues tripped and loins yearned. Arms tightened, breath demanded itself. Hands roamed under her gown to claim open thighs, fingers tugged his earlobes and slipped under his shirt to feel hard muscle. Hips began rocking. Eyes drunkenly met between tongues and lips. Tess pulled back with a gasp when he strummed a nipple through her gown. Staring at him, her hand stole Alistair’s gaze, groping her own breast, tugging on fabric. Satin and lace shimmered in firelight as a breast bounced free; she seemed unaware of scars that used to shame her. Mesmerized as ever at the plump mound, Alistair drew over creases in a pebbled areola. Tess cupped her breast and brought it forward. His mouth waiting open, she brushed her nipple on his beard, teasing herself, teasing _him_ at the end of his tongue before grazing his mustache. Her breath stole with another stroke through his beard, wincing; Alistair twitched in his smalls. Eyes still locked, he stretched his tongue to lap pink crowns, tipping her brow more. He reached up and took over for her hand with a squeeze. His heart skipped a beat. Alistair latched on, eager to taste sweet silk and feel supple flesh conform to his tongue. That first clamp drew moans from both.

He suckled like a starving babe. Other hand groped and kneaded the other breast, yanking down satin, pinching, squishing; _mine_. Fingers abandoning her lonely bosom only to satisfy an itch for her bottom. A strong thigh yielded to his pressure as he dragged his hand. He pushed on her bum to urge her hips. Their cores collided over cloth; husband and wife groaned.

Drunk with lust, his eyes swayed, meeting hers as he squeezed her breast to suck harder. Her brow upturned in a broken whine as he flicked his tongue and traced her circles, a needy nipple soaking up his attention. His eyes rolled back when her hips rocked on their own. She was exactly the relief he needed from his mind.

Lacy Orlesian smalls tugged over hips and legs till his hands freed her. She opened further, ready for him. Alistair gasped, mouth still full of breast when he pushed fingers through curls and between slick folds. Her hand fumbled to untie his trousers and smalls; Alistair groaned as he sprung out his restraints. A firm hold around his shaft, another gasp, eyes locked. Her breast fell from his mouth as he lifted her hips and pushed her closer. His crown grazed curls and petals; they both held breath.

She welcomed him in, almost _sucked_ him in, her own eyes rolling, her breathless whine a song to his ears. His voice sounded as he squeezed her hips, pushing, pulling, sliding down the chair cushion and tilting his hips to fill her completely. He held her there, ground her against him, a thick moan shaking her voice as glossy curls tangled together before he pushed her back up and shoved in again. Chair legs scraped carpet across the floor as hips picked up speed, both in need of satisfaction, needing to explode within; ecstasy to wash fears of tomorrow away. She clutched him, nails digging, bouncing breasts smothered his face as grunts deepened and soprano quickened.

Then a pause, another whimper. She arched stiff, quaking in his arms, pulsing hard around him, milking him in molten thanks. Before she could calm, he drove himself, thrusting apace, heavy chair scooting beneath them, until his own love coursed hot as deep as he could plunge. Breath trapped with trembling muscles, he throbbed inside her, sweet skin at his tongue while his seed raced to plant. _Just what he needed._ Moans and sighs recovered husband and wife in grateful kisses. Skin, hands, lips, and the _smells_ of intimacy. No words needed as they cradled and caressed in breathless content.

_More than love. So much better than need._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by me.


	70. The Landsmeet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is ready. Panic on the verge on the Landsmeet does not fare as bad as they fear, though. Surprising allies step up, revealing truth, inspiring confidence - and accountability - when the Wardens least expect it. More _barns of the past_ are burned, freeing the Wardens from civil restriction so they can do their job and save the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Possible Trigger Warning*** Brief gore, physical violence; brief PTSD; courtroom-setting (addressing charges, evidence, witnesses).
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> 
> 70 chapters! Cheesus, and it's still not close to being done ^_^ Thank you to those who've read, are reading, and will read; even though I'm still surprised to hear someone likes it. 
> 
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> Mood Music:  
> [Discovery of Power, by Audiomachine](https://youtu.be/SGss5j_d_B8)  
> [Empyrea, by Jo Blankenburg](https://youtu.be/9lx0QqeMrdo)

**Alistair:**

_Things I have learned on this journey, in trying to be king:_

_Everyone deserves to make their own calls, to determine for themselves how their lives will be, and who they will and will not answer to. Everyone deserves a full belly and unending stores, including generous drink. Everyone deserves to be happy. Everyone deserves to wake up next to the person they desire. Everyone deserves love._

**I** _deserve it._

 _But along with such freedom comes responsibility no child grows up learning. Sacrifices must be made_ **now** _to ensure that freedom exists_ **tomorrow** _._

 _Including sacrificing personal comfort today so tomorrow I will still be the one my wife desires to wake up next to each day. Because this is how_ **I** _wake up next to the person I desire for the rest of my life._

_It is a whirlwind. Political corruption, civil war, war on the streets. The Blight interrupts everything, and stops nothing. It is churning altogether, but only for me. Everyone else only glimpses these, each playing their own small part in experiencing what I see as if from above. It’s almost like this disaster is a single mess, a wave taller than the city walls, and each spill over the top affects each district differently. They are the dolls in the toy house and I the puppeteer, watching over them but unsure what to stop first because there are too many assets everywhere to just let one drown so I have time to recoup._

_And Tess… The more we stumble along the rubble the Mac Tirs have left for us, the more I am forced to admit my enjoyment of darker, powerful forces. They bring out the worst and best in her, and so in me. The young Chantry rebel still inside me excites when she puts others in their place; the steeled monarch I’ve become arouses at the look on her face when I remind her of her place in my life. I called her my backbone once, but this journey has seeded that meaning within me. She is my only constant, my realm of safety, and if my inner Templar recruit doesn’t fight the hardened king, Tess is the only serenity I have anymore._

_The only problem is I_ **do** _war inside. Part of me doesn’t want to forget the naive boy that somehow captured the heart of the Fire of Ferelden when no other could quench her. I war inside because that naive boy cannot rule a country, I cannot be the king I must be if I reflect too long on that lost boy. Bad things happen when I question myself; Anora slips from my grip, cascading into Tess like an avalanche, who then creates a mudslide for me to wade though. The hard king erupts like an angry mountain, yet miraculously must also be a soft bed for my wife. In court, it is one thing to be a volcano and a gentle stream simultaneously. When my wife needs me because I neglected her for warring within myself, that is another._

 _Trying to find_ **Alistair** _amidst the desperate city and the minatory Blight is difficult. I will be glad when civil war and the Archdemon are dealt with and the crying city is all I have to juggle._

_I don’t know which one spooked Tess worse. As if the Landsmeet looming over us wasn’t nerve-wracking enough, we had another dream of the Archdemon. I saw his eyes, it stared at me as if we stood face-to-face. The Archdemon laughed, a laugh that penetrated my body and chilled me long after Tess woke me shrieking. It laughed as she cried and confused Loghain’s name with things the Archdemon made us do underground, and when Tess’ nails dug into my skin in fear, it felt like our Blighted enemy laughed at our defeat._

_The usual crew burst into our room. Pádraig sighed too loud when he saw we weren’t held at knife-point, while members of Tess’ guard fixed the door back on its hinges. Riordan’s Taint hovered near the door; I assume he looks as bad as Tess and me after each nightmare. I shared a look with Teagan, our eyes speaking for us: the Landsmeet must be delayed; we cannot bring Tess to meet Loghain when her dreams make him the Archdemon. Zevran frowned, concerned, also no words needed to agree the Archdemon might be at his full and terrible power._

_I guess it goes to show that no matter how hard we try to be happy and move on, move up, there is always something else out there too far out of our control, something seeking to compromise our well-being. For both of us. For anyone. If it’s not one thing, it’s something else._

_This is why I want to be king, though. I want power to command what can be commanded to stop._

 

 

Rising from bed took too long. Tess trembled from the nightmares, Alistair didn’t dare leave the house for fear Loghain would declare it a sign the Grey Warden and _Maric’s bastard_ were well enough for the Landsmeet. Teagan didn’t reveal details, only that he sent word to the nobles in the marketplace tavern right after the nightmare and _created a delay_ to force the Landsmeet to reschedule until the morrow. Alistair didn’t question the copious smoke from down the street, he was just relieved to not have to drag Tess to court while she panicked.

The overcast noon light was almost upon them when Tess finally agreed to eat, at Alistair’s insistence. Halfway through her first tea, the full weight of her fears spilled out:

 _She never meant to fall in love with Alistair._ She was supposed to elevate him, then return to Orlais. Instead, love - _Alistair’s love_ \- caught her. Marrying him after she made him _want_ to be king meant she must stay in Denerim with him - with the nobles. Even if Alistair killed Loghain, Tess would always be haunted by the man, for the very nobles prominent enough judge at a Landsmeet were parents of the daughters she had killed. Even if the Landsmeet accepted that as a Grey Warden Tess was acquitted of all past charges, being Queen alongside Alistair meant _facing_ those parents. It didn’t matter the Blight or civil war had taken some of those families, those alive were still noble - and by practice, noble women took tea with other noble women, sometimes every day. More so, it was the _Queen’s_ responsibility to host tea and garden walks and show off her managing skills of the country’s domestic practices. The _Queen,_ the woman Tess was about to become because her husband was about to be crowned King. The _Queen_ would be forced to sit over tea with the mothers and little sisters of the daughters she had killed almost ten years ago; _the mother of her best friend._ It would never matter if she was declared innocent of her crimes because she was a child tool sculpted by Loghain. She would always be reminded of Ferelden’s General just by adhering to noble custom. And she would have no choice but to keep noble custom, she _must_ \- for Alistair’s sake, but also her own. _Not even the Queen escapes duty._

“I held her eyes, Alistair!” she wailed, hoarse and weak from crying since moonrise. “She had the same eyes as her mother! I’ll be- I’ll have to--” _Stare into eyes that matched ones she once cut out._ Alistair had no words to console his wife.

 _He finally understood,_ though. For Alistair, being King meant his own room, a warm bed, no more hay bales, no more barn, his own wardrobe, his own servants, resources beyond imagination, a _palace._ For Alistair, becoming King was the biggest step up he could make aside from becoming the Maker Himself. But for Tess… Alistair had pushed himself _and her_ to assert his right to happiness, but for her, being Queen meant a living purgatory. _Daily_ torment. Alistair becoming King so he could have the resources to protect his wife meant Tess would suffer every day. She might get a break when a court matter involved her, but they would otherwise be separated until Alistair's duty as King allowed him to retire for the night. _To sit with the mothers of the daughters she killed…_ A leap up for Alistair meant burying Tess alive. Yet she had not complained about this before, not till a nightmare far greater than any other shook her fears together, and still she was not complaining. It sounded to Alistair, even as the cup trembled in her hands and tears diluted her tea, Tess was only confessing a suppressed concern. She would stay at his side, but she would be _worse than a wreck_ doing so.

 _She loved him so much she was willing to suffer to stay with him._ Tess would rather suffer every day than never see him again, than not be _his_ wife.

Stunned in place, Alistair could only hold his wife’s hands. He’d not learned about the duties of a queen, it had not been relevant to his lessons with Teagan, but Alistair always assumed Tess would be pampered, like Teagan’s fussy nannies had done. He assumed she’d boss ladies-in-waiting about while glittering in gems and makeup. Alistair had never considered becoming Ferelden’s Queen was _degrading_ to her. The closest _Alistair_ could relate was looking at Branka and forcing himself to remember _he_ had done that to her, but he knew it compared little to Tess and the mothers she would take tea with. Unlike the noble mothers, Branka was nothing more than a weapon that could be commanded to shut up. He had no words for the _sacrifice_ his wife was making _just so Alistair could be comfortable._

Alistair had no words, but he knew what he needed to do. He’d already been trying to make Tess look like the hero, the level-headed peacemaker; not a hard feat after he learned to sway debates to keep their Grey Warden endeavors reminiscent of her noble upbringing. Through studying Anora reacting to Tess, their accounts of Loghain and Cailan, Loghain’s desperation, and what Alistair knew of his own father, there was only one thing for Alistair _to_ do. He would use the dead kings and Anora and Loghain against each other. If he played his cards right, the Landsmeet would see inside Tess’ broken heart so she could find relief in being Queen.

He only hoped Loghain and Anora had run out of their own cards.

The night ended with Alistair, Teagan, Pádraig, Eamon, and Riordan huddled in Bryce Cousland’s old study. Dates and events were checked and cross-checked, making sure rumors and events aligned and were founded; anything without sufficient evidence would be used only as a back up. Alistair probed Eamon and Teagan for the exact names of the daughters Tess had killed, their full names, ages, reasons why they were all potential matches for Cailan and why Loghain wanted them out of the way. Riordan recited clauses from Grey Warden code of conduct that gave Tess immunity for everything they thought Loghain and Anora might throw at her. Pádraig informed them of his army’s positions and strategy should the Mac Tirs break tradition, pointing out exits and defensive positions on a map of the entire palace including the Landsmeet hall. Refills of wine and sipping liquor went around as the visible moon rose higher into the night sky. Anything they thought might happen they addressed, making sure they could come out victorious - or exit safely should the worst occur. Had Wynne not barged in with sleeping potions long past midnight, they would have skipped sleep.

Morning came with tested nerves. Everyone rushed yet tried to stay calm. Tess no longer cared to fake confidence, a solemn stare at nothing through tea and breakfast, while Alistair bathed and dressed her. The look in her eye as Alistair tried to assure her showed Tess believed she would not return. _My whole past is in there waiting for me,_ she said. Even the Grey Warden armor she wore could not make her see she’d be protected.

The streets were busy, half of Denerim just as anxious about the Landsmeet when the man and woman who saved their city could fail against Anora and Loghain. Even with Sergeant Kylon trying to clear the road to the palace, the golems were needed. Branka and Shale carved the path, shaking the ground with each thundering step, forcing citizens to make way. Eight regiments of Pádraig’s army separated the Wardens from the crowd of grateful residents and merchants who did not want their new king to fall.

 _King_ Alistair and _Warden Commander_ Tesslyn rode into lingering fog, leading their party to the place that would determine their success against the Blight. Alistair could only pray his preparations accounted for everything.

The golems barged in first, Branka bending low to fit through. The entry was empty; no guards, no servants. Someone shouted beyond, though. Eamon had ridden ahead, hoping to rouse his supporters as best he could while the Wardens rode up; Alistair hoped the old man was successful. The plan had been for Eamon to entice the crowd of nobles who so admired him and swore fealty in the past; the golems only altered the plan in slight: they would now burst through to jolt the nobles, followed by Tess’ elite guard. But before Shale or Branka reached the second set of doors, a single body delayed their progress.  

“Grey Wardens.” Ser Cauthrien stood firm. Pádraig tensed next to Alistair, hand flying to the hilt on his belt. “I had hoped you’d come to your senses. You, especially, Lady Warden; your surrender in the Arl’s estate had been wise. But now you’ve come to condemn a hero. Do you have any idea what you’ve done - what you’re still doing - to this country? Teyrn Loghain is a hero, but you’ve torn this country apart trying to discredit him. And _you,_ Alistair-” she didn’t bother hiding a sneer “If you were _remotely_ worthy of the throne, you’d already be in the Landsmeet-”

Pádraig never had time to _correct_ the other captain. A fist flew to Cauthrien’s face with a _crack._

 _“Mind_ how you speak to my _husband!”_ Out of her dreading daze with a glare that could cut ice like fruit. Alistair surged inside like always when Tess stood up for him, though he was glad they weren’t seen by the Landsmeet.

Cauthrien recovered with a grimace of loathing and bloody hole where an eyetooth had been. She adjusted her jaw, blood dripping liberally. “I expect no less from you, _Tesslyn._ Without Loghain, Ferelden would still belong to Orlais and _you’d_ be a fourth-generation refugee escaping rapists and slavery. He is the only reason you grew up in a free country. _You owe_ him your _life.”_

Tess’ face clenched so hard Alistair thought her teeth might shatter. _“I_ _gave_ him my life when I was _thirteen. He_ took _more_ of me than I knew it was possible _to_ take from someone. Whatever hero he was at River Dane _ended_ the day I agreed to clear the way for Anora to be Queen.”

Cauthrien hesitated for the first time; Alistair hadn’t seen her lack certainty before.

 _“You were there,_ Cauthrien. At Ostagar. You commanded his army then. You were _there_ and you obeyed whatever _Maker-forsaken_ order of retreat he gave, and _still_ you have the balls to stall us and preach _heroics.”_ Tess jabbed a finger to the obvious scar on her face and pressed closed to Loghain’s biggest fan. _“This_ is heroic; risking my life to gain an extra three-hundred warriors to fight for my country. Leaving the son of his _best friend_ \- the _husband_ of his _daughter_ \- to die when _his blade_ could have changed the _outcome_ that night, _that is not heroic.”_ Tess stepped back and gripped Alistair’s arm; a silent notification she was ready to proceed. _“Lie_ to yourself all you want, but don’t you _dare_ blame my husband _or me_. You broke your vows to king and country _all_ on your _own.”_ Alistair reached up and squeezed the hand on his arm.

Cauthrien’s glare met Alistair’s. Expecting more excuses - or waiting for a chance ally, Alistair delayed his order for Pádraig to execute her then and there. In fluid motion that made Pádraig draw his sword, Cauthrien stepped back and dropped to one knee. Alistair held a hand out to lower his friend’s weapon, more curious than merciful of this _captain_ who’d imprisoned his wife.

“I tried, you know. I’ve tried to believe he’s been doing the right thing for the greater good. When the darkspawn took Lothering, I even convinced myself most nights that abandoning King Cailan had been the right choice. I told myself he spared thousands. Only now, we _need_ thousands, yet he has killed them all.” Cauthrien still dripped, red splotches growing to a tiny red river on the grout between stone tiles. “Stop him. Before he burns what’s left of the country in his madness, please stop him. Please make him remember the hero he used to be.”

Alistair motioned for Branka and Shale to open the doors. “Cauthrien, you’ve insulted my wife and endangered her life more times than I can count. You can’t be trusted.”

“But I-”

 _“No_ _buts._ Pádraig will conduct your sentence.” Heavy golem feet scraped against the floor as Alistair nodded to Pádraig.

“Pádraig need not oversee this _wretch_ alone.” Morrigan stepped up with a flaming hand, cocking her head down at the shamed Cauthrien. “I volunteer my aide. I’d consider it a _personal_ favor.” For once, Alistair was glad for her cold grudges.

“Allowed. Cauthrien, you will stand with my men during the Landsmeet. If you want your head in a solid state, you will obey Pádraig and Morrigan.” Alistair’s words were almost lost under the creaking of heavy ceremonial doors as he stepped toward the golems. “ _After_ the Landsmeet, though,” he glanced back, “ _you are theirs.”_

Cauthrien’s muffled reply disappeared as Shale stomped into the Landsmeet hall. Gasps and cries of surprise rose above intentional heavy steps, louder cries voicing as Branka ducked under the doors and straightened.

“Oh, how lovely. _More_ nobles.” Branka stretched and shifted her heavy feet to draw more gasps.

“Just as squishy as pigeons,” Shale assured.

“I must say, I enjoy the golems _far_ too much,” Teagan smirked as he straightened his overcoat. He cleared his throat and strolled swift through Shale and Branka, tall and confident. “I always enjoy a grand entrance. _Teagan Guerrin,_ Bann of Rainesfere, _present._ A pityno one thought to wait for me,” Teagan announced, his silver tongue bouncing off the walls. Alistair’s _uncle_ turned and looked back; the silent signal for Pádraig to show off. Tess took a deep breath; Alistair squeezed the hand on his arm.

A single gesture, and the elite guard sounded off louder than the golems and surprised nobles combined; their voices vibrated through Alistair’s armor. If golems didn’t silence the Landsmeet, this sure did. Wordless masculine chant boomed as metal boots clanked, each step a new mix of noise. The elite guard performed as planned, _draw attention._ Sharp and pristine, the elite guard stole focus, marching through Branka and Shale in pairs until they reached Bann Teagan. Each knight was a zipper tooth, securing the way for their king and queen to face opposition. Alistair’s feet moved; Tess kept his pace, grip tightening again, her eyes locked straight ahead.

Hands together in a slow clap, the last tether to Tess’ past stood up from the throne and strode with conceit. “Very impressive. Tell me, girl, did they teach you that in Orlais? With that kind of entrance, I expect a legion of chevaliers behind you. What’s the going rate to betray Ferelden these days, I wonder?”

Teagan opened his mouth, but it was Tess who retorted. “Abandoning your king in battle, obviously. _You_ are the only one who benefited from that.”

 _“Formalities,_ Teyrn Loghain,” Teagan interrupted, stepping ahead of Tess. “The house of Guerrin presents Alistair Theirin, son of Maric, raised by Eamon and the Chantry, and Tesslyn Theirin née Cousland, Commander of the Grey of Ferelden. They are _not_ commoners and _you_ will adhere to Landmseet custom when you address them.”

Loghain laughed. “A bastard and a traitor? How very convincing. I’m almost curious what Orlais comes up with next.”

“I see no trace of Orlais, Loghain. The son of Maric and Lady Cousland are accepted into the Landsmeet,” Bann Alfstanna spoke up.

“Agreed. I trust you see Loghain’s delusion for what it really is, now. Maric’s own child enters the room, yet Loghain claims this is Orlais’ doing.” Arl Eamon crossed his arms.

Arl Bryland laughed. “I would like to know how Orlais managed to replicate Maric.”

“I implore the Landsmeet, is _this_ who you want on the throne?” Eamon gestured to Loghain. “This man denies Ferelden nobility - _Ferelden tradition_ \- out of fear! A Cousland was undeniably instrumental in winning Ferelden from Orlais, and without a Theirin, Loghain could not stand here today as Teyrn. Yet he laughs at their presence in our country! Must we sacrifice the loyal families who’ve led our land simply so Loghain can re-live his glory days against a foreign tyrant long dead?” Eamon’s speech was met with noise of approval. The minor lords of the Bannorn knew the struggle of maintaining the land and the support needed from their Teyrns and King; many of them old enough to remember how crops and families suffered under the Orlesian occupation, like crops and families suffered now under the Blight.

“Enough!” Loghain snarled. “Eamon, try as you may, a bastard and an outcast noble don’t ensure Ferelden’s success. Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but there was already a Theirin heir on the throne - and look what that led to. Cailan threw his life away after inviting the Orlesians right back into the country! He did not ask for reinforcements from the Free Marches or Nevarra, only Orlais. Most of us here remember what it was like living with the Orlesians. Their code of _honor_ is limited to what they can overpower by raping our women and burning our homes! Do you really think they’d have just _gone home_ after Ostagar?”

Tess shrugged out of Alistair’s arm before he could stop her. “Are you blind? Loghain, this country is half dead! The _Blight_ is what infects Ferelden, not Orlais! _Darkspawn!”_ So far so good. As long as she kept her daggers sheathed and did not lunge.

 _“That_ is abundantly clear,” Alfstanna defended Tess. “From the Wilds to Waking Sea. Refugees _litter_ my bannorn, we don’t have room for them all. There is nowhere left to flee. Any land not opening to water has been swallowed up by darkspawn.”

“Perhaps you need my _daughter_ to recount the night we fled from _our_ home.” Arl Bryland also crossed his arms, while his daughter Habren, a teenager more invested in her appearance than manners, shuddered and stood closer to her father.

“Or perhaps the Teyrn would like a detailed account of the Deep Roads right now,” Alistair offered, reveling in the glare Loghain saved for no one else. “The breeding grounds for Darkspawn. Grotesque broodmothers with one purpose. I would _like_ to think you’re _grateful_ Anora has not been dragged underground by those monsters.”

“It’s true! I’ve seen it! They take survivors!” someone declared.

“My sons are dead. _The last of_ _my children dead!_ The Blight has destroyed more than homes, Loghain. It has taken our heirs!” Bitter lament from Arl Wulff of the West Hills; an arling of successful farming towns south of Redcliffe. _Also the father of a noble daughter Tess killed._ “Who will carry on the country when _we_ die? _Who_ will be left to light _our_ pyres?”

“And I suppose it’s _my_ fault, is it?” Loghain retorted. “When conveniently the Blight was not mentioned until Tesslyn Cousland returned from Orlais.”

 _“What?!”_ Tess cried. Teagan stepped back and laid a hand on Tess’ shoulder.

“Loghain, that is most ludicrous!” Teagan reprimanded. “How can anyone _start_ a Blight? Listen to yourself!”

Loghain shook his head. “This is no Blight! How many times must I say this? It is a fabrication from Orlais for an excuse to invade! No other country suffers from this so-called _Blight._ I saw no such Archdemon at Ostagar!”

“You weren’t _at_ Ostagar long enough to see an Archdemon,” Alistair reminded him.

“I assure you the Blight is real,” Riordan spoke up. “We Wardens felt it for months, and in countries where Wardens were not outlawed, we prepared. The closest Wardens outside of Ferelden lie in Orlais. Logic determined we would be the Wardens assisting Warden Commander Duncan in Ferelden with his half-dozen recruits. The state of the land should be proof enough for your eyes that the Blight is real. Grey Wardens stationed in Orlais do not represent Orlais, just as Grey Wardens _in_ Ferelden may not _be_ Fereldan, and the Chevaliers promised were to buy us Wardens time in case the Archdemon appeared. Blights are not political scheming. More countries will fall _as Ferelden has_ if you do not let the Wardens do our job.”

“You say the Wardens knew and prepared for months. I repeat: _why,_ then, was Ferelden not notified until Tesslyn Cousland returned to the country?”

“Because when the Blight began, there was only _one_ Grey Warden here, and he spent time recruiting as many Wardens as possible before the Darkspawn surfaced. _Only_ a Grey Warden can end a Blight. _You_ know history as well as I do, as well as _anyone_ _,_ Loghain.” But the aging general was not intimidated by Alistair’s size and _angry voice_ as hoped.

 _“Convenient_ the Grey Warden recruited you, yes? Tesslyn Cousland committed atrocious crimes to become the only eligible maiden for the throne, fleeing to Orlais when she discovered her devious plan had not fooled us. She returned only to storm out in a jealous fit when Cailan married Anora instead, then five years later, she marches back in the country - and a Blight is announced. _How convenient;_ I can’t express that enough; that Maric’s bastard _and_ Tesslyn Cousland were recruited into the Grey Wardens together. A perfect plan, is it not? She disappears to Orlais, conspires with them, then returns under false emergency with a plan to put herself on the throne. _It’s obvious,_ why must I explain this like I speak to a child? King Cailan died at Ostagar because he believed their lies, and by misplacing his trust, Cailan _foolishly_ handed over the country the _one_ woman who worked her whole life to _steal_ it for herself. It’s not every day you hear of two _noble_ Grey Wardens who just so _happened_ to be married. It was _my_ belief that Grey Wardens do not involve themselves in political affairs? Or marriage, even.”

 _“Someone_ has to lead this country to war.” Alistair glared so hard his brow hurt. He hoped he and Teagan hid Tess well enough from Loghain.

“Ferelden has a qualified leader - her _Queen,_ and _I_ will lead her armies to war against the Darkspawn  _as_ I led them against Orlais!”

 _“What_ armies? The one you let die at Ostagar? The able-bodied men and women you killed when they challenged your sanity? Or the army I slaughtered to save my wife from Fort Drakon after _you_ had her arrested for helping your daughter?” Alistair couldn’t wait to kill this man. _“Or,_ Loghain Mac Tir, do you hope to lead _our_ armies - the _Dalish_ and _Dwarven_ warriors Tesslyn and I risked our lives recruiting so our country has a fighting chance? The surviving mages at Kinloch Hold will not bow to you anymore than the Lords and Ladies you hung for not believing your lies. Trying to ally with you after Ostagar unleashed the _Maker’s wrath_ upon the Circle, _blood magic_ and _abominations._ ”

 _“My_ army serves none but King Alistair.” Pádraig announced. “We are the _survivors_ of the Bannorn who refuse to follow a man who leaves his king for dead. We bow _only_ to the man who risks his life to save ours. We follow him and none other into battle. Without King Alistair, Ferelden has no army to command.”

“Armies can be rebuilt and trained in _weeks,_ it happened during the rebellion under Maric! Loghain speaks true! Tesslyn Cousland was in my house the night my daughter lost an eye.” Lady Eddelbreck, a woman Alistair had been advised not to meet, spoke out. A grey and wrinkled lady whose only child had been called _a blessing from the Maker in old age_. “My Sophia, the Maker’s gift for our obedience!” _Sophie_ to Tess.

Tess muttered behind Alistair, _no no no._ Sten behind her stood firm, preventing her retreat.

“We found her, lying still as stone. Left eye missing. Same eye as all the other young ladies. We never connected the _coincidence_ until Tesslyn was caught in the act at Lancing manor.”

“Stories fed by Loghain. No one questioned how he knew so many details before Sophia’s death was announced,” Teagan said.

“Tesslyn was indeed there.” Bann Elara of Calon, only surviving member of the Lancing clan, half her face covered in silks to hide scars from escaping the Blight while her husband stayed to fight. “She was like a _sister_ to Dinea. As often as we could travel, the girls united. They used to strip to their underclothes and splash in the orchard canal in summer-”

Fingers at Alistair’s belt grabbed without aim. Alistair found wide watery eyes on his wife’s face. Tess’ pout trembled while she shook her head, a silent plea; _Please don’t let them do this to!_

“These accusations are a decade old-” Eamon began, only to be cut off by Loghain:

“But relevant nonetheless! This refers to the _woman_ you wish to place on the _throne,_ Eamon!”  

Bann Elara continued as if neither Eamon or Loghain had spoken: “It flustered Kennon so. He had to call off his workers for _hours_ until the girls came back in, their gowns wrinkled in hand and underclothes soaked and muddy. At night around the fire, they’d giggle over tea about the boys laboring in the orchard and braid each others hair. Their laughter rang through the entire house.”

 _“No no no!”_ Tess gasped for air behind Alistair.

“It was like having a full family again, for the first time since my sons died at sea. We heard the struggle the night Tesslyn betrayed us.”

Tess choked back a noise of sorrow. Alistair couldn’t even hold his wife, it would be seen as weakness and favor bred by infatuation.

“A heart-retching story indeed,” Loghain added. “One only a _parent_ can appreciate, however. You fool _no_ one, Tesslyn.”

“We will never defeat the Blight if we waste time bringing up past charges!” Eamon insisted. “How many more will we lose by arguing here? The darkspawn don’t spare the noble, Loghain!”

“The only charges bought up are against Tesslyn. The people have a right to know what their _beloved Arl_ truly intends for their homeland,” Loghain stressed.

“When has _that_ concerned you, Loghain? You insist we focus on Tesslyn right now _instead_ of the Blight, but it’s been _your_ daughter on the throne. Tesslyn was nowhere near it when you abandoned Cailan and claimed yourself Regent,” Teagan projected his voice.

“Don’t you _dare_ stand there and _sniffle,_ girl!” Bann Elara screeched at Tess. _“You’re the reason my daughter is dead!_ Why _all_ our daughters are dead!”

 _“No!”_ Tess cried, shaking her head. “No, that wasn’t- I was a _child!”_

“As were our daughters!” Another minor Lord spoke up. “Audra was only eleven! Only a _monster_ kills children!”

 _“ENOUGH!!”_ Alistair’s voice rebounded back to him, as did the sound of the doors banging against stone; something Shale would do to silence an annoyance. For a moment the Landsmeet was silent, and Alistair was glad for the interruption. But as he opened his mouth to grasp the moment, heavy _human_ steps clanked; not golem feet. Alistair turned to see why the nobles murmured.

A dark haired man in elaborate medium armor lowered his arms as the doors swung closed behind him. “Lords and Ladies of Ferelden!” He jerked his head to swing damp hair away from his eyes. Tess froze with eyes wide; Alistair recognized the man before Tess could speak. _A man considered dead._

“Fergus!” she breathed, spinning to see him. _Tess’ brother._ A man their enemy believed died. It was like the Maker answered a prayer Alistair wasn't aware they'd asked. Tess' sudden aire of hope was so strong it rose the hairs on Alistair’s body.

 _“Why_ is it no one summoned the _Teyrn of Highever_ to this _Landsmeet?”_ A younger image of the portrait of Bryce Cousland Tess recovered at Redcliffe; Fergus Cousland glared around as he walked down the aisle made for Alistair and Tess. Hair cut recently, clean-shaven save for a trimmed goatee, shield peeking from under his cloak, and various blades from his belts; Fergus was dressed for court _and_ prepared for battle. His eyes trailed over Alistair and Teagan before landing on Tess’s scar with a frown. Alistair couldn’t help but wonder, as he watched a protective elder brother, how much better they would have fared if Fergus had been with them in the Deep Roads.

Fergus continued: “Perhaps you all believed I was _dead._ Who wants to guess how I knew that?” He looked around again. “No one? Shame. Let me tell you a story:

“Once upon a time, the son of a powerful Teyrn took his army south to aide his king in battle. When he was scouting for the source of Darkspawn corruption in the Wilds, he found himself an accidental victim of a Chasind hunt. When he awoke from fever in a strange hut, he learned Ostagar had been overrun.; a dark time for even the Chasind when Grey Wardens fall during a Blight. The Teyrn’s son made his way home, expecting his wife and child to be worried sick. Only his home was invaded. His wife, son, and parents all murdered by a man the Teyrn’s son knew as _Uncle._ His sister, the most capable fighter in all Highever, was nowhere to be found. He drowned himself that night at the tavern, feeling he failed his family and his people.

“Then he heard the rumors: his traitor _uncle_ was not the only one responsible for his family’s death. A _commoner_ given _too much power_ was also involved, and _his_ guards patrolled the castle. Funny thing about men, when we grow out our beards, we become _different_ men - we _look_ different. Though he’d often walked those streets with his father, no one in the tavern recognized the Teyrn’s son. Now full of drink and rage, the Teyrn’s son snuck back into the castle that night. _No one saw him._ He _was_ the Teyrn’s son, after all; he knew his lands _and_ his home like the back of his hand. In the shadows of his castle, he sought answers in every nook and cranny. The best answers came from his sister’s chest of valuables. Enchanted with a _bloodlock,_ the chest opened to no one in the castle now but the Teyrn’s son. And _what_ to his  _wondering eyes did appear_ than correspondence and reason why his sister was in Orlais.” Tess wasn’t the only storyteller in her family. “Ferelden is ruled by the best of the best; the wisest and most clever. _Tell_ me, all you clever Arls, Banns, and Lords, _what_ do you suppose I found?”

“Pure speculation at this point,” Teagan feigned innocence; Alistair didn't fall for it; “but _I’d_ wager you found proof the Empress of Orlais had signed a _peace_ treaty with King Cailan? Not that I expect Cailan had _told_ anyone, considering Orlesians even taking _holiday_ here frightens _Loghain_ …”

“Bann Teagan, that is an _excellent_ guess!” Fergus congratulated.

Alistair wasn’t the only one looking between Teagan and Fergus wondering if Teagan knew Fergus had been alive all this time. Tess had a grip on Alistair’s arm again, this time in anticipation. There was much more in motion than either husband or wife knew, that was obvious, now.

“Fergus,” Tess began.

Fergus Cousland looked at his sister as he pulled multiple rolled parchments from a hip satchel. _“What,_ you say, is the point of all this? What does this have to do with Bann Elara _screeching_ at my sister? _What_ does this have to do with the _Blight?”_ His eyes narrowed in the darkest smile of satisfaction Alistair had seen yet. “My sister is an entrepreneur: she has a specific skill and she employed it. Tesslyn Cousland has served her country with the _humblest_ regard, for every time one of you snapped your fingers, my sister alone came running to your rescue, and when she made a name for herself, she ventured into other lands just as any other businessman. Those of you alive today are all witness to the patriotism my sister expressed. When the country grew dire, she expressed her patriotism once more and sought help, she tried to end this political upheaval before it began - this is the _proof_ I speak of, her years and effort in Orlais.” He held up the scrolls with a little shake. “Even Cailan knew what she was doing; he _wrote_ her twice a month after he found out. Had you, here, not ignored the signs of disorder when it began, none of us would be standing here now. But now your country is in disarray, _burning._ You’ve _caught_ yourselves in your _own traps_ and wonder why it hurts.”

“Clever, as you say nobles are.” Loghain’s turn to pace now, opening his shoulders and arms to welcome in those who believed him. “But whatever her intentions were, she still murdered noble daughters and recently murdered a Teyrn-”

 _“Rendon Howe_ murdered a Teyrn. You cannot spit false allegations to the daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland and the Sea Wolf herself! It is no secret, Loghain, that you emptied Ferelden’s royal vault within _months_ after King Maric disappeared. And just like now, you pushed the country into a state of turmoil. Only _now,_ there is no unmarried son of Maric to _shove_ your daughter onto to cover your tracks.” Alistair had not imagined more than Teagan and Tess were perturbed by this, but he was grateful. No one tried to challenge Fergus Cousland except for Loghain. “You were too eager back then to spend as much coin as you could; your excuse then was the same now: _For the good of Ferelden._ But there are those of us who never believed you for a second. As soon as Maric was declared dead, _you_ declared the King’s vault _empty_ and made your own daughter Queen. That _conveniently_ left you immune to the country’s laws.

“My sister cannot be punished for _anything_ you claim. She has been trying to preserve the throne, she has been doing her _duty_ _as the Teyrn’s daughter_ by allying with those who can _remove_ a traitor and his influence from the throne _and_ save her country. _That_ was her reason for fleeing to Orlais, not fear of _gossip_. Her _life_ was not in danger, her _country_ was. But you need more proof, yes? You people _always_ do. Shall I read the letters from Cailan aloud? Or does someone else want to do it?”

“You don’t speak of liberation, Fergus, what you speak is _tyranny_. _Murdering nobles_ to _increase_ her chance to be _Queen_. Bryce Cousland even hired an assassin to _train_ Tesslyn when she blossomed. It was no secret she pestered her parents to teach her to fight like a man.”

“It was _also_ no secret the assassin my father hired came from _your_ dungeons, Loghain.” Fergus stood in line with Alistair, Tess, and Teagan. “One of the Antivan Crows came to kill a ship merchant on _your_ docks. He made a mistake and a witness brought guards. You kept him in your prison for _months,_ waiting for my _father_ to accept your proposal to have the assassin work his crime off by training Tess.”

“I remember that.” A younger male noble; the son a wealthy fish butcher, the boy had been drunk when Alistair introduced himself in the tavern.

“Mm, yes, that’s right. An exciting day,” the fish butcher nodded. “My boy was only eight. Already a hero. He yelled so loud the guards rushed over. Short man, the killer. Dark hair, been out in the sun too long.”

“What _I_ did was offer Teyrn Cousland a chance to teach his daughter self-defense,” Loghain insisted. “What _she_ did with her training was her _own_ choice. Training as a rogue is _common practice_ for noble families. The _firstborn_ male becomes a warrior, the _spare_ heir trains as a _rogue_. Noble daughters are taught with daggers and bows as self-defense, a precaution _especially_ necessary in Ferelden when the Orlesians favorite past time was raping our women! We taught our daughter’s to defend themselves up close.”

“You lie.” All eyes whipped to Tess; Fergus Cousland’s unexpected arrival almost made Tess invisible. “You refused to let Anora train. You refused because of _me._ You refused to keep her out of suspicion. She may know how to shoot a target from thirty yards, but she couldn’t use a dagger or pick a lock if her life depended on it.”

“I can vouch for that.” The bitter old Arl Wulff spoke up. “When young Prince Cailan and lady Anora ran to my arling eight years ago, it was _Cailan_ fighting the giants while Anora stood from a distance and directed. Thought it an easy victory, I suppose; save old Wulff from monsters. Cailan ended up with a broken arm. Anora warned Cailan not to walk so close because he was splattered in blood.”

“I taught my daughter to keep a _safe distance_ from _danger_. Better for young ladies to _command_ those capable of fighting instead of risk their lives.” Loghain searched faces around the room.

“A belief you obviously didn’t mind forgetting when you put _Tess_ at risk,” Alistair put in.

“His _name_ was _San Amoldo Arainai,”_ Tess glared at Loghain. _“_ You may have thought sending an _assassin_ to my home was _leverage_ for this day, but my _teacher_ lived in my home as _family_. He _earned_ my parents _respect_. _We trusted him with our lives.”_

“Even worse to know the _wife_ of Maric’s bastard considers assassins to be trustworthy.”

Zevran shoved his way forward and dropped into a deep bow, though when he rose, his face was hard-lined. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Zevran Arainai of the Antivan Crows, hired to ambush and kill the two Grey Wardens who survived the battle at Ostagar. I am _witness_ to the testimony of the Grey Wardens and Fergus Cousland.”

 _“More_ proof she cannot be trusted! What would the palace gain from having _assassins_ loitering like handmaidens?”

“Arainai is one of many cells within the Crows. This mark on my face distinguishes me from the other houses. I am _surprised_ you’ve forgotten me _again,_ Loghain.”

 _“Again?”_ Arl Bryland echoed. “This demands an explanation, Loghain.”

“Oh, he has kept this a secret? Hm, where to start…” Zevran pretended to think. “How about up stairs from the main doors in the palace? A corner room with a large stained glass window of a woman with flaming hair-”

“The Rebel Queen? Loghain, that room was Maric’s private study! He took solace there to remember his mother!” Bann Sighard scolded. “You met with this _assassin_ there?”

“Hm, and more,” Zevran nodded. _“Rendon Howe_ ordered the Crow, paid for ship passage and lodging when I arrived. But the _seal_ on the contract was a golden wyvern.”

Loghain evaded eyes as Banns and Arls glared at him. Only Loghain’s heraldry bore a wyvern.

“And what of you, assassin? Why are you alive in the presence of the Grey Wardens if you were sent to kill them?” Teagan asked, playing an innocent in Zevran’s acquaintance.

“Funny you should ask-”

“Since when are assassins allowed into the Landsmeet?” Loghain demanded.

“Evidence is _always_ allowed, Loghain, no matter the source,” Eamon reminded. “The Landsmeet has _always_ been this way. You will _not_ deny us our traditions. Please, master Crow, continue.”

Zevran hesitated while he looked at Eamon, Loghain, and Teagan. “I accepted the contract not knowing what I was up against other than Grey Wardens. When our paths crossed, I was shown unexpected mercy in exchange for help defeating the Blight. It was then I learned Tesslyn had been trained by Amoldo. Amoldo and I bear the same tattoos on our face, this is how she recognized me. If a Crow does not return from a job, he is assumed dead, or he failed and is killed by another Crow. Amoldo went missing from House Arainai during a job to kill a sea merchant who had docked in Gwaren. Amoldo was caught performing his contract and held prisoner by the _Teyrn_ of Gwaren; for _certain_ we knew, _nothing_ gets by the Crows, you see. Back to when I met the Wardens, I learned Amoldo came into play when Tesslyn wished to train like her brother, which Fergus Cousland can vouch for, I’m certain. Tesslyn’s account matches up with the Crows last record of Amoldo: Loghain Mac Tir transferred his Crow prisoner to Highever castle. We left it at that, assuming the Teyrn of Highever wished to kill Amoldo himself.” Zevran met Alistair’s eyes for a second; if Zev wasn’t improvising to redeem Tess, there was _much_ more force at work. Cailan, Empress Celene, Teagan, _only_ Alistair and Tess saved from Ostagar, Fergus, now not only an Antivan Crow but one who knew about Tess’ innocence long before they met. How many coincidences until it could be called  _fate_ _?_ It had to be the Maker's hand; Alistair saw no other way _._

 _“Let him work off his crime._ Those were your _exact_ words to my father, Loghain,” Fergus recalled aloud, stepping up beside Zevran. _“Ironic_ how you made no mention of your intentions for suggesting my sister learn to be an assassin. Just as he withheld vital information from the Antivan Crows when he authorized a contract to kill Grey Wardens, it seems.” Fergus met eyes of his peer nobles while he paced.

“I can provide names and dates of Crow masters contacted,” Zevran offered. “The Crows at first denied the contract - we know the importance of the Grey Wardens, after all. In desperation to be free of a mistake, I alone took the bid, intending to die. Yet I was spared, not by the Alistair Theirin, but the _monster_ Loghain claims Tesslyn to be.”

“You reveal _much_ for an _elf_ claiming to be a member of the Antivan Crows,” Loghain said.

“You never paid the Crows for silence. _Remember_ that next time you hire a professional whose _life_ you intend to risk,” Zevran glared. “I was _there_ in Antiva when the contract arrived, and I stood _here_ in the palace with Loghain and Howe. I was _also_ there when Loghain’s _wretched daughter_ pretended to be _prisoner_ in a _guest_ room in the city Arl’s manor after Howe conveniently imprisoned that nasty Kendell fellow, _and_ countless others-” Zevran enjoyed digging a larger hole for Loghain “-including Templars-”

Bann Alfstanna scoffed so loud it echoed. “My _brother,_ to be precise! Snatched from duty, from while escorting a _maleficar_ back to the Circle! _Tesslyn_ saved him, as a matter of fact.”

“Yes, the man who allows his _perverse_ sidekick to imprison and torture _innocents_ is the _perfect_ ruler for your country,” Morrigan spake with a hum of amusement that was almost hidden in her sarcasm. Alistair knew her well enough, though, she was just as bitter as Zevran, Fergus, as the Banns who lost children, just as bitter as Alistair, even. Loghain’s supporters had been more wary she’d help put Loghain down than of her being an apostate.

Loghain sighed and pinched his temples. “Rendon Howe was a vile man who worked on his own accord, I cannot be blamed-”

“But _you_ granted him the power to do as he wished and you did _not_ stop him when everyone he met with went missing!” Tess protested.

“Teyrn Loghain, is this true?” A revered mother Alistair hadn’t noticed spoke out, her voice aged but strong. Loghain certainly averted his eyes now. “You know the punishment for interfering against the Maker’s will! And a _maleficar!_ Do you have _any_ idea the danger you put your countrymen in?”

“Indeed,” Eamon finally joined in. “The very maleficar we speak of was hired by Loghain himself to poison me. I was not in bed for illness as Loghain and Anora profess, but _poison!_ If it had not been for Alistair and Tesslyn, Loghain would have succeeded in killing me off!”

 _“And_ destroying Redcliffe! I was there!” Teagan scowled. “Undead attacked _night_ after night! Without Alistair and Tesslyn, Ferelden would have fallen a _dozen_ times before Darkspawn ever spilled from Ostagar! _All_ because of Loghain’s desire to make sure _Eamon_ could not call a Landsmeet and challenge his claim to the throne!”

“You are not above the Maker’s laws, Teyrn Loghain,” The revered mother even looked insulted. “Asking for the Maker’s blessings in my sanctuary does not permit blood magic. Your actions are a direct offense against the Maker!”

“And the survivors of Ostagar Loghain wanted silenced?” Zevran continued, determined to bring Loghain to justice. Zevran had become family in repaying his debt to Alistair and Tess, a thing Loghain was trying to use against Tess. “We’ve come across more than one in our travels.”

“It’s true!” Bann Sighard exclaimed. “You all wonder where Oswyn is - _Tesslyn_ rescued _him_ as well! Naked and starving in Howe’s dungeon for trying to help a friend who confessed Loghain fled Ostagar _before_ Cailan was overwhelmed! _On Loghain’s orders_ he was tortured! Magic cannot heal half the damage done! He’ll be lucky to get around on a cane the rest of his life! _A walking cane at nineteen!”_

“And I was there--” Zevran went on as if uninterrupted. Alistair was not even needed to talk. He expected to have to shout down Loghain and Anora, but he did not need to. His thoughts darted again to Cailan’s correspondence with Empress Celene and the idea of the Maker’s grand influence of it all. _So many others_ were making sure this Landsmeet flowed in _his_ favor, _just_ like the plan to make Alistair king. “--when Loghain _magically_ knew where to find Tesslyn when Anora _assured_ us her father had _no_ idea she fled to Howe for _help_ against him. You can _trust_ me, you see. Antivan Crows have not survived _centuries_ by dishonoring our words. We are _masters_ of deception and have swayed the fate of _many_ nations. Believe me when I say I recognize pre-meditated treason.”

“I- Loghain, is this true?” Bann Elara, mother of Tess’ childhood bestfriend, did not screech at Tess this time. Conflict filled eyes that darted from Tess to Loghain. _“You_ did it? _You_ hired the assassin to train Tesslyn? To teach her to _cut out eyes?”_

 _“I_ hired _no_ such man. As I said, Teyrn Cousland made his own choices, just as Rendon Howe did-”

“But the prisoner _you urged_ he hire was _yours!_ We all knew it, your prisoner had been the talk of ladies’ tea for _months!”_ For this statement alone, Bann Elara was now a strong voice in Alistair’s favor. No one would question what women spoke; for a noble woman, her source of news came over tea, and queen or lesser, noblewomen made sure domestic operations functioned. Each noble woman was a vital part to the country thriving. “And this elf is _not_ lying about the Arl’s home, I _saw_ your men march from there with three prisoners. _Here,_ I _remember;_ that was the _day after_ the new flag rode into town. I remember because I thought nothing of Cauthrien leading prisoners until I saw Maric’s bastard storm Fort Drakon to save them. _What else_ is true? I-- _Teyrn Loghain, please tell me it’s not true!_ I had _already_ lost my sons! _How_ could you _do_ this me? How could you do this to _us?_ You fed us _sympathies_ and sent _gifts_ every anniversary of her death!”

“And us as well. A new vase every year to remember Sophia with her favorite flowers.” Lord Eddelbreck stood next to his wife, whose face had turned from sour to uncertainty.

“Coincidence? I think not. _Tsk tsk._ ” Zevran shook his head. “Making his daughter Queen was well planned out, yes?”

“Consider _all_ your country has _suffered_ since Loghain suggested his prisoner _repent_ by training a girl not even in puberty! Or all that has suffered since that shrew of his let him kill your king,” Morrigan added.   

“I believe I can speak for myself,” Anora’s voice rang out. A body emerged from behind large ceremonial drapes, dressed in formal wear Alistair might expect on Tess in court.

“That’s no surprise, Anora, you’ve _always_ spoken for yourself, even when you were married.” Teagan brushed her off easier than Loghain and Anora cared for.

“The _decision_ to marry Cailan was my _own,”_ Anora’s voice hardened with her eyes.

Fergus grinned empty and annoyed; a look Alistair recognized in Tess when she was irritated. “Ah, Anora, sweet Anora… _always_ wanting to be the mabari of some Ferelden man's eye. Even with my wife rotting, I'd take her over you; _any_ woman, really, as long as she doesn't treat her husband's death like a noble fart in the wind. _Cailan_ knew he was worth more than that; _not_ like you cared. _Tell_ me, Loghain, _how_ does it feel to father a bitch no one wants to breed? Or does the Landsmeet not know this one?” Fergus responded to questions and scolding. “No one? Truly?”

“Anora Mac Tir was originally arranged to Fergus,” Tess spoke up, more clear than she had been all day. “Cailan wanted _me,_ and Maric allowed it. So Anora was arranged with Fergus. They’re the same age; it was practical.”

“Only _I_ was _appalled,”_ Fergus continued for his sister, staring at Anora. “The _names_ Anora used to call my sister, not to mention all the times I had to pull her off Tess in her fits of jealousy. I’d have to move that sow into my _castle_ with my _sister._ ”

“But Anora was equally appalled. She refused to settle for less than a prince,” Tess said. She stood strong by her brother, and Alistair saw now the reason Teagan said the person Tess had trusted most growing up was Fergus. Fergus’ passion to protect his sister reminded Alistair of his own passion to protect Tess. It gave Tess confidence.

Bann Alfstanna huffed. “The wife of a Teyrn’s son? I can think of _much_ worse.”

“Indeed. Being the _son-_ in-law of a Teyrn tops _my_ list.” Fergus enjoyed the the glares from Anora and Loghain. “Many of you wondered why I married an Antivan. Truth is, I ran away when I was told I’d be marrying Anora. I ran my horse as fast as I could to the coast and hopped ship. Lucky for me, I met Oriana. I returned home months later with a wife who upheld the Cousland name better than Anora upheld her own name. Then thanks to Loghain’s leniency of Rendon Howe, I _lost_ my wife.”

“Since when does the Landsmeet include slandering a Lady’s image?” Anora walked with practiced footsteps.

Something snapped in Tess. Alistair saw the flicker of raw possession right before her feet brought her down the center of the carpet towards Anora. “But it's okay for you to stand here and slander _mine?_ No!"

“It does not matter my husband is _dead,_ Tesslyn. I am still the wife of a King, and Ferelden law dictates-”

" _NO!”_ she bellowed, voice full, profound, surrounding. Undeniably in the moment. “I will not stand here and let you _or your father_ dictate another moment of my life! I have spent _half_ my _life_ afraid of you both, _nightmares_ that shake me to my core as _bad_ as the Archdemon himself! But _no more!_ I am a Grey Warden and I have a _job_ to do which might end me, and I _refuse_ to let you poison me further! _Especially_ if dying to end this Blight _saves you! No more!_ As of _Sixteen Cloudreach, Nine:Thirty_ Dragon when _Rendon Howe_ burned Highever and killed my parents, _I_ am the highest standing woman in all of Ferelden!” Tess glared at Anora. “Without Cailan, you are _just a widow,_ and even as long as your father lives, you’re nothing but the daughter of a commoner given _too much privilege!”_

“There is a _reason_ commoners aren’t eligible for the throne,” Arl Bryland agreed.

“And you have _proved_ it, Anora, by letting your father _kill the king and take his place!”_ She looked around. “When deciding a regent or breaking stalemate, not a _single_ voice in here matters except _mine_ and _Fergus Cousland’s!_ Loghain Mac Tir is a proven traitor twice-over to king, and _now_ to _country!_ By _birthright_ I am Teyrna! By _providence_ I am a Grey Warden and now _above_ Thedosian law, above Chantry law - though you can be _damn_ sure I follow the Maker unlike _others_ in this room - _I walked through Andraste’s Flames to get here! I_ took the Ashes of Andraste that healed Arl Eamon from _Loghain_ and his _blood mage’s poison! Me! Not_ you!

“Tesslyn, nothing you say and no order you join can save you from the Maker’s judgment,” Anora said with her hands clasped at her front. “You are not above the Maker.”

“The _Maker Himself_ allowed me to survive with these titles! _He let_ me survive this far! _None_ of you have the right to challenge my word! _I alone_ sought to restore this country when the first signs of betrayal boiled up! _I alone_ sought out Empress Celene to help restore the balance of trade and health, _my_ influence convinced Celene to ally with King Cailan to save Ferelden from the Darkspawn and make a _better_ future for _both_ countries! It is _my_ word against the Landsmeet! _My_ say! _I alone!_ Not by _chance ennobling_ like _Loghain_ , but right of birth! _I was born_ to help decide the fate of this country! _I was born to decide the crowning of the new king!”_ A conversation reminiscent of her yelling at Harrowmont in Orzammar. Tess hesitated with darting eyes, veins bulging at her temples and neck, breath rapid but deep; she was not losing it, she was in full control of herself. Growing desperate to silence Anora, but still in control.

Alistair watched his wife approach him and drop to one knee. Head bowed, she flung out the rose dagger he’d made for her and stuck it into the carpet; within reach of his hand should she try to touch him. “My King, my First Lord, the One that I trust to lead me and my home with Dignity, Honor, Love, and Wisdom. I, Tesslyn Cousland, Teyrna of Highever by right of birth, pledge my allegiance to you, Alistair Theirin, Rightful Heir and Blessed King of Ferelden. The entirety of Highever is Yours, my King; her men, her arms, her crops, her resources. Highever and it’s citizens are loyal to me, and I am loyal to the True King.” The burden of the crown weighed heavy on Alistair, now. He wasn’t even wearing it yet. His wife - _his own wife_ \- reduced to bowing down before him just to prove to nobles in silly ruffles she means what she says.

He opened his mouth, but Fergus spoke instead: “That is not necessary, Tesslyn, _wife_ of King Alistair. Highever willingly submits, and your place is at the palace with your husband. I, Fergus Cousland,” Fergus turned his gaze to Alistair, clear and focused, _“Teyrn_ of Highever, brother to Tesslyn, and leader of Highever’s people,” Fergus held Alistair’s gaze as he walked over, shoulders rocking to a swagger of unwavering confidence. He pulled his gloves off one at a time. “I attest that Highever is yours. Her arms fight for you, her shields defend you, her every crevice to the tallest tower at your disposal.” He unsheathed his sword and stuck the tip in the floor as he knelt beside Tess. “By my honor, Highever is sworn to King Alistair Theirin. What the King wishes, Highever shall deliver.” It was through Fergus that Alistair understood the importance of Tess kneeling before her husband. Those who held control by right of Ferelden’s most significant assets were giving it all to Alistair _and Alistair alone_ then and there, even though he had not actually been declared king.

There was still no time to respond. “I, Teagan Guerrin, Bann of Rainesfere, pledge myself and my land to King Alistair, son of Maric, true Heir to the Throne of Ferelden and none other. When the King calls, the Bannorn will answer.”

Bann Alfstanna was interrupted, though. “A cute show,” Loghain announced. “But a few Banns, a displaced Teyrn and a desperate outcast are not enough to put a _bastard_ on the throne. This country still runs on justice, and before you can take the crown, _son of Maric,_ your _wife_ will need to pay. _An eye for an eye,_ as the saying goes. A _Queen_ must be the _face_ of her people; if _she_ does not answer for her crimes, you cannot expect your _people_ to.”

 _“Vengeance_ is the first thing on your mind when those who refused fealty to you swear it to another? Loghain Mac Tir, I may be half your age, but you have a lot to learn to catch up to me.” Alistair reached down and pulled Tess to her feet, tempted to ask her what punishment she wanted for Loghain. Vengeance drove his own veins, though; death alone was not harsh enough for the man who scarred his wife. After a moment of staring in her eyes, he instead took Tess’ hand and brought it to his lips.

 _“Inappropriate,_ to say the least,” Anora remarked. Fergus snorted as he stood and sheathed his sword.

“Anora, the _fact_ my brother did not love _you_ enough to prove it to the world is _not my problem._ Go whine about it elsewhere.” Alistair’s answer earned another snort and a snicker somewhere past his line of sight. “In _my_ mind, Loghain, _An Eye For an Eye_ does not mean _He took mine, so I will take his._ It means _If you ask for an eye, you must give one in return._ ” Alistair met Loghain’s glare. “You have asked for _many_ eyes, Teyrn Loghain, and you asked _Tesslyn Cousland_ to _retrieve_ them for you, _without_ ever giving back. You have _taken_ and _taken_ and _taken_ from this country - finances, eyes _and_ lives - from _those_ who would rule it _better_ than your daughter, better than _you_ could command any army. _You_ robbed _Cailan_ of his chance for _success_ as King because Maric granting you the next highest title of _Teyrn_ apparently _wasn’t good enough_ for you. He _freely_ handed you a significant portion of Ferelden and _you repaid him by killing his firstborn_ after contracting the death of his _friends’_ children. Just so _you_ could rise to King _yourself!_ By using your own child, at that; Anora, _how_ do you feel about your father _using_ you like that? _Nothing?”_ he responded to Anora’s hesitation. “Thought so.”

“No, it is _not_ nothing. My father never used me, Alistair. He never needed to, he was already in charge. King Maric _allowed_ him to be.”

 _“No,_ Anora, King Maric granted him a _courtesy_ title and a _portion_ of land _away from the throne_. He did _not_ give your father the _entire country._ You _refuse_ to deny Loghain, and he took advantage. _That_ is what’s known as _using people,_ ” Alistair enunciated just for Anora. “He _took advantage,_ and _good_ Banns, Arls, Teyrns were _killed._ Ferelden politics considers that behavior _traitorous,_ a _direct threat_ to the throne and line of royalty itself.” Alistair shifted his glare to Loghain. “Maybe you thought the _Chantry_ had eaten me up, or maybe you hoped Ostagar had claimed _both_ heirs at once, saving you trouble down the line. I’m _even_ willing to consider you never knew about me. But considering you sent _assassins_ and _mercenaries_ after me while I’ve gathered an army to protect the land _you live_ on, and told everyone Cailan’s death was _my_ fault, _I’m_ convinced you’ve _always_ known. Every noble I’ve met already knew, _commoners in the street_ knew - so _why_ would my father’s _adviser_ not? _Someone_ advised him to send me to Redcliffe. For almost a year, you continually attempted to kill me, starting when you left Ostagar. Call me naive, but I’m confident that constitutes as attempted murder _and_ a threat to royalty.

“It’s _clear_ you weren’t expecting me to survive. Your escalation into madness has proved you _cannot cope_ when your plans fail. The _great general_ didn't even have a back-up plan, you just _murdered_ everyone. The _entire country_ has witnessed your descent into madness. If you’re still lying to yourself, ask the soldiers and nobles you killed when they questioned your sanity. It is time you answer for your crimes. Whether or not I’ve been crowned King, I am still the surviving _Prince_ of Ferelden, and with my father and brother dead, _I_ make the rules now. I’m over-looking Maric’s mysterious disappearance simply because there is _not_ enough time for that investigation _yet,_ however, _as of right now--_

“Loghain Mac Tir, you are hereby charged with Desertion, Treason, _Murder_ of your _King, Responsibility_ for the murders of Sophia Eddelbreck of Feravel Plains, Dinea Lancing of Calon, Roslyn and Lorna Kendell of Denerim, Audra daughter of Lord Guy of Amaranthine, and Sima Wulff of West Hills, of _Treason by torture_ to the daughter of your _superior_ Teyrn and intended queen to Cailan _as_ designated by King Maric, of _continual_ attempted-Treason upon _me,_ Arl Eamon, and the entire Bannorn, _all_ of these resulting in the present destruction of Ferelden. You are stripped of land and title and sentenced to Death-”

Brows like starless midnight sunk even lower, ever creasing Loghain’s hollow eyes. “You are quick to condemn integrity that does not match your own. What _I_ have done is _preserve_ the countless lives of good Ferelden citizens who otherwise would have been consumed by _skulking traitors_ and the overwhelming force of the Darkspawn-”

“Do _not_ interrupt me.” Alistair thoroughly enjoyed the threat in his own voice. “The only traitors in Ferelden stand where you and Anora do, and the citizens overwhelmed were only so because _you_ turned the Orlesian forces away from the border! Forces that would have _ended_ the Blight before it spilt out of Ostagar!” His sole intention now was force Loghain to cower before him. “Cailan had a winning strategy perfectly planned, but because of your selfish pining to sit in Cailan’s throne, _you_ destroyed Lothering, Honnleath, Redcliffe, the West Hills, Gwaren - _your own land,_ I _know_ you didn’t miss that! - the Brecilian forest and _every_ neighboring farm and caravan from the Wilds to the the Northern Highway! _Past_ the Northern Highway! It’s _all gone!_ Just ask the merchants stacked up in the market square right now, ask them how much they lost in Lothering after restocking in Redcliffe before it fell! Ask the surface dwarves who sell what they can here to send funds home every quarter! Ask your _own men_ \- the men _you_ supposedly _saved_ from death at Ostagar yet sent through the burning Blighted country after me! Ask your fellow nobles how many knights they lost traveling here just so they could hear the truth! Every single action you take _twists_ the knife in the wound _you_ created for Ferelden! You _cannot_ be trusted to _keep Her safety!_ _You are not fit to be King!”_

“Settle this, then. Like _Maric_ would have.” Loghain withdrew his sword. Alistair drew his own in caution, unsure what to expect from a man who saw the Blight as an Orlesian coup attempt and Tess as a pawn; would Loghain stick to tradition, or try to slaughter them all?

Murmurs went around, even Loghain’s eyes flicked; Alistair had almost forgotten the star metal sword from Tess was unique to the world. Compared to Loghain’s greatsword, _Starfang_ looked enchanted beyond defeat. It at least made Loghain hesitate.

“Wait!” Anora cried out. “We can resolve this _without_ bloodshed! We shall _unite_ the houses. _I_ shall marry Alistair.”

 _“WHAT?!”_ Tess yelped, her voice chiming off the crystal in the hanging chandelier.

“Anora.” Loghain warned - or scolded.

 _“No,_ father,” Anora insisted. “Please, everyone hear me out. We all agree Alistair is Maric's son. Keeping a Theirin on the throne is _only_ right, but Alistair is inexperienced. He grew up in stables, not court. He is incapable of leading this country on his own-”

 _“Not a chance,_ Anora,” Teagan rebuked. “Alistair has already _held_ court; I _know_ news of that reached Denerim. He _surpassed_ expectations of a new king _without you entirely._ How _easy_ you forget that without Cailan, you are nothing more than a common widow. You were not born into nobility, nor was your father, and no amount of time in court has made _either_ of you a better ruler than Alistair already is.”

“But Tesslyn is _not_ a suitable match, Bann Teagan, for every reason my father stated. Her very presence in the palace is a liability. In fact, with her history, being a Grey Warden is _all_ that emancipates Tesslyn in Ferelden. As long as she remains a Grey Warden and _only_ a Grey Warden, will she allowed to live without a bounty here.”

“Not relevant, Anora,” Alistair shook his head. “Being a Grey Warden is irreversible. It is not a _job_ one can just leave, it is a _condition_. How do you think Grey Wardens knew this was a true Blight when your father insisted it wasn’t?”

Anora continued as if he had not interrupted her. _“My_ marriage to _you,_ Alistair, will be a political benefit to the entire country. Ferelden keeps a beloved Theirin, and with _my_ guidance and knowledge in court, the country will remain stable-”

Tess laughed - _laughed -_ drawing every gaze in the hall. _“No.”_ She shook her head, grinning in disbelief at the farcical proposition, though just as desperate to keep her husband as Anora was desperate to keep her title. “You couldn’t keep your _own_ husband safe. What makes you think I’ll let you have _mine?_ You let your father return without Cailan, and instead of putting the pieces together, you ignored every concern against his treason! _You! Ferelden’s political leader_ made a _show_ of ignoring blatant treason, and by _doing_ so inspired _other_ nobles to ignore it! _You_ set the example for this _entire country_ to ignore murder and set _treason and deceit_ as the law! _You_ encouraged everyone to _kill husbands_ when they disagree! It’s _no wonder_ Denerim was _raping_ herself when we arrived. _You_ are the one to blame for this country falling apart! _You let it happen!_ _You_ could have stood _against_ your husband’s murderer and _restored honor_ and righteous cause to this country, and we could have been _done_ with Loghain’s civil war before it started! But _you let it happen!_ _You_ let us kill each other, _you_ let our numbers thin, leaving our crops and small towns defenseless! _You_ were _not_ the mother to this country _you swore_ to be!”

“Considering you have no regard for mothers _or their children,_ Tesslyn, you are in _no_ position to lecture abdication.” While Anora stood tall, her eyes flicked to the Bann Elara and Lady Eddelbreck, reminding the Landsmeet without words of Tess’ past deeds.

“Anora, the Landsmeet has seen all the evidence it needs regarding that subject. Tesslyn is cleared of charges,” Eamon denied her criticism.

“You swore _before the Maker_ to _care_ for these people _as your children,_ ” Tess contested, “but all you did was encourage them to _lie_ and _cheat_ and _kill_ each other! _You failed,_ Anora! _You_ did! Not me! _I did_ my duty to this county, _I’ve been_ doing my duty to this country _as a Grey Warden._ All _you_ do is stop the only people who can _end_ the Darkspawn for _good!_ You _can’t_ keep _defending_ him, Anora! You can’t deny the Blight exists and is _only_ a ploy from Orlais, not with _half_ the country poisoned with _Taint_. No amount of personal history between you and I will make your _father right_ and _Cailan’s_ admiration of the Grey Wardens _wrong_. It’s not like the Darkspawn _sprung up_ on you in the middle of the night; you had _over a year of warning! For over a year,_ you’ve watched this country _char_ and _rot_ in _darkspawn filth!”_

“Whereas _Alistair and Tesslyn_ took every opportunity to _kill_ the darkspawn,” Teagan praised. _“They_ were the ones who drove them from Lothering, not Loghain.”

 _“Now_ because of _you,_ ” Tess gestured to _all_ of Anora, her face full of blame and disbelief, _“I_ have a _mess_ to clean up. A _huge_ mess! I have _starving children_ to feed, _crying_ children to _heal, naughty_ children to _punish_ \- but there are no more resources left in our country. _You_ let our resources fall! _I_ have to find _external_ resources to help my children! And _now_ I must ask _strong_ children to leave their homes and families for a war they may not survive. All because _you failed! You chose_ to fail! _You_ are not fit to rule a country, _either,_ Anora! Not _you, not_ your _father!_ You _never_ were! And I will _not_ let you have _my_ husband so you can _fail again! Ferelden_ can’t _afford_ to fail again, we’ll be wiped out in a month! You’ve brought _nothing_ but _death_ to your country. I _refuse_ to let you risk _my_ husband so cheaply!”

“My sister speaks more sense than I’ve heard from this palace since _Cailan_ heeded the Grey Warden’s warning,” Fergus approved. _“No_ one can deny the fact my sister is _ready_ for the throne. She speaks more wisdom than Loghain _ever_ spoke when Orlais _really was_ the threat. My sister and King Alistair will lead this country to greatness none of you can _imagine._ If you need assurance, just look at what they’ve accomplished _together already;_ Denerim alone is proof. You _also_ forget, Anora, that _nobility_ is in our _blood_. Tesslyn was brought up in court just as you, though as a _Cousland, she_ was raised to be _Queen_. _Her_ education prepared her for duties as Queen _long_ before _you_ learned them. You are _only_ the daughter of a commoner, that is all you'll ever be. And because of that, there is _nothing_ you can contribute to this country that _my sister_ cannot do better. _Both_ Theirin sons chose her, she was _always_ destined to become Tesslyn _Theirin née Cousland_. Nothing stopped her from marrying Alistair before the Maker last year, and your greed will _not_ tear them apart _now_. A commoner is _not allowed_ to rule in place of royalty, Anora Mac Tir, even as regent. You and your father know this. Ridding your husband from the picture does not make you more qualified than a Cousland. All you've done is reduce your own title. Without your marriage into to nobility, _you are nothing._ We _cannot_ stress this enough. Ferelden did not follow you to freedom _decades ago,_ Loghain, just so you could _strip_ us of the tradition that makes us strong _now!”_  

More than the nobles had applauded Eamon, it was Fergus who summoned approval and changed minds. Shouts of agreement and allegiance sounded off; _so much noise_ Alistair almost told the golems to silence the room. Only three, out of the twenty-four _remaining nobles in Ferelden,_ did not want Alistair on the throne. _Three_ who understood without persuasion that they were overruled.

Loghain stood taller as he looked around. “It seems you made your decision, despite knowing you’ll force my daughter to watch me die-”

“Like you had Rendon Howe force _me_ to watch _my_ father die? With no remorse?” Tess interrupted. “It’s okay for _you_ to force it, but no one else?”

Loghain’s eye twitched, trying to keep face as he glanced to Tess. Alistair waited for retaliation, preparing himself to step in and safeguard Tess once more.

The waning general let out a sigh instead. Realization dawned between age lines; _so Alistair hoped_. _“A man is made by the quality of his enemies. Maric_ once told me that.” Though Loghain studied Tess longer than Alistair liked, shoulders buried under massive armor relaxed. _Surrender, or regret?_ “I wonder _now_ if he meant _you._ Never did I imagine we’d stand here together, Tesslyn Cousland. Not like this.” Loghain shook his head. A deep breath as the last of Tess’ past faced Alistair. _“Challenge_ me, then, _son of Maric._ Challenge me like Maric would have, like he’d have encouraged Cailan to. Like he would have had _me_ do to take Cailan’s place. _Man to man,_ show the people what _strength_ you intend to provide.” A last chance to die an honorable Ferelden death. Alistair wondered if Loghain would have done _any_ of this if Maric still lived.  

“See,” Alistair stepped slowly, placing each foot before the other as Zevran taught him in the Deep Roads; he felt the elf stare. A bold, sly move which, if Alistair performed it right, gave Loghain no insight to his intention. “That is where you are wrong,” he said. “My father and brother let themselves fall prey to a fool afraid to be proved wrong, and now they are both dead.”

A deep breath to give the impression he was nervous, relaxing and shrugging his shoulders; Loghain stood curious about the apparent apprehension. Then without warning, Alistair took the pivotal lunge, feigning _left_ only to land _right_ while his arms swung fierce and swift. Loghain could not raise his sword in time. _Starfang_ whistled like a chime in the wind, not slowing for resistance.

A single feminine cry rang through the air as Anora watched her father’s head drop to the floor with a _crack_ and roll. Eyes still open in surprise, head lolling around; as unbalanced in death as he was in life. The cut was so clean the neck did not bleed until force of the fall opened the wound.

“I am _nothing_ like them.” Alistair stopped the rocking head with the tip of his sword; unblinking eyes stared at nothing along the stone tiles of the floor. A shaky breath Alistair knew too well was the only other sound in the hall as he stood over the dead body; _finality,_ _relief. Tess._ “You will never hurt her again,” he muttered to the _severed_ tether of discord from his wife’s past.

Wide blue eyes stared as Alistair turned. He saw Anora war within herself, trying to regain control when the man who held her gaze killed her father without warning or remorse. The only thing Anora revered more than power itself lay motionless on the floor between them; blood pooling in grout the only proof Loghain ever had a heart.

“And _now you,_ ” Alistair told the false queen. “From the moment we arrived in this city, every source of crime and corruption we’ve dealt with traces back to _you_ protecting your traitor father. You have proven yourself incapable of honesty, and _worse_ _,_ you handed over the life of a Grey Warden to _save yourself from embarrassment_. Not even the _Chantry_ can save you from punishment.” Alistair walked over to Tess and took the diamond-coated rose dagger from her sheath, eyes locked on his wife as he wrapped her fingers around the hilt. She searched him like never before. “Anora,” Alistair announced loud and clear, stepping aside to give Tess room, “your offenses were against the Queen. As Ferelden law dictates, the _Queen_ will oversee your judgment. I advise you start believing in the Maker right now.”

All eyes were on Tess once more, though she stared at Alistair. No words needed to read her face: this was Alistair burning Eamon’s stables all over again, only now their roles reversed. Now, it was Tess’ past that needed to burn, and Alistair had handed her the torch.

_It had to be done._

She turned, and Alistair followed her gaze. Anora took breath after breath and sought the Landsmeet, who held theirs. Tess drew her second dagger and took a step, then another, her feet picking up pace and dexterity as she moved towards the woman who helped destroy her life.

“What happens if you both die? Someone will need to run this country!” Anora pleaded.

 _“If_ my wife and I die against the Archdemon, there is a _Cousland_ and a _particular Guerrin_ perfectly capable of ruling,” Alistair replied. Movement to his right caught his eye, and Alistair met Teagan’s glare of accusation with a smirk.

Tess stopped in front of Anora. For the first time facing Tess, Anora hesitated. _Afraid of death like Tess feared pain._ Alistair hoped Anora would suffer, but with the diamond-coated rose dagger, any death would be quick.

For the second time facing _Anora_ , Tess did not tremble or rage.

She stepped back, raised her arms; Anora closed her eyes and held breath with the nobles of the Landsmeet. Lines hardened Tess’ face as her eyes flew. Her grip tightened and arms flexed. Teagan gripped Alistair’s shoulder in anticipation.

Then nothing. Tess stepped back and lowered her arms; Alistair’s curiosity burned.

“Anora Mac Tir, you are stripped of land, name, and title. From this day forth, you are a _servant_ to the city of Denerim. You are forbidden to marry. If you are witnessed speaking to _anyone_ other than in servitude, your tongue will be cut out and a hand removed. The second time, you will lose a foot. The _Alienage_ is in _dire_ need of help. There are wounds to bandage, starving to feed, ill to nurse, and streets to clean; the _Orphanage_ is priority. You will report to Arl Vaughan Kendell when you need supplies, and he will report your activities to us. You will understand the _strife_ you have inflicted upon the people. You begin within the hour. Death is _not_ an option. May you finally know the Maker.”

Tess turned back around and sheathed her daggers, leaving Anora stunned and more foreboding than when she expected death. A sentence of humility; forcing a wicked person to penitence to the Maker through humble servitude. The revered mother nodded in approval.

Alistair had a feeling Tess would be known for her _mercy_.

“Your Majesty,” Teagan said as Alistair began to walk with Tess. “Your countrymen await your orders.”

Alistair clutched his wife’s hand while he looked at the Lords and Ladies around them. The revered mother silently prayed, arm out stretched to direct the Maker’s blessing. Arl Bryland gave a nod; Habren curtsied after a nudge from her father. Bann Alfstanna put a fist over her chest in a small bow. The mother of Tess’ childhood friend Dinea couldn’t stop staring. Some whispered to each other; Alistair heard _Maric_ and _beard_ more than once. Others waited in silence for him to speak.

So many lives about to change, including his own. What could he say they already didn’t know? _The Darkspawn and almost certain death await? I cleaned up Denerim, now you have room to move while you protect your king? Don’t cross my wife or else? I never knew my father but I hope to do better?_ Alistair almost laughed at himself.

“Your majesty,” Riordan stepped near, cringing with a frown like Tess had in the Deep Roads near the Dead Trenches. Alistair’s breath caught as Riordan struggled to meet his eyes. _The Archdemon;_ Riordan heard _the Call_ more and more these days. “We need to march within the week,” their elder muttered, trying to shake _the Call_ off.

Alistair nodded, breathing again; Tess squeezed his hand. _Never a reprieve; of course not._ Alistair opened to the Landsmeet once more.

“I am sorry to throw you into battle so soon. But we will only defeat the Darkspawn if we work together. They will not spare anyone for coin or promise, _and they are coming._ ” Alistair met eyes with _his_ nobles. The way they swallowed and nodded reflected how _serious_ Alistair looked. _King and Grey Warden;_ no pressure, right? “Prepare yourselves. We march soon.”

_No pressure._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The matter of West Hill in Ferelden is a bit confusing. As I understand it, with my own ideas to make it less confusing _for me_ , there is:
> 
> \--a West Hill fortress; no specific location given other than in or on the outskirts of the West Hill bannorn just southwest of Highever. I canon this is the Heart of the Waking Sea coast (aside from Highever), an old war tower now used to house Bann Alfstanna, who governs the Waking Sea. As Bann of a busy water way, I suspect she'd need a tower to properly keep an eye on it.
> 
> \--Bannorn of West Hill, ruled by Bann Franderel. Southwest of Highever, marked on the map, near the Waking Sea coast. This particular bannorn itself is only briefly mentioned in game in Denerim by Slim Couldry for the breaking and entering quests of Crime Wave. The Warden breaks into Bann Franderel's Denerim estate to steal the Tears of Andraste. 
> 
> \--The West Hills arling, ruled by Arl Gallagher Wulff, the bitter lamenting old man in the cornder of the Gnawed Noble tavern in Denerim. The West Hills are south of Redcliffe and I believe is comprised of farming land that may include Honnleath.
> 
> As I said, I have altered the details of the fortress and arling ( I think) to make sense in my story, particularly because Bann Alfstanna became an important connection for Tess in Denerim; she supposedly was good friends with the Couslands, so it made sense for her support _in my story_ to contribute to Tess' personal growth/Tess and Alistair's relationship growth - and of course, the Landsmeet support. However, if I have missed something and mixed up the West Hill/Hills thing, I'd love some input to help clarify. ^_^


	71. Astound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return of Fergus Cousland demands answers, but not the kind Tess or Alistair expected to hear. The odds seem to turn in their favor, though, as the dwarven, magi, and Dalish allies arrive. But even as the tides of the Blight bring hope to the war, the Wardens are reminded of the Archdemon's power as Riordan's Calling progresses. Some things will never stay forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***NSFW*** Mild sexual stimulation, foreplay.  
> ***POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING*** Angst, using sex to relieve angst.
> 
>  
> 
> MOOD MUSIC:  
> [Champion, by Fallout Boy](https://youtu.be/JJJpRl2cTJc)

_First things first._ They could not risk Erlina passing information or attempts on their health with Anora alive. Before _allowing_ Anora to dress down and attend to the Alienage, the new King of Ferelden and his wife held a public hanging. Anora herself tied the noose around Erlina’s neck, and Anora herself kicked the stool to drop Erlina; _Alistair insisted._ Even more satisfying, Anora had to be taught to tie a noose by the hangman - an act requiring dexterity Anora did not have, and Alistair had made her practice the knot a dozen times to ensure Erlina would not simply fall to the ground. For fear of _harming_ her confidant, Anora had not tied the noose tight enough. The _Servant of Denerim_ began her new job knowing her faithful friend would take days to die.

Ser Cauthrien was dealt with by Pádraig and Morrigan out of sight and sound. Pádraig came back with a smear of blood on the fist of his gauntlet and Morrigan looked more proud than usual. When Alistair questioned, Morrigan replied: _We were thorough;_ Pádraig said it might be wise never to anger Morrigan. Cauthrien was suffering in Fort Drakon’s prison, and a guard would check on her _whenever Pádraig remembered._

As the new King, there was too much to do already. Though Teagan told servants not to bother _Their Majesties_ until supper, the walk through the grand entry hall of the palace consisted of Alistair and Tess getting measured, picking out fabric colors and plants, and the Revered Mother insisting even if they were married, they would still need to hold an official wedding ceremony _after Alistair’s coronation_ so Tess could be crowned as well. When tea was finally served and Teagan pushed the last of the persistent palace servants from the room, the new King and Queen fell into each other’s arms and otherwise did not move. Shared relief after a busy morning that felt like it had taken months.

“We made it,” Alistair murmured into his wife’s face. Deep breath for the sake of _being able_ to take deep breath, chests rose and fell together, arms and hands locked. Content exhales steamed his skin at the collar.

“Almost,” she whispered back. _The Archdemon._

Alistair pulled back enough to see her face.  _“Hey,”_ he said. Dark lashes parted as he touched her face. “He couldn’t take us in his _own home,”_ he told her. “Not a _chance_ I’ll let him take us in _ours._ Okay?” Despite the trace of doubt in her eyes, Tess nodded. Alistair had his own doubts, but it was something they knew they could not dwell on. They did not come this far only to lose each other to a dragon who could not separate them before.

Alistair dropped his head, soft lips and a hint of tongue pressing into his before his eyelids closed. Hands moved between kisses, arms tightened, keeping husband and wife as close as possible despite the armor they still wore. Feet shuffled around them; scraping leather, clanking metal, sounds of movement muffled on a thick area rug. A crackling fire was tended, voices muttered, and Teagan silenced anyone who attempted to interrupt the couple who _finally_ had a moment to relax.

 _“All right,”_ a familiar voice dropped. “I haven’t eaten all day, and _already_ I’m nauseous. Cut it out, you two,” Fergus Cousland almost couldn’t hide a laugh.

Alistair giggled before he could stop himself, and when he pulled back, Tess was trying to hide scarlet cheeks.

“It gets worse than this, Fergus,” Teagan warned with a grin.

Despite a pleasant meeting over a year ago and the Landsmeet moments ago, Alistair found himself shy to look at Fergus Cousland now. _His wife’s brother._ It had been awkward imagining Cailan kissing Anora, but Alistair could only guess how Tess and Fergus felt right now.

“I _cannot_ wait to _not_ find out.” Fergus Cousland, a man almost as large as Alistair, stared at Tess with a helpless, apologetic smile, only half his mouth stretched though his eyes fully succumbed. “Little sister.” Any embarrassment Tess had disappeared when Fergus held his arms open. Alistair watched his wife’s face scrunch in attempt to not cry, though a deep breath shook tears loose. Tess fell into her brother’s arms with a sniffle. Her sob broke Alistair’s heart, and when Fergus sniffed, Alistair remembered neither remaining Cousland had been able to help each other mourn.

Zevran entered with Pádraig, _shooing_ servants out when he saw Tess and Fergus sniffling together.

“Zev, you have been around humans _way_ too long. They’re _my_ servants, not yours,” Alistair joked with a smirk, trying to make background noise so Tess could catch up with her brother without every teardrop drawing attention.

Zevran made a noise of disbelief, joining Alistair at the table for tea, though neither sat. “Brothers are brothers, Alistair. You said so yourself. You have a very big house, now. I want my own wing. I have awesome decorating plans in mind.”

Alistair laughed louder than he should have.  _“No,_ Zev, whores and dancing poles are _not_ decorations.” The amused look of contemplation on Pádraig’s face made Alistair choke on his tea. _“Maker,_ you two. I haven’t even been king an _hour._ ”

“It was _your_ idea.” Zevran tried not to grin as he tasted his tea.

“Sister, I thought your husband grew up in the Chantry,” Fergus spoke up. Alistair turned with an unstoppable grin, meeting Tess’ gaze and her shy smile. Fergus dragged a handkerchief across his face while Tess wiped her cheeks with her palms.

“We spent a considerable amount of time underground with a lecherous drunk dwarf and an equally lecherous elf,” Tess cracked a smile. Alistair set his tea down and prepared a second cup.

“Good times, no?” Zevran said. “Long nights, sexy mood lighting, lots of stripping and ice." Fergus choked on a laugh, still trying to overcome emotion of reunion.

“I… don’t quite remember it like that, Zev,” Alistair grinned, though.

“No? Hm. That’s probably best. Your wife might kill me if she found out.”

“What?” Tess looked from face to face like she missed something.

“And now I have a _lot_ of questions about your husband, sister.” Fergus stuffed his handkerchief in his pocket and ran a hand through his hair.

Alistair grinned still, embarrassed but grateful for the ice breaker. He held out the fresh cup of sweetened tea for his wife. “Speaking of which,” Alistair said as Tess came to him. “Last time we met, Fergus, I was still a virgin.”

Tess spit out her tea with wide eyes. Male laughter rang around the room. “That’s _not at all_ what I thought you would say,” Tess wiped her face.

“Fergus, welcome to everything Alistair ever talks about,” Teagan’s eyes crinkled. He joined them for tea, reaching over Zevran.

Alistair grinned when Tess glared like she always did when she found herself in their jokes. As soon as the cloth napkin left her mouth, Alistair leaned down to kiss his wife. “Sometimes I think you get caught in these things on _purpose,_ ” he teased her, kissing her again.

 _“Seriously,_ you two, stop that, or you’ll have to clean my stomach off the floor.” Fergus clanked the spoon in his teacup.

Alistair pulled back from his wife’s lips embarrassed but grinning. He wet the corner of his mouth and reached for his tea. Tess frowned into hers. “This is _your_ fault, Fergus,” she grumbled.

 _“My_ fault?” Fergus chuckled.

 _“One day you’ll meet someone who can handle you, mark my words.”_ Tess did her best impression of Fergus’ voice. “Some of your last words to me before you rode off.” Alistair looked from Tess to Fergus, who wore a shameless grin. Harmless sibling teasing that _by providence_ came true.

“Little did I know he’d be my welcoming party at Ostagar. I suppose, though,” Fergus paused for a sip, “I’m more surprised to see _this."_ He gestured to Tess and the arm Alistair had around her waist. " _Relieved,_ rather, to see you two acting like Mother and Father. When I heard you were married, I expected a political arrangement, like Maric and Rowan all over again.”

“I _do_ have my own general.” Alistair nodded, though he’d never considered the similarities between himself and his father winning the rebellion.

Pádraig’s cup stopped before it reached his mouth. Alistair did a double take at his friend, only to stifle a giggle at Pádraig’s accusing stare. “If you even _think_ of making me Teyrn of Gwaren -!”

Alistair laughed louder than he should have. Such a dark joke considering the fate that ended _Maric’s_ general only moments ago. Teagan grinned like he regretted finding humor in it.

“Pádraig and Fergus, _both_ of you are forbidden to have daughters. If you think I’m joking, _just try_ to have sex.” Tess was the only one who wasn’t amused. The dark _joke_ was no longer funny.

Alistair rubbed her back. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry, you’re right, that’s was horrible. But, love, we can’t marry our children off to Fergus’, they’d be first cousins,” he teased, trying to lighten the unintentional gallows humor.

 _“Butt love,”_ Zevran snickered. He and Alistair met eyes with a matching giggle, and Zev giggled harder when Tess struck his leg with her boot.

“Zevran, what have we told you about going through our personal effects?” Tess chided. Pádraig turned his head, unable to hide his smile, choking on a laugh when he caught Alistair’s grin.

“I’ll need something harder than tea to forget my little sister just said that,” Fergus muttered. Tess smirked into her teacup while the men around her laughed. “Dare I even ask about the scars?”

“That… depends on how much you want to know about your little sister,” Tess insinuated it was a sexual accident.

Fergus froze, and Alistair laughed when he saw the man struggle with looking at the people in front of him.

“Fergus, _you_ have a _filthy mind,_ ” Tess scolded. She couldn’t hide a smirk when she looked at Alistair, though.

“The Deep Roads are a very dark place,” Alistair answered Fergus. “Metaphorically and literally. Golems mostly.”

“And fire. And a very long night in the woods,” Tess finished for him. Alistair studied his wife; he wasn’t aware she remembered her withdrawal in Lothering.

“And carnivorous water,” Zevran added with a distant glare.

“And a dragon that wasn’t really a dragon,” Pádraig recalled the battle against Flemeth.

“And darkspawn,” Alistair remembered the vertical scar on his face from that battle at Ostagar so long ago. Flemeth had stitched that wound.

“But that’s not important, is it?” Tess eyed her brother. “Finding out why Teagan wasn’t surprised to see you is important. And why Zevran knew your name when you hadn’t said it. Am I right?”

“Don’t look at me,” Zev shook his head at Alistair. _“He_ snuck up on _me,_ that wasn’t my fault at all.”

Teagan’s sigh was of relief while Fergus sounded dreading.

“Maker, you have no idea how hard it was hiding that from you, Tesslyn,” Teagan said.

Fergus groaned though. “Must I do this now?”

Tess frowned so stern Alistair guessed Fergus saw their angry mother in Tess right now. _“Fergus Daimmric Galahad Byron Cousland.”_

Fergus rolled his eyes in a flat glare. His gaze shifted to Alistair without changing his face. “Has she done this to you yet?”

“Nope!” Alistair beamed. “But I’ve done it to her. _Only_ when she’s in trouble.”

“I would have been _fantastic_ not hearing that.” Fergus looked away with wide eyes. Alistair couldn’t help but laugh.

“Fergus, you’ve been alive all this time. We _needed_ your _help_ ,” Tess told him. Fergus groaned into his tea, which must have grown cold by now.

“I hear Bhelen’s voice in my head right now, _Brother and sister, I see it now,”_ Alistair teased. _“All right._ Fergus Cousland, your sister asked you a valid question,” he brought his _hard king_ back into play. “Fergus, Teagan, Zevran, I don’t care who answers, but one of you will answer my wife.” But Fergus and Teagan were not annoyed by the hard king demanding of them. Fergus’ hesitancy seemed just as legitimate as Tess’ desire for the truth, if Alistair was honest.

“We could not let Loghain know Fergus was alive,” Teagan began. Fergus sighed in relief from not having to start. “We had to let Loghain and Rendon think Fergus died at Ostagar. It was bad enough he had a bounty on _you_ two.”

“But Tess is right. We could have used you in the Deep Roads, Fergus.”

“I could not have gone, I was in Orlais when you departed from Rainesfere.” Fergus finished his tea and shook his head. “You may resent me all you want, but while you ventured around Orzammar, I spent my time running back and forth to Orlais. I already sent a messenger off, in fact. As soon as Celene gets the letter, her army and her Wardens will storm in. With any luck, they’ll help us push back whatever the darkspawn have in wait.”

“That doesn’t explain much.” Tess still glared.

“Sister, there is a _lot_ you aren’t aware of.” Fergus shook his head in apology at her. “You’ve never been alone, it was never _just_ you and Teagan in this plan of yours.” With a heavy sigh, Fergus summarized the past decade:

From the moment Tess fled to Rainesfere from _whatever Loghain did to her,_ Teagan consulted Fergus and Cailan. To prevent civil war, the three kept it to themselves; addressing Loghain’s contract with Tess would have split the country, for Cailan would have fought Loghain to protect Tess _and_ fought Maric if _he_ chose Loghain, and Maric would have fought to keep Loghain safe from the Couslands. Since then, Tess was always under watch, and Teagan, Cailan, and Fergus met once a month for a _hunting trip_ to keep each other updated. When Tess left the country, Teagan’s men followed under the guise of servants and were overlooked. Ser Irminric Eremon was Fergus’ contact at Kinloch Hold, monitoring Tess when she resided as a Templar. When Tess fled to Lothering with information on Tevinter, an Eremon family friend there sent word to Irminric. In Navarra and the Free Marches, Rendon Howe’s own son Nathaniel kept watch. Trained and living in Starkhaven, Nathaniel’s fellow rogues were his eyes and ears when he could not follow Tess.

With Maric's death mandating Cailan marry for the sake of country, Cailan sought out his father’s Grey Warden friend in the compound at the palace. Anora was the most logical choice left for a bride; _the only one of breeding age for another decade;_ but Cailan fulfilling duty as King would give Loghain the power to punish Tess _through_ Anora. Cailan begged the Warden to recruit Tess to give her immunity from Loghain, though with Tess in and out of the country without notice, it was hard for the Grey Warden to catch her. When Tess worked her way up to Empress of Orlais' right hand, Cailan began correspondence with Celene. Celene agreed to help Tess, though she and Cailan conspired to marry but rule separately, leaving Tess’ wish of Alistair ruling a back-up plan. However, Celene would train Tess in Orlais to become Queen alongside Alistair _regardless;_ ensuring she always had an ally in Ferelden one way or another.

Then the Blight began. Anora and Loghain found out about Cailan and Celene, and with such chaos as a Blight, Celene feared an attempt on Cailan’s life in the midst of it. Celene would send her army to help fight the Darkspawn, but she advised Cailan make Tess and Alistair Grey Wardens: if Cailan was assassinated and Loghain fell into more power, Alistair and Tess could still elevate _and_ have the political immunity to overthrow the Mac Tirs. Cailan _ordered_ the Grey Warden to recruit his brother and Tess. Alistair was collected first, and while the Grey Warden sought Tess and more recruits for the Blight, Alistair remained at the palace. _Cailan insisted._ It was his way of reminding Anora and Loghain there was now a Theirin heir they could not touch.

Before Tess was recruited, darkspawn surfaced in the south and the few Wardens, Cailan, and Loghain’s army marched to Ostagar. But Cailan did not let the Grey Warden forget about Tess. Cailan ordered him to Highever, though while the Grey Warden traveled, Cailan learned Loghain had denied Celene’s army at the border. Cailan prepared for death at Ostagar.

“And… well, you know better than I how you were recruited, sister,” Fergus said; _the massacre of their family._ At Ostagar, Fergus’ mission in the Wilds was to find a new way for Celene’s chevaliers to cross the border. His mission ended when he became a victim by mistake helping Chasind kill darkspawn. After Fergus recovered from his injury and sneaked into Highever, he stayed with Teagan between traveling to Orlais. In Orlais, he and the Empress scoured letters and journals for anything that might help them overpower Loghain, while in Ferelden Teagan trained Alistair to be King. When Fergus last returned, Pádraig’s rescue team was readying for Orzammar, and when Tess and Alistair rode as King and Queen to Denerim, Fergus rode in secret with them. “When you two were… struggling,” Fergus wouldn’t look at Tess, “you said you couldn’t find your dog half the time.” He raised his head as if daring himself to. “Po was with me on Eamon’s grounds. I’ve been… right under your noses for months. I’m _sorry,_ Tess-” he began as Tess hardened and looked ready to hit.

_“The whole fucking time, Fergus?”_

“I’m sorry - I _said_ I’m _sorry._ Don’t look at me like that, I couldn’t let you know, because Anora and Loghain would’ve found out.” It was almost as bad as announcing a loved one died.

“You were outside on Eamon’s lawn the whole time we’ve been here?” Alistair echoed. Alistair had trained with those men. How did he not notice Fergus?

“Yes. Well, I moved with the bulk of the soldiers when you took back the manor, Tess.” The _small castle._

“And that is where I come in, I suppose…” Zevran took a deep breath. “He found me when I was walking the garden one night and asked if I had the same trainer as his sister. I’ve known for…” his eyes drifted in thought, “about two weeks now.” Zevran paused, cautious of Tess’ glare. “Please don’t kill me. I will be of great assistance against the Archdemon.”

“Part of me wants to scold you, but the other part is sorry I wore all your clothes while you froze outside,” Alistair told his brother-in-law. In truth, Alistair didn't want Fergus' admission to bother him like it already started to.

Fergus looked relieved for the humor. “No, that didn’t bother me. I’m sorry, though, for what it’s worth.” Brother and sister stared at each other for a long moment. Even without her glare, Tess looked like she felt betrayed, and Alistair could not blame her. She had thought herself the lonely Cousland survivor and never got to say goodbye. She'd tried hard this past year to forget she lost her family so she could function on their mission, only now to learn she never really lost it. Pointless worry and mourning when a little corporeal hope might have gone a long way.

Tess feeling betrayed only strengthened the nagging bug about Fergus' story, though. Betrayal was a word itching to surface at Fergus' mention of _Maric's Warden friend_. Alistair exploited the silence, even though the question summoned ambivalence. “When you said _Grey Warden,_ did you mean Duncan?”

“The elder fellow, Rivani, ponytail?” Fergus nodded, leaning forward to rub his face. “I didn’t know him as well as Cailan did, though I think Cailan only knew him from Maric's stories. I didn’t speak to him when he came to Highever, I stayed with my wi- with my wife and son to stay out of sight. I wasn’t sure if he could act in front of me.”

This was what Alistair disliked hearing: Duncan had not recruited Alistair to free him of misery, but on orders. Nevermind the orders were to protect Alistair in the long run; Alistair thought Duncan had treated him like a son, or how Alistair thought a father should treat a son. And Tess… recruiting her and Alistair may have spared their lives _now,_ but what about in thirty years when their Callings set in?

“Would it not have been better to just kill Anora and Loghain after Maric died?” Alistair asked, not realizing he frowned so hard until Fergus searched him in concern.

“Easier, yes. But better? No" Fergus shook his head. "It needed to be done at a Landsmeet for the one who killed him to come out with privilege. Cailan would not have been trusted as King if he killed them without cause; _no_ one forgets Loghain saved us from Orlais during the war. We had no proof Loghain contracted Tess. The diary of a young girl isn’t considered proof, they call it _useless daydreams_. We needed something _profound.”_

“Profound,” Alistair echoed. “Well, you got _Profound_. And Zev, you’re _grounded_ for lying to us for two weeks.”

“Grounded in a new shiny palace? Double my punishment, please. In fact, ground me to the maids dressing room. I will work off my punishment there,” the elf volunteered with a smirk.

Tess growled. “Do you want to have sex?”

“What?” Alistair looked at his wife. He wasn’t the only one who questioned his ears. Tess met his gaze, grumpy and scowling, though her eyes implied _help_ for something else. Hurt, torn. Needing a release and distraction. He shared her predicament. “Right now? Not... that I object,” he said, trying to brush the embarrassment off from such a _loud_ private question. From the corner of his eye, Fergus sat with a grimace.

“Yes, right now. I need something to _bite_.”

The grin spread before he could stop it. _“Oh, that_ kind of sex.” _Hard, fast, from behind; Tess liked it when he held her up against him with his arm over her mouth._ Alistair had _zero_ objections, even with her brother knowing.

“I did _not_ come out of hiding for this,” Fergus muttered loud enough for them to hear.

Zevran giggled. “I _definitely_ would come out of hiding for this!” Alistair almost giggled himself.

Alistair looked toward the door, then crossed the room, Tess’ hand in his. “I _see_ that _look,_ Teagan. Lecture _Fergus_ while we’re busy. My kingdom is _safe_ for the moment.” Teagan shook his head and turned away. Alistair gestured as he opened the way, staring at his wife. Whatever room they found, Alistair could clear it; he was _King,_ now. The thought of having sex _wherever he wanted_ was just as thrilling as others knowing they left _to_ have it. _“Lead the way,_ Your Majesty.” Tess was already unbuckling her straps; Fergus yelled for a strong drink.

 

They got lost in the palace looking for a room far enough away from their tea party. After startling a servant who hadn’t known they were still inside, husband and wife broke in the first furniture of their new home. _More than they knew they needed to work off._ What was intended as a quick tryst to redirect sudden stress ended up with armor strewn all over, underclothes thrown over books and chairs, and the sound of the sofa scraping along the floor as skin slapped against skin. Alistair drove her till she couldn’t hold herself up anymore, then drove her till he steamed with sweat and couldn’t keep his own voice down. Sticky with sweat and their own juices, the new King and Queen cooled off in an open window. And then Alistair took her again, breasts wild in the open pane as he crouched behind, daring the world to see the _dirty stable boy_ who’d become King unravel the most important woman in the country. _His. All his._

 

Tess, despite raised to be Queen, wasn’t familiar with the palace; _I avoided it when I could,_ she said. Neither knowing where they were, they wandered until they stumbled into the King’s bed chamber. An enormous room once belonging to Cailan and Maric before him, now draped in colors and flora Alistair picked out hours ago. Tess almost did not recognize the room Cailan tried to coax her into long ago. Tall windows let in what sunlight the outside fog allowed, candles and a crackling hearth danced light in places where the open drapes could not. Everything bore the Theirin insignia, candelabra, drapes, and bed alike. Admiring the bedpost carving revealed the old portrait Loghain had cut Tess' face from. Tess scoffed at the thought of Loghain hiding it since he wouldn't risk witnesses to throw out Cailan's _prized_ painting.

"A thing he refused to take down even when he bedded Anora." Tess reflected as she wiped dust away. Bold colors blossomed under her fingers. "He told me so when I snuck in six years ago to ask why he wrote Celene. I came in through the window and saw the painting and he just laughed. _Fergus_ convinced me to sit for the painter. Now... I think it was for Cailan all along."

Odd, though, that Anora did not dispose of her husband's treasured painting of _another woman_ when she blamed her bad marriage on Tess. It prompted husband and wife to search for anything else left behind. Alistair suspected there were more possessions Anora kept to stay on good terms with Cailan. Zevran and Morrigan soon joined them, and the hunt ignited. While snooping in mutual curiosity, they found an unimaginable surprise that strengthened Fergus’ summary of _help_.

Zevran spied it first. A not-so-secret compartment in a wall that had been chipped at along the edges; an attempt to force it open. Morrigan, who'd been more civil since the Alienage, suggested Alistair slit his finger. _Perhaps tis another chest your brother wished to keep from that shrew and her deranged father?_

 _Another bloodlock_. An entire cabinet with drawers.

Maric’s old ceremonial armor, an uninteresting dagger, a vintage necklace Tess recognized from a portrait of Moira Theirin. Tess handed Alistair remains of an old painting, and this time _Alistair_ recognized Moira. _Maric's mother;_ this made Moira Alistair's grandmother. His memory of Maric looked like this old painting; he supposed _he_ looked Moira _too,_ then. Though no one alive today knew her, Moira seemed the source of Alistair's ginger hair. Books described her as _red_ while Maric recalled _more blonde than red._ Tess shrugged when Alistair asked her which was true. “What’s more blonde than red but also red?” she asked. Though Alistair had never known Moira and hardly knew Maric, he was glad for the discovery.  Theirin heirlooms of his own, proving the worth of his name. _Heirlooms he could pass to his daughters one day._ It was a discovery of _hope._

Nothing else caught his eye. Random jewelry, an old book, old letters too faded to read; things that held no meaning for Tess or Alistair. Nothing stood out until Morrigan wrinkled her nose at a secret stash of foul tea with an odd recipe. The recipe itself was not odd, but the main ingredient listed was nothing more than an underlined blank space. Speculation why Cailan would hide tea aired until Zevran dropped a pinch of the dried herb in his mouth. Eyes wide in interest, Zevran declared it an Antivan _sterility_ herb. More spoken theories until Morrigan guessed Cailan had sterilized himself on purpose to keep an heir from preventing Alistair from the throne.

Alistair stood rooted with a new respect for his dead brother. He still dreamed of his daughters and infant son, of grand laughter and tiny arms, late night requests for second and third bedtime stories, _pure people_ born already loving him like there was no greater hero. _He just now planned to pass heirlooms to these children._ It was a life Alistair was terrified of forgetting and refused to give up hope on. Had Cailan really deprived himself of being _father_ just so Alistair and Tess could take the throne? Alistair almost hurt for him.

Fergus hadn’t mentioned this, though. Was this something Cailan trusted _no_ one with? Despite the avoidance growing up, everything Alistair learned about his brother since reclaiming Ostagar pointed to Cailan caring all along. It seemed he sacrificed _everything_ for Alistair and Tess. His happiness, his security, his chance to be a _father,_ his _very life_. At the meeting table that long night at Ostagar last year, Cailan told Loghain Alistair and Tess were _Our Best._ Alistair could hear Cailan now as if he stood with him: _We’ll send our best,_ he’d said, _send Alistair and Lady Cousland._ It was no secret Cailan loved Tess his whole life, but now with Fergus' story, reflecting on Ostagar, and finding the sterility herb… It all added up too well. There was no more proof needed to know Cailan sacrificed everything for the two people he loved _most._ Or maybe the _only_ two people he loved. And Cailan had been such a good actor no one knew he’d been a protective older brother; nor a protective lover. Alistair even considered Cailan married Anora to fortify his charade. A more humorous thought: Calian had let the entire country gossip and believe  _Anora_ was the barren one. _Maker, this was all so severe._

 _Marry a vixen to protect the woman he loved? Ugh._ But... looking at Tess now, at her scars, knowing she had nightmares of her past, knowing how _imperfect_ she thought she was... Alistair would do the same. If enduring a shrew like Anora could protect Tess, he would do it in a heartbeat. Better to save her than never see her again, than have to visit a _grave_ to see her again. 

 _Cailan. Fuck._ And he did it all for Alistair and Tess. So _Alistair_ could _protect_ Tess. He couldn't hate his dead brother anymore.

Alistair’s thoughts kept him busy through lunch and supper. If Tess was conflicted about the same thing, she didn’t say it. She kept a little closer to Alistair the rest of the day, though. He appreciated the comfort of her grip. It almost felt like if they separated, they'd spiral off into another crazy secret and their past would re-write again. Too much had gone on today, so much that the Landsmeet seemed like a different day altogether. _Was that really only this morning?_ And they still hadn’t sat down with Riordan to discuss the next move or what Alistair could order as King against the Archdemon. Settling in for the night would be a welcome pause.

 

 

“Do you want to talk?” Tess asked. Alistair pulled off his undershirt, stalling an answer to stretch after being under heavy ceremonial armor almost all day.

“About what?” he asked. He finished undressing while Tess sat on the side of the bed and brushed her hair. They chose to sleep at the Cousland home again; familiarity when they were on the verge of the unknown. They didn't need anymore crazy today. “The Landsmeet? My wife’s brother suddenly appearing and winning it for us?” He sat on another end of the bed and peeled off his socks. Delicate fingers pressed to his back, drawing a shiver as they traced scars where he was ticklish.

“I meant about what he told us at tea?” She watched him as he laid on his side next to her.

“Hm.” Alistair propped himself up on his elbow. “Discovering neither of us were recruited by divine intervention like we thought, but it was all planned? _Ordered?_ I’m not sure how I feel about that, if I’m honest.” He watched her set the brush on the night stand and turn to face him. Her bare breasts bounced at his eye level as she settled in. Alistair reached up and squeezed one, stretching rosy skin just to watch it bounce again. The thrill of her breasts in his hands never waned no matter how often he saw them. Her bare body was also comfort; his home and his alone, his deepest breath away from chaos. “We were pawns all along." He met her eyes again. "They used your own plan against you, against _us._ And our _brothers_ were involved… It worked in our favor, but still. It makes me wonder. I don’t doubt Teagan sees me as his nephew, and I don’t doubt your brother loves you. But I wonder about Duncan? I thought he really considered me his son. Now it may be _Cailan_ really caring and _Duncan_ just fulfilling duty? I honestly think we would have been better off not knowing what your brother said. And finding out Cailan may have _sterilized_ himself for our sake doesn’t make it any easier. I was content hating my memory of Cailan.” Alistair shook his head, then sighed and groaned. He met her eyes, already apologetic. “They’ll expect an heir.”

Tess’ face fell; that look always broke his heart. “You’ll… have to make one with someone else. That can’t happen with me, Alistair. You _know_ that.”

“No.” He frowned, shaking his head. “I will _not_ waste our children on someone else. I want _our_ children, Tess. _Something_ has to work.” He leaned up and kissed her, pulling her head back down with his lips. Their fingers intertwined as he brought her hand down, untangling them only to bring her to his shaft; this part of him was hers alone, he refused to lie with someone else _just for political sake of an heir_. He didn't desire to prove his loyalty against _politics_.

Distracting fingers pulled his foreskin past the head and drew a groan. Tongues pulled lips closer, heads tilting for a deeper reach. Alistair squashed a breast in his hand, then his mouth, swallowing as much as he could before scraping back with his teeth; her turn to moan. “We’ll do whatever it takes," he vowed. "And if that fails-” he found her lips again, thumbing at the moist nipple. Her own hot grip exploded his whole groin with sensation. “- we’ll just keep trying.” Breath picked up between kisses, and Alistair pulled her over on top of him. Hips already sought each other; a moan broke in his mouth. “But it _won’t_ fail. We’ll do _everything_ and _try_ and _try_ until we’re out of breath and can’t see straight.”

 

 

The morning found Tess quiet. Alistair suspected moving into the palace brought back memories of Cailan she didn’t want to discuss, coupled with the discovery yesterday. Or maybe the reality of being _wife of the King_ sunk in; that had never been in her plans. As the men directed servants to move armor, weapons, and maps - _war supplies_ \- into the council chamber, Alistair was content to let Tess wander by herself. She would return when she needed him again.

The council chamber was already more a war room than a place for private discussion. Though servants had decorated according to what Alistair picked out the day prior, remnants of the old general lingered. A topless trunk of peace treaties in one corner. A wall rack of polished swords and a dummy wearing spare armor. A pile of scrolls on one table in a corner turned out to be maps; blueprints, city maps, country maps, _a map of Ostagar;_ Alistair seethed at dead Loghain even now _._ The large center table was cleared, and Alistair, Teagan, Fergus, Eamon, and Pádraig studied a map of Ferelden. Markers were set where Darkspawn most concentrated the land. Arl Bryland, Bann Alfstanna, even bitter Arl Wulff joined them. Each had their own surviving regiments to command into battle, and each knew of another clear or Tainted route. Riordan pointed out where he’d felt the Darkspawn strongest, but his Taint troubled him more today than yesterday and he never contributed to any topic for long. No one remarked when the aging Warden stepped into a corner to dim the _Calling_ with lyrium, though it didn’t work like it had for Tess in the Deep Roads. A Templar interrupted in a bow, reporting the mages from Jainen Island Circle and the survivors of Kinloch Hold had arrived. Sergeants from Pádraig’s army also reported in; the soldiers were ready to march. The _army_ was ready.

 _Here he stood: King_ Alistair preparing for war with his people.

Hours went by; Alistair only noticed by the light changing from the windows. Trays of food and drink were brought in by servants who understood the King could not abandon his preparations to sit for a proper meal. Fergus worried the knights sent to Highever to apprehend Thomas Howe, the youngest son who sat in place of Rendon after the massacre, would not arrive in time. If Highever’s city guard and arena challengers _were_ reclaimed, they would help make up for the proficient Cousland castle guard no longer alive thanks to the Howes. Fergus also wanted Thomas in the front lines; _that slimy bastard owes me that much,_ Fergus scowled. But the ride to Highever was almost five days away, and if the knights were successful, it would take nine days to march back to Denerim. They prayed they would not need what little arms Highever could afford.

First Enchanter Irving and a Templar Knight-Captain joined the council. The Wardens’ party was outside educating the mages and Templars, and with luck they would be _ready enough_ to fight darkspawn by nightfall. Irving apologized for the delay gathering magi and traveling, but after the disaster at Kinloch, chances were not taken. Templars and senior magi from the Jainen Circle - _the island promised to Celene_ \- assisted Irving in assessing mages fit for battle, then trained them in non-magic healing and swords should the worst happen. The Ferelden battlemage numbers totaled just shy of three hundred, and seventy Templars would keep the magi safe during battle so the Circle could fulfill its oath to the Grey Wardens. Recalling Morrigan and Wynne each in combat was proof enough for Alistair _just shy of three hundred_ mages would make a significant difference, even if only half fought so the other half could heal. Templars determined to keep their charges safe would also dismember darkspawn frontline purpose. As troublesome as visiting Kinloch Hold had been, Alistair was glad saving the First Enchanter proved the right action. Mortal plans to help Alistair or not, the Maker’s influence still shone in his war forces. They now stood a decent chance against the Archdemon courtesy of the Chantry.

Noise out in the hall interrupted mage-Templar-soldier strategy planning. Guards arguing with loud males and clamoring armor increased until the door flew open. An exasperated palace guard introduced group of dwarves, led by none other than a face Alistair thought he’d never see again.

“I expected a Grey Warden war council room to be more… I don’t know. _Professional.”_ Lieutenant Kardol of the Legion of the Dead looked around. The grin spread before Alistair could stop it.

“At least you’ve got some stone over your head again,” Alistair joked. Words could not express how glad he was to see this warrior who respected the struggles of being a Grey Warden. Back in Orzammar, Kardol had refused joining the Wardens against the Archdemon for fear of leaving his homeland unprotected.

“Thanks for reminding me I’m on the surface.” Kardol seemed in a better mood than Oghren had for leaving the security of solid stone. The Dead lieutenant stepped aside with a gesture to the dwarves spilling in from the corridor, and Alistair took a moment to assess. Kardol’s remaining Legionnaires plus other warriors; many with a bold face tattoo Alistair only recalled in Dustown. “As per our treaty, Orzammar heeds the Grey Wardens call. Nine hundred strong.”

In a blink, Alistair’s mind swept clean. “Nine… nine hundred?” They only expected _three_ hundred; the size of the entire Warrior caste afforded outside city guard.

“There are nine hundred dwarves in this palace?” Fergus asked in disbelief as the dwarves continued to struggle in the doorway.

Kardol’s Legion tattoos moved with shrugging brows as the dwarves still shuffled. “They were anxious to put the open sky behind.” He met Alistair’s stupefied stare with a look that said he understood Alistair’s reaction. _Nine hundred._ Nine hundred _dwarves._ That was almost… no, that was _more_ than enough to replace the soldiers lost to Ostagar and Loghain’s madness. It was _much_ more than they had hoped for. “The existence of the Legion itself proves the casteless are more than capable warriors. _And,_ King Bhelen sends his regards, _Your Majesty.”_ The personality clash with Bhelen perfectly reflected the humor intended by sending _Kardol_ to give a _friend_ his regards.

Appreciation rushed through Alistair so fast he laughed. Once more, friendship payed off more than he knew possible. Each dwarven warrior equaled strength of about twenty humans due to their brutal Berserker training; a necessity to keep the Darkspawn at bay, and the specialty that made Oghren such a beast in combat. Another laugh scraped out to hide the swelling of relief in his eyes. _They had a winning chance now._ Bhelen sent Alistair a winning card against the Archdemon. _Everything in the Deep Roads felt worth it now._ All the scars and heartache and broken bones, _worth it._ If Bhelen was here, Alistair might kiss him.

The King of Ferelden sent the dwarven army to the old Grey Warden wing to recoup and prepare, but Kardol returned to the war room before long. The journey from Orzammar collided with Dalish archers camped north of Denerim. The spot he pointed to connected the Wending Wood and Pilgrim’s Path; not a day away. Kardol recalled another small group of Dalish elves passing them some days back. He couldn’t give a definite number, but altogether the elves looked at least two dozen strong. Twenty-four wasn’t much, but Kardol said the Legion did not consider _number_ in _effectiveness._ The Legion trained to take down hundreds at a time, dozens to each dwarf; the Dalish who also lived in small numbers might do the same. Riordan seemed pleased, at least. In control of himself for the moment, the elder Warden praised the Dalish archery skill almost beyond compare. He’d seen a Dalish archer shoot clean through a neck on a windy day without trouble. They could trust the Dalish at their backs. Riordan’s confidence in Dalish skill was enough for Alistair.

Tess entered in the room quiet as ever that day. Discussion was so high her presence was acknowledged with nothing more than glances and _Sister_ or _Your Majesty_ between words. Where the different forces might be most effective when battle would be unpredictable was unfortunately more important than properly greeting the wife of the King right now. Tess kept to herself along the edge of the room while the warriors and nobles spoke. Alistair would have valued her thoughts in this council, as she knew the Archdemon best; a thing Alistair despised but proved useful since it meant understanding their enemy better. But Tess preferred to look over the maps and stay silent, away from busy mouths and ideas. Alistair could not blame his wife; his own head felt a thought away from dizzying madness.

While Alistair glanced over every few moments, it was Riordan that drew his full attention back to Tess. Lyrium did not help the waning Warden like it had Tess underground, and as the afternoon progressed, Riordan either ticked to shake off _the Calling_ or grew distant in his spot at the war table. Watching Riordan reminded Alistair of Tess in the Deep Roads; disturbing, to say the least. Only upon realizing this did Alistair notice Kardol staring at _Tess,_ not Riordan. A look around revealed _Pádraig_ also stared, and Arl Bryland, followed by the Templar and Alfstanna. When Fergus broke off in mid-sentence to help stare, Alistair finally heard Tess' voice:

 _“- fog and fire, smoke road. Smoked road? Out and up and smoke. Blinding fog. Busy Taintling, busy fog. Slowing fog. No matter. March on, march over. Dead land, hiding sun. Easy walk. Cliff walk. Red cliff, end cliff. Burn cliff.”_ Incoherent talk reminiscent of a nightmare Alistair had been trying to forget.

Breath froze and pulse jumped. The world slowed around Alistair and his tightened chest, blurring everything with a clear eye targeting Tess. A tunnel of pulsing blurs reminding him his _wife_ took to her Taint like an owl at night. An _evil_ that compensated in Tess when Alistair somehow resisted. _A waking horror,_ not a Deep Roads _nightmare_ anymore. He knew the cause and answer to their questions before they spoke at once:

“Sister?”

“What? Redcliffe? _Burn_ Redcliffe?”

“Tesslyn?”

"Is she sleep-walking?"

“Looks like I got here just in time.”

 _“The Archdemon.”_ Alistair’s whisper drew more concerned stares than Tess’ muttering. He felt his face etched in fear he’d forgotten since the Dead Trenches. _Fear_ buried by a _new_ fear of marital strife and repairing the city. Gasping in air did not cleanse the scene before him. The Archdemon still had her, that _fucking flying Blighted bastard_ still had a hold on his wife! Maker fucking take him, _had she heard it all day? Was this why she wandered off?_ **_This_ ** _is why she was quiet all day?_

 _“What?”_ Fergus searched him.

“That’s the -” Alistair stumbled as he backed up, not looking _not caring,_ just trying to get away from the image haunting his eyes. Someone caught him as he tripped. “He fucking did that in the Deep Roads! _That’s the fucking Archdemon!"_ He tried to make them understand. "He’s --!” _Months_ of trying to forget the Archdemon and broodmother and that ghoul Hespith, forgetting Branka was once _dwarf_ who tried to cut him in half, of trying to forget _Tess becoming Ruck._ A nightmare that _couldn’t_ come true, _please don’t let it come true!_ Breath wasn’t coming fast enough, his chest ached like Branka’s sword through his ribs all over again. In only a moment, it felt like Alistair lost control of _everything._ He needed _out,_ he needed away from the Archdemon and it’s grip on Alistair’s reason for living! Words to finish fled in his fear. He could only shake his head.

“What does she mean _burn cliff?”_ Teagan asked. “Are the darkspawn in Redcliffe?”

“You mean that -- that _thing_ is inside my sister’s _head?”_ Horror and repulsion consumed Fergus. Another glance over and Fergus recoiled in start with wide eyes.

Alistair turned to find Tess staring at him. Taken aback again, he could only return the stare. That same Tranquil-like glaze surveyed everyone in the room.

“It’s not me,” she said. Her eyes returned to Alistair. “You brought a Warden in his Calling to plan against the dark master.”

No one had trouble guessing Tess meant Riordan. Eyes shifted to the waning Warden and feet shifted away from him. Riordan still struggled with the noise in his head, unaware of the entire party staring. _How had Alistair not recognized this?_

 _Because it had been long enough and it became a bad dream._ Alistair had forgotten what Tess looked like without scars, and so he had forgotten the Deep Roads horrors were real.

But now she stood saying the Archdemon intentionally disturbed Riordan today.

Tess’ voice and face still bore no emotion. “He has been watching all day. He wants you to know he’s seen and heard everything.” A pause. Then she blinked, and blinked more with a frown. She staggered as she came-to, shame painting her face. She turned her head to wince and breathe a choppy breath. Alistair saw it: she knew the Archdemon had taken over her mind again.

Tess raised the hem of her dress and hastened toward the door. “We need to leave for Redcliffe right now. I’ll have Morrigan ready potions.”

 


	72. Hope for a Better Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens must return to Redcliffe, but fight amongst each other when another choices reveals itself. Bad news after bad news. Morrigan proposes a particularly dark ritual and reminds Alistair and Tess running away is not an option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MOOD MUSIC:  
> [Champion, by Fallout Boy](https://youtu.be/JJJpRl2cTJc)

There was no time to waste. The Wardens and their party rode ahead, accompanied by the elite guard, mabari, Fergus, Teagan and Eamon. The dwarves and magi would march with the army at daybreak, giving time for soldiers to collect the Dalish camping near the Wending Wood.

Alistair was shamed and angered with himself for not leaving sooner. They spent all day preparing and revising strategy only to have the Archdemon listen in through Riordan’s Calling. Alistair couldn’t believe he’d not considered the possibility before. There was so much he’d forgotten about the Taint and the Archdemon’s power in trying to be a good King and save his country, but at what cost? They could not interrupt the Darkspawn now. Thanks to _Alistair’s_ mistake of including a fading Grey Warden in on war plans, the Darkspawn would be ready no matter what. He scolded himself for allowing the _smaller picture_ to consume him when the _bigger picture_ still remained. It reminded him no matter what path he chose in life, he would always - _always_ \- be a Grey Warden first and foremost, and as a Warden he had a duty he could not ignore no matter what other job he held.

And Riordan… the waning Warden had not come back to reality on his own by the time they’d needed to leave. Tess, frustrated and shamefaced herself for being a tool of the Archdemon _again,_ slapped Riordan so hard he staggered back to his surroundings. Alistair suspected she slapped Riordan to slap the Archdemon; he didn't blame her. He mounted a horse with the others, unknowing why his face stung, then flustered and determined when Pádraig recalled the war table event. _This is why Wardens suffer their Callings in the Deep Roads,_ Riordan said. A darkening frown distorted his face the rest of the day.

There was no sleep. After months not needing them, Morrigan’s stamina potions now worked on everyone except the hounds, who could not take them. They paused so the mabari could sleep, but no person slept. Everyone kept watch. The west road was free still from clearing it months prior, but with the Archdemon able to see through Riordan, anything was possible. They had to be ready. Isolating Riordan might be best, but for morality they could not abandon another Warden in a dead town, and they could not leave him in a populated town. For the _greater good_ of his country, the King kept _the Archdemon’s eyes and ears_ in sight instead.

After the ominous message from the Archdemon at the war table, no one felt much like talking. Duty drove some to speak, but not more than perimeter reports. The Wardens party made most conversation, save for Sten. While out of place and inappropriate considering the afternoon at the war table, talking eased nerves. Leliana in particular had talent in soothing with her voice. It also provided background noise for Alistair to finally talk to his wife.

Tess was quiet and disturbed through the night, refusing eye contact. Last time the Archdemon moved through her, it convinced her to relapse with raw lyrium, causing a withdrawal so severe it almost killed her. Most of them present remembered the tail end of her withdrawal. Alistair felt as shamefaced as she looked. He cowered in fear of a nightmare when he should have done _something, anything_ to push the Archdemon out of her head. It didn't seem to matter to Tess that her incident had been against her will, unlike Alistair's moment. Stretching their legs while the dogs slept, Tess did not expect her own husband to take her hand.

She looked at Alistair like she fought herself to. Unspoken apology and self-consciousness. In the Deep Roads, she expected the others to gossip about her conversing with the Archdemon. Alistair suspected she thought the same now.

“Are you all right?’ His voice was not as strong as wanted to be right now.

Her face fell. “What do you think?” Heartbreak in herself shaped her tone.

“That’s… Tess, that’s not what I mean. I’m not trying to remind you that… _monster_ used you again. I’m worried. You’re my _wife._ And the… _that monster_ does things to you _I_ can’t stop. _Are_ you all right?” He searched her eyes in the darkness, highlighted by torches and small fires around them.

She nodded, then shook her head. Then a pout and a sigh of helplessness before she fell against him. Alistair held his wife tight, cradling her head, pressing his lips through her hair. He was unsure how to console her when they couldn’t keep an Archdemon from invading her mind. This was something he wished Duncan had taught him.

Pádraig a reach over was joined by Fergus, who hadn’t looked at Tess at all since the war table event. Small talk about not seeing well with the moon not full, the lack of leaves rustling. Then: “That… thing with my sister… does that happen often?” Fergus’ whisper was no match for the midnight air and uneasy silence.

Tess pulled back with a noise of disgust. “Fergus, I’m right here. Don’t fucking do this to me.”

“I’m…” Fergus hesitated with a sigh and his own fallen face. He, too, dared himself to look over. It seemed knowing an ancient powerful monster controlled his sister from afar might be too much for the Highever general to handle. “Maker, this is a nightmare.” He sighed again, wary of whatever answer he expected. “Sister-”

“There is a lot _you_ don’t know, Fergus,” Tess interrupted, reversing what he told her yesterday. After a moment of her staring, Fergus finally met her eyes. “Being a Grey Warden is not just _underground tunnels_ and _sensing_ when other Wardens approach. It’s a _daily nightmare_. Dreams I can’t _begin_ to explain, and my _veins_ feel on _fire_. When we saw him in the Deep Roads, my _Taint_ moved my body on its _own_. It responds to the Archdemon and no one else. It _made_ us _bow_ to him. It’s _poison_ that never leaves. In the Deep Roads, he _sang_ to me. He sang me _lullabies_ and _comforted_ me when we all lost our minds in the muck and mire fog. He told me grab a stalk of raw lyrium and _lick_ the sap because _he_ needed me _clear_ and _sane_ to fight Branka _for_ him, so _she_ wouldn’t create weapons to _destroy_ him. He made me think I was a _Darkspawn_ and I tried to kill my _husband._ ” She shook her head, trying to keep tears at bay. Alistair couldn’t tell if she was angry or scared of recalling this.

Alistair shared a glance with Pádraig. Pádraig observed the aftermath of Tess’ withdrawal, but he had not seen the Archdemon control her. Unlike Fergus, Pádraig understood the need to rid the Archdemon, and Pádraig knew Tess was not some abomination to fear. Fergus sought Alistair’s eyes for confirmation, but Alistair also disliked remembering the Deep Roads.

“And because I’ve had so much _fucking lyrium_ these past ten years, I am _easier_ to _control_ through my Taint,” Tess continued. “Alistair is more resistant to it, so he - _the Arch-fucking-demon_ \- uses _me_ instead.” She paused to breathe and look away. “When we said we _needed_ you in the Deep Roads, that was not an exaggeration. I came-to _so_ many times to find _Zevran_ holding me off from the others because _only he_ could block my attacks. Lucky for my party, I ran into an _Antivan Crow_ a year ago that my husband _so happened_ to let me keep. My _brother_ could have held me off, had he been there." She looked away through a pout. “And this -” she pointed to her head, shaking it “- it’s not going away. Some days are better than others. But this is a _Blight_ and the Archdemon has regained his power and seeks _revenge_ for whatever Tainted him in the first place. Only I think whatever fucking Tainted him doesn’t exist anymore. Or maybe the air itself Tainted him. I don’t know.” She shrugged and shook her head. _“Something._ But he’s not done using me yet because _he’s_ not _dead_ yet. And even then, the Taint in my veins came from regular darkspawn whom _any_ Archdemon can control. So this one… _Urthemiel_ might even be able to use me long after he’s gone. Or maybe the _next_ one can use even when he's buried still.”

“Urthemiel?” Fergus echoed.

“Yes.” Tess nodded, her face long and grim. “That’s his name. The Archdemon’s name is Urthemiel. He _vaguely_ remembers being _not_ a dragon, but only for short moments. Though sometimes he's confused whether that memory is his own and not mine or the ghouls he sees through in the Deep Roads.” She paused, and Alistair stared. He’d heard of the old gods, and Duncan was the one who told him this Archdemon was Urthemiel. But he’d never told Alistair how he’d known. Yet now Alistair knew. _Duncan’s Calling._ Duncan knew the name Urthemiel from his Calling and the Archdemon invading his mind. And Alistair had _no_ idea Tess had conversed with the Archdemon _so much_. As she continued, Alistair grew scared for his wife - and awed:

“You remember our lessons, Fergus. History calls him the God of Beauty, but Urthemiel in my head does not like what the world considers beauty. He _hates_ the colors and the dresses in the Marketplace. He remembers thinking the _horizon_ was beautiful, and an untouched field of flowers were beautiful. He still likes the rainbow that shines off wet fish scales in the sunlight.” Tess paused again, and when her head turned, Alistair noticed the party clustering around to listen to her. No one had known so much about an Archdemon before. “He’s not completely evil. He’s _powerful_ and I _hate_ it when he takes control of me because I lose track of the world around me, but he’s not evil. He’s _helped_ me just as much as he’s made me turn against my husband. And when he’s not using me as a weapon, he remembers a time when things like _Loghain_ and _war_ and _greed_ did not exist. We are his _Taintlings._ He considers Wardens his _children_. Wardens, darkspawn, anything that is Tainted from the blood of himself or his _old god_ brothers, we are his children. The closest thing he will ever _have_ to children. I know you don’t know what that feels like, Fergus, but _I_ do.”

Alistair never guessed his wife’s connection with the Archdemon went so far. From how she talked, it seemed like through Tess, the Archdemon was able to remember peace, _to remember itself._

…So… perhaps it was Alistair’s _Taint_ thinking, but did this mean killing the Archdemon was the wrong choice? _Urthemiel_ was corrupted against its will and the chaos of the Blight was product of its confusion, but sharing a Grey Warden’s head made the Archdemon remember the peace and beauty it once loved about life? And _the closest thing to having children;_ Alistair certainly related to that. Feeling fatherly was a _good_ and _compassionate_ trait. _Was it wrong to kill this Archdemon?_

“The Archdemon must be destroyed.” Many of them jumped at Riordan’s voice. Tess stared at the senior Warden without changing her expression. “No matter what he tells you or what he claims to remember, the Archdemon _is_ corrupted. There is no reversing his corruption, and because of that, there is no rescuing the Old God that once was. Do not let him stall your blade. When the time comes, you must strike.”

“But what if it’s wrong?” Alistair surprised not only himself but everyone else. “I - crazy question, I know, but if by loitering in Tess’ mind it remembers _not_ being corrupted and evil, doesn’t that mean its corruption _can_ be stopped? We also thought _Connor_ had to die to reverse the possession, but all it took was someone overpowering the demon in the Fade. We _never_ needed to hurt Connor to free him. What if it's the same with the Archdemon?” Tess met his eyes, but Riordan sensing their newfound hesitation stole Alistair’s glare. “Has _any_ Warden _ever_ figured out how to stop Blights for good?” Alistair asked the Warden past his prime. He felt defensive. Maybe it was his Taint again, but the moral choice pointed to giving the Archdemon a chance - because of Tess' influence on it.

“We are far from the technology I believe we will need for that to happen,” Riordan admitted. “In truth, I expect the last Old God will rise and fall before we discover a way to prevent Blights.”

“But what if the world can’t survive another Blight?” Alistair challenged. “What if sparing this Archdemon now and _giving_ it a Warden to live through lets it remember the peaceful _old god_ it  _used_ to be?” _In death, sacrifice_ held a deeper meaning now than Alistair ever imagined. “I’m not saying give it Tess, I’m saying give it someone _like_ Tess, someone who has years of lyrium built up inside who can still function in the world? _Has any Warden ever tried to stop it peacefully?_ Or do Wardens just _kill_ everything with a stronger Taint?”

“Perhaps Alistair has a point?” Morrigan spoke up, also surprising the party. When eyes moved to her, her weight shifted to the other foot and she gestured. “I remember the Circle tower as well as any of you. Twas a demon there, do you not recall? For those of you _not_ there, a _desire_ demon bewitched a Templar. _Through_ him, the demon experienced mortal life; motherhood, marriage, happiness, devotion. _Domestication._ And without harming the Templar, the demon gave him the family and love he’d always desired. His body still functioned, yet his mind was stuck in a dream. _A beneficial partnership._ Reality was… simply _described_ different to meet the needs of the Templar’s desire. The Archdemon is certainly capable of controlling Tesslyn like the desire demon controlled the Templar. So who is to say offering a similar or _more suitable_ Warden to act as the Archdemon’s _new_ body is an option one should avoid?”

“No.” Riordan shook his head, remaining firm in his belief. “That may sound like a long-term goal, but if that theory never works or takes centuries and the sacrificing of all Wardens before-”

“Tis _not_ the Grey Wardens oath to do whatever it takes to end a Blight?” Morrigan seemed more impassioned about this than morality made Alistair. “And what of Wardens created _outside_ of a Blight? They are to sit _stagnant_ and _die_ while having accomplished _nothing_ to _prevent_ the next one? If the Old God soul within this Archdemon desires a body to experience that which he once lost, _I_ say _give_ it to him!  As _many_ bodies as _needed_ until the Archdemon forgets the bitterness that corrupted him in the first place! I _daresay_ with the _right company_ and _proper guidance_ , the Old God would recover before Tesslyn’s Calling sets in. Like a _child,_ no? Or is a lack of Archdemons _frightful_ to Grey Wardens? Fear of no longer being _needed?”_

“There is no recovering an Old God. Wardens know that much-”

 _“But Tesslyn is proof it can happen!”_ Morrigan interrupted again.

“- and what we do, we do because we _must_ and we cannot afford to _blindly guess_ until the next Blight and find ourselves unprepared or unmanned. Wishful thinking will not stop or prevent Blights, just as it has not in the past. We will _kill_ this Archdemon _as_ we have the others, as we will _all_ to come! _End of story!”_ Riordan finished with a glare of his own. He almost fumed; Alistair couldn’t tell if it was pride or a secret reason Riordan had not divulged yet. “We have a long journey ahead of us still. I suggest you eat and wake the hounds so we can continue. I will not allow civilian nonsense to keep my Wardens from duty.” They were _all_ naughty children, now.

After shuffling for food and rousing the hounds, horses were mounted. Riordan stayed at the front of their regiment, out of earshot but well in sight and his Taint still burned. He seethed even from there, his Taint pulsing back to Alistair like countless whirlpools. Alistair washed back dried meat with a flask of rum and another stamina potion for good measure, keeping his eyes on the old Warden who might consider them a threat if they speculated aloud once more.

“The Warden is right.” Sten’s horse stopped next to Alistair.

Alistair sighed and tossed back the rest of the flask. “I know. It’s what Wardens _do,_ what we’ve _always_ done.” He capped the flask and stuffed it back in his horse’s sack. “But that doesn’t ever do much, does it? The Deep Roads are always crawling with Darkspawn. The Wardens are only useful on the _surface_ when an _Archdemon_ appears. Our tradition hasn’t regained any old dwarven cities. Do you remember that thing Kardol told us?” He looked at Sten, keeping his voice low.

 _“Your nightmare is our every day,”_ Sten recited just as quiet.

“Yeah.”

“I suspect the Witch is right, as well.” Sten said, surprising Alistair. They met eyes after a pause. “I used to think Tesslyn could not possibly be a Grey Warden or a warrior. In the Qun, women are children-bearers, and priests or artisans. Even the Tamassran, our priests who train every child, not even _they_ fight. They train warriors and hunters but they do not fight themselves, the distinction being _those who fight_ and _those who teach._ I assumed Tesslyn had missed her destiny. But there are many who conspired for years to make her the Warden she is today, and the abuse from the traitor you killed has made her an instrumental tool in understanding the Archdemon. Perhaps her destiny has _always_ been to open the way to prevent Blights?”

Alistair searched Sten. The Qun often made Sten sound superstitious; much like Alistair guessed the Chantry’s beliefs made himself sound to those not Andrastian. Was Sten on the right path, though? Loghain forcing Tess to grow addicted to lyrium was the very reason she resisted magic so well _and_ the reason she took to her Taint. It helped her connect to the Archdemon in ways a seasoned Grey Warden believed impossible. _Ingesting_ raw lyrium also allowed her to block out the Archdemon's voice, a feat that would be useful for any Warden to delay The Calling.

“In the Qun, we waste nothing. Everything down to a single grain is planned. If a warrior lost a limb, a new limb would be made to ensure his skill and life would not go to waste. It is the fate you would have seen had you lost your leg in Haven. The Qun recognizes the Old Gods. If the Old God within this Archdemon can be spared and renewed, the Qun would demand it so. The knowledge of it’s former life could restore lost wisdom. If the Old God can be recovered, the Archdemon can be re-purposed. Would you risk ultimate peace for a Warden ashamed of his Calling? Is this not the duty of Grey Wardens made outside a Blight, to find a way to prevent the next?”

Tess and her horse trotted to a stop alongside Sten. She pulled her riding gloves on and fixed them around her leather gauntlets. “Can you guarantee the Archdemon will leave my head if we don’t kill him? When I can feel him from wherever he is right now?” Her jaw was tight as she looked at Sten.

The Qunari frowned. “I can promise no such thing.”

She frowned as well, tightening small buckles at her wrist. “Then I will fulfill _my_ duty as Grey Warden and drive my blade through his skull, as planned. As he understands I _must_ do as a Grey Warden.” Shaded green orbs shimmered in torchlight as the elite guard walked their horses to lead. “No matter how much I know about the Old God who sings to me when I am lost.” Willing to leave a _friend_ behind to be free of the pain his presence caused. _Just as she once tried to do to Alistair._ Tess’ decision already cut too close to home for him.

“As should be.” Teagan came into view from behind Tess. “I don’t aspire to lighting your pyres, _either_ of you. Come. Let’s enjoy what time any of us have left.” He patted Tess’ horse and followed the elite guard.   

Morrigan was the only other who hesitated when the horses and mabari began again towards Redcliffe. Alistair watched her eyes follow Tess. Conflict, worry. Perhaps even sadness. This might be the one time Alistair ever agreed with Morrigan. Her expression did not change as she caught Alistair’s eye. The fact _Morrigan_ was concerned disturbed Alistair even more.

 _Wars that turned enemies into friends and made friends want to kill each other._ Alistair just wanted it to end.

Combat found them before Denerim’s lights were out of sight. Not the horde they expected from Tess’ warning, but something to cure anxiety all the same. Small camps of Darkspawn had been reclaimed by the monstrosities as if Alistair and the army never cleared the way just months ago. No blighted dragon flew above. So far no blighted mages. The Darkspawn on the west road seemed little more than stragglers who didn’t know what else do above ground. Questions surfaced as more darkspawn did not.

_Where was the horde? Were they too late to save Redcliffe?_

But Tess’ connection to the Archdemon had not failed them yet. With Riordan’s Taint so far advanced, they could not rely on him to determine the horde’s distance. His Taint resembled an ogre’s, and it interfered with discerning how far away the Darkspawn were. For Alistair, this was unsettling; this preview of himself and Tess in the future unnerved him.  

More unsettling, even, than Grey Wardens relying on the Archdemon breaking into their minds to know where to find it.

Redcliffe was crawling with Darkspawn; Tess’ ominous message from the Archdemon wasn’t for naught. Buildings aflame, some so ruined the blazing rubble did not resemble anything close to a house. What grass and weeds had grown over the year since the undead attack were now burn stains on dry dirt. If snow had fallen here, the town did not show it. If anyone survived, they hid in canoes on the lake, though this time of year Lake Calenhad grew so cold sometimes the water’s edge froze. _True_ survivors were slim.

But like on the road, what bothered them most was the _lack_ of Darkspawn.

The town indeed crawled with the monstrosities; there were ogres and emissaries using Blight magic, Shrieks and other crafty rogues, the castle gates were almost overwhelmed. But it was not the army the Archdemon’s message implied. The Wardens’ party had too much experience for the monsters and their guttural laughing each time something else caught aflame. Even the ogres and Shrieks posed no problems, when there _should_ be too many to defeat alone.

_But where were the rest?_

Alistair stood with Teagan on the bridge to the castle after Darkspawn lie in their own blood and town survivors were rounded up. The road was clear as far as they could see and had not busied since they cleared the way on the ride from Denerim. There was no darkspawn army on the march. There were no post-battle ambushes or last attempts. Not even screaming survivors being dragged away. Something was wrong and Alistair could not put his finger on it.

 _Was_ it a lie? Had the Archdemon lied to Tess?

“Do you think we were too late?” Teagan asked.

Alistair shook his head. Survivors hiding in the castle remained. If they had been too late-

“There’d be no one here,” Tess finished Alistair’s train of thought. He turned to find his wife perturbed by something that wrung her hands. “If we were too late, the Darkspawn would have taken over inside.” She met Alistair’s gaze only a moment before avoiding eye-contact, but that moment was all Alistair needed to read the question she asked herself:

 _What if it tricked me?_ What if the Archdemon had tricked them through Tess?

It was Alistair’s exact thought.

“It is the very reason he must be killed,” Riordan answered their silent question. His Taint matched the burning darkspawn corpses around them. He fastened a heavy cloak at his collar as he stepped up from the castle gates. Pockets on a leather strap of his armor bulged from potion vials, and two purses at his belt bulged more.

“Where are you going?” Alistair didn’t meant to demand it.

Riordan glanced at Alistair while checking his straps and buckles. “I am going alone. I can move undetected easier than you can. With any luck, my Calling will confuse them and they’ll think I’m just another ghoul.”

“You’re _leaving_ us?” Tess looked him up and down like he was mad. Alone, husband and wife could not even survive the otherwise empty Deep Roads. Alistair was of mind with her, they could not survive the Archdemon fight without the help of someone who knew how to discern truth from lie when the Archdemon invaded their minds.

“Only for a while,” Riordan told her. “I am going to listen in, see if I can determine where the horde is massing. It is possible the Archdemon lured us away from Denerim so he could destroy the seat of the new King who has gathered a capable army to challenge him.”

Alistair frowned as Riordan met his eyes. “You’re fucking kidding.” _The Archdemon could do that?_

“The Archdemon can _lie?”_ Teagan read Alistair's mind.

“Just as you or I can,” Riordan nodded. “He has not needed to with the Sister here-” a nod to Tess “- so taken with her Taint. But you are no longer underground or distracted by emotions, and triumphing over the Landsmeet frees you to your Grey Warden duties. I’m sure the Archdemon has seen the magi and dwarves marching to join us, just as I’m sure he watched the army leave Denerim.” He took a deep breath and gazed downhill. “Just because he is an _Old_ God does not mean there were no politics in his age. I do not doubt he sees beauty in the sunrise or waters, and I’m sure it is pleasant to hear when the land has blackened around us. But he is an Old God for a reason.

“Our knowledge of the Old Gods varies. They may be Tevinter gods, or even patriarchal great dragons. What is truth, I cannot say. _Common_ _theory_ says they were the most powerful leaders of the ancient elves, renamed and repurposed by the Tevinter Imperium to give their blood magic holy meaning. Patient and immortal were these ancient elves, as the Dalish strive to be again. But _powerful_ mages; the most powerful.” He looked at Tess and Alistair. “Legends of the Dalish tell of a _trickster_ who trapped the Old Gods in their Deep Sleep, the _Uthenera_ they call it. The ancient elves did not die, instead when they felt weak, they went in their _Uthenera,_ and they awoke renewed to live centuries more. They were the most influential leaders of their time. Whether Urthemiel was worshiped as a god back then, I cannot say. But the corruption that took him did not wipe his memory as he claims. He has drawn the _leader_ of the army that will destroy him _away_ from his center of command, and he has done so _through_ the woman the leader loves. Do not think for a moment the Archdemon has forgotten politics, my friends, nor the vulnerability of love.”

Husband and wife locked eyes. Tess was frightened. No matter how hard she tried to heal herself, her Taint was still there ensuring she slipped up _just enough._ And Alistair would follow his wife anywhere; no matter the _why_ or _where,_ he’d do what he needed to protect her. For Alistair, the fact the Archdemon knew this about them and knew how to use it _against_ them frightened _him_.

“He may help you when it suits him like any other enemy. You must be vigilant in your Oaths. We are Grey Wardens, and we cannot pause for a bitter god who sees into the hearts of honorable men and women. He is _counting_ on your honor to _liberate_ him in the end.” Riordan took a deep breath to sniff the winter air. “I will do my best to hurry. With any luck, I will sneak in and listen to their directions unseen, though I suspect we will need to return to Denerim regardless. I will try to avoid your army, King Alistair. If I am caught, I would rather our force be spared than try to save me. Rest up while you can, my friends. When I return, we will need to march again.”

“And if you _don’t_ return?” Alistair asked.

“Good, and here I worried you’d be pessimistic,” Teagan joked.

Riordan cracked a smile that disappeared almost as soon as it appeared. “Give me three days. If I do not return by then, you must march anyway. _In War, Victory,_ my friends.” Riordan crossed his arms and bowed, then turned away.

Husband and wife watched as the senior Warden walked out of sight and out of range. It would be strange not to feel his Taint.

“Three days seems like a long time, yes?” Alistair had not heard Zevran approach. “Should we not start back anyway? There is nothing here for us to intercept after all. He may be right about the city.”

Alistair’s turn for a deep breath now. “Zev, if I knew how to be a Grey Warden, I might actually have an answer for you.”

“The only person who knows what to do just left.” Tess still masked herself in worry and shame.

“But you killed a broodmother,” Zevran reminded.

“I still have no idea how that happened,” Alistair shook his head. “And you helped, so don’t blame that on me.”

Zevran grinned. “Oh, I don’t think so. I don’t want the Darkspawn taking revenge on _me.”_

“As much as a hot bath and warm bed are welcome,” Teagan began, “Zevran speaks sense. Three days means a week of wasted time while Denerim may burn this very moment.”

Alistair tried to think. As strange as it was to feel Riordan’s Taint fade, it also freed Alistair to _plan_ again. Right now Alistair needed something to surprise the Archdemon with.

He leaned over the bridge and looked over the water below. The lake looked untouched. No boats burned, no docks, not even the wheel at the bottom of the river’s fall burned. But homes had burned, sacks of grain and drying fish burned, hay bales and barrels burned; they’d extinguished what they could after battle, but it was too late. _How could the water look so pure when homes burned next to the falls?_ He saw the town smoke though rock hid most flames. _Red cliff, end cliff, burn cliff,_ Tess had said; diversion or not, the Archdemon had not lied about Redcliffe’s fate. While Alistair could not see the cooling cinders of the smithy, the smoke was proof it was now damaged unlike the waterfall and its spinning wheel just footsteps away.

 _Smoke._ Alistair recalled Tess so long ago accusing Eamon of ignoring the smoke from Highever when it was seen from Redcliffe castle.

Alistair raised his head. “Smoke,” he echoed his thoughts. Ideas sprouted like his mind was oiled cogs of Orzammar’s machines. “Teagan, if Denerim was on fire, could we see the smoke from here?”

“I’d rather not find out.”

“I’m serious.”

“As am I,” Teagan said. Alistair stood up and glared at his sort-of-uncle until the man sighed. “Not unless the entire city was aflame, I believe. It is a week away on horseback, double on foot,” he reminded. “Even if we recognized the smoke for what it was, with that much flame, there would be little left of the city when we arrived.”

“But we could _tell_ if the city was on fire? As opposed to, say, the Wending Wood burning?”

“I’m not sure I want to know where you’re going with this,” he muttered. _“Yes,_ yes, with enough smoke we could tell by the direction from whence it came from.”

“But Darkspawn can’t.” Alistair said.

 _“What?”_ Tess looked at him like he was going mad. “I’m _positive_ they don’t care which way smoke burns when they set things on fire.”

“No,” he shook his head. “Darkspawn don’t navigate like we do, remember? And I seriously doubt the Archdemon has a map of present-day Ferelden. Just bear with me,” he responded to their stares of concern and doubt.

Tess winced through a frown. “Is this you freaking out because Riordan’s Taint has left?”

Alistair almost laughed. “No. I have an idea to confuse the Archdemon.” He clapped Teagan on the arm and turned him and Tess at the same time toward the castle.

“If this is something crazy we all do together naked, count me in,” Zevran chimed in, keeping pace.

 _“My_ balls prefer _warmth,_ thank you,” Teagan said. “They’re also quite shy in the presence of Qunari, elves, and all my knights.”

Alistair and Zevran laughed. “No, sorry, Zev. Get everyone together in the great hall.” He pulled Tess up the steps as Zevran spun away with a sigh of boredom.

Tess stood grimacing next to Alistair as bodies congregated in Eamon’s throne room. “What’s wrong?” Alistair asked her. “Why do you look like I’ll say my plan is for the women to run naked into Denerim and start dancing?”

She glared up at him. “Because from the excitement on your face, that’s what I expect. And _no,_ I don’t think they’ll fall for it. The women they _breed_ from have more bosoms than all of us combined. I get the feeling only two arms aren’t very _sexy_ to Darkspawn.”

Alistair laughed at his wife. Whether or not his plan worked, the hope of confusing the Archdemon made him a little giddy. “No, but if the Archdemon really remembers being a person, all of you storming in naked might make _it_ pause,” he whispered, keeping his voice low as the the last bodies squeezed in the hall. He laughed again when Tess’ glare darkened.

“All right!” Alistair clapped his hand as he looked around. “I have a plan. _Don’t_ worry, it will be fun.”

“No offense, King Alistair, but your plans aren’t as fun as you think,” Pádraig winced though his tone was amiable. “The _Alienage_ really wasn’t fun.”

 _“Thank you,”_ Tess expressed. _“I_ said the same thing.”

“Alright, you two,” Fergus chuckled, trying to keep the mood. He played face well in front of others, but he was still awkward around Tess; Alistair could not imagine what live puppeteering looked like to someone who’d never seen a possession. The fact Fergus’ _little sister_ had a puppet master somewhere especially frightened him, Alistair observed that much. “His majesty looks proud of himself. We should indulge him.”

“Snarky Teyrn.” Alistair tried not to smile, but failed when Fergus grinned. _“Yes,_ I _am_ quite proud right now. Thank you for noticing.” He looked around at the amused faces. _“If_ the Archdemon is on the surface, it's not flying around. We’d be able to see that, we don’t have enough wintergreen trees left to obstruct our view, even in the Wilds. It's confined to the ground just like we are.” Alistair hesitated, already knowing Teagan and Eamon’s reactions. “Redcliffe is already burning-”

Teagan sighed and shook his face in his palm.

“No more fires, Alistair, please,” Eamon requested.

Alistair held up his hand. “But we _need_ to. I think Riordan was right, I think the Archdemon tricked us away from Denerim where I can best command my army. And it worked; that’s _no one’s_ fault, we _all_ rode here to protect this town. But I don’t believe it planned for anything _more_ here. If it  _had,_ the castle would be scorched and everyone dead. But it’s not, the castle was _not_ breached. The darkspawn here were no match for us, and I believe the Archdemon _knew_ this. It knows Tess and myself well enough; it certainly knew our strengths in the Deep Roads.”

“And Redcliffe already burning?” Teagan prompted like he feared the answer.

“The surviving townsmen are safe,” Alistair reminded his nobles and knights and unique party. “The town is already burning. The houses and shops with have to rebuild _anyway._ We need to burn the rest.”

 _“What?!”_ Teagan and Eamon yelped together.

“Listen, listen, do _not_ yell at me,” Alistair rushed. “I am _King,_ I can send as many carpenters and lumberjacks as needed _later._ The survivors are safe in the castle and will _remain_ safe here. The Archdemon does not expect the entire city to burn like a forest fire. If Redcliffe is truly a diversion, then sending enough smoke into the air would confuse it. It would _anger_ it because the job of the darkspawn was to lure us away, not make Redcliffe the center of attention, because that would make it the _site of battle_. The buildings are already on fire. If we can see _Denerim_ on fire from here, then if the Archdemon is in Denerim right now _it_ will see _Redcliffe_ on fire. It doesn’t use a map or a sextant, it could never tell the Redcliffe castle remains. But we need to buy ourselves time,” he looked around again. “Riordan has left to check right _where exactly_ the Archdemon is, but as soon as he returns, we march. In the meantime, we can _distract_ the Archdemon. We can make it think its pawns failed and have made _Redcliffe_ the source of attention.”

“What does that accomplish besides start a list all the houses the Crown will need to replace?” Teagan sighed.

“The Darkspawn will come here instead.”

Alistair looked at Tess, glad she understood his mad thoughts right now. He nodded at his wife. “Exactly. The Darkspawn are primitive even if the Archdemon isn’t.” He gave a nod to the townsfolk peeking in at the doorway. “Don’t worry, I will replace every building lost,” he promised his people. “But the Darkspawn can’t rationalize like the Archdemon can. _It_ is the one who commands them to make armor and how to do it; they didn’t start with the wheel and work their way to ceremonial arms like _we_ did. They’ll see the fire and _survival_ will turn them around, the horde will turn _themselves_ around to face whatever source burned the darkspawn they knew were here. We saw it in the Deep Roads: they’ll forget _what_ they’re supposed to fight, and only remember they _must_.” Alistair _knew_ it would work because it was what happened to Tess when the Archdemon made her think she was a darkspawn.

“The Archdemon will fly around to redirect them,” Sten finished.

“Yes!” Alistair pointed to him. “They’ll scatter in their confusion to turn around, and it will have to fly around and corral them again. The Darkspawn don’t have horses like we do, they may not be in Denerim yet. If we can burn the town fast enough, we may buy Denerim time. At the least, we’ll stall them enough for _our_ army to meet them _where_ they turn around.”

“Denerim ballistae might even target the Archdemon, in that case,” Eirik of Tess’ guard said.

“Another excellent point,” Alistair praised.

Teagan ran his hands down his face with a heavy sigh. “I should have known you’d not stop at the barn, Alistair,” he muttered.

Alistair grinned. “Who loves you like I do, Teagan?”

 _“Please_ stop loving me, nephew,” Teagan didn’t mean to chuckle.

“Er… Your Majesties?” Pádraig asked. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Alistair nodded. “Absolutely.”

“And what if the Archdemon is looking in right now like it did in the palace?” Eamon asked. All eyes flew to Tess.

She took a step back with a frown. “I’m not the only Warden here.”

“Alistair is… not affected like you are, Tesslyn,” Eamon reminded.

“I was talking about Po. My _dog.”_ She sassed the old man. She shook her head when Po whined in question. “My point is, _my_ Taint isn’t the only one here, but none of you consider anyone else.”

“I don’t think it’s a problem,” Alistair defended his wife. “Riordan’s Taint is exceptionally strong. Tess is only affected like that when progressed Taint is with us.” He didn’t mean to remind himself of Ruck. “She’s herself right now, trust me. She can’t sass anyone when the Archdemon takes over.”

“Thank you for your confidence, _husband.”_

Alistair met her glare with a smirk. “Thank you for proving my point, _wife.”_ No way he would tell her she was in for it tonight, not with all these people around. He licked the smile off his face as he faced his small crowd. Pádraig acknowledged the Alistair’s nod with his own. “Everyone grab a torch. This will be a group effort. Don’t worry, we’ll all be warm in no time.”

“Hm. I should have brought popping corn and whipped mallow sweets,” Zevran thought aloud.

“Eamon keeps a stash of Orlesian mallow treats in the top drawer of the desk in his study.” Teagan answered automatically while in thought, waving Zevran off.

 _“Ooh!”_ Zevran’s eyes went wide with childlike eagerness, and he dashed off before Eamon could protest.

The first torch lit from sconce flame, then a second. Alistair couldn’t remember a time with people so eager to burn a town. This would be one for the history books; Alistair could already see Brother Genitivi’s excitement of scribing such a tale.

“Tis about time I’m allowed to set something aflame.” Morrigan spun on her toes, igniting a hand with a satisfied smile. No one even cared anymore that Morrigan was an apostate; she became _one of them_ indeed. “Though Tesslyn, I _do_ think I’ve had an _influence_ on your husband!” she called. Tess nodded in agreement; Alistair grinned at the irony. Morrigan took a single step, only to pause in start at Pádraig in her way.

Alistair watched his good friend step aside and bend in a deep bow. Pádraig’s eyes never strayed from Morrigan. The look on his face reminded Alistair of _himself_ when _he_ looked at _Tess_. Morrigan leaned away unsure; Pádraig _admired_ her. Alistair glanced at Tess when she craned her neck, and husband and wife shared a look of potent curiosity. No one else in the room noticed Pádraig and Morrigan with torches distributed and lit.

“Lead the way, Lady Morrigan,” Pádraig’s voice almost escaped Alistair. From the corner of his eye, Tess’ eyes flew wide open and she squeezed Alistair’s arm.

Alistair and Tess turned their faces when Morrigan glanced back. No fucking way did Alistair want to acknowledge his _friend_ adoring _that witch._ He closed his eyes and breathed through a groan. “That did not happen,” he muttered to Tess. “You saw nothing, _I_ saw nothing.”

 _“Hogshit_ I saw nothing!” she hissed. The laugh escaped before Alistair could stop it.

“But _Morrigan?”_ he whispered. He gave a nod as Domhnall handed them two lit torches and a cloak for Tess.

“There’s nothing wrong with Morrigan, Alistair,” she muttered back.

“Right. No, you’re right. A cranky apostate coupled with my _knighted_ Andrastian general is no problem at all, and their children would _never_ be sent to the Circle.” He acted as Tess’ free hand to drape the cloak around her.

“They won’t if Morrigan is our Court Mage.”

Alistair gave his wife a flat glare. _“No.”_ He shook his head and handed her his torch so he could tie her cloak at her collar.

“Oh, come on.”

“She would have to be approved by the Chantry, anyway. So no. End of discussion.”

“What am I going to do with her, then?” she asked.

“She has a perfectly fine crooked shack in the swamp. Where she belongs.”

“You’re more like her than you realize,” Tess said, searching his eyes as he straightened and took back his torch.

“You’ll _pay_ for that when we’re alone,” he promised. He stole a quick kiss before turning down the few steps. A glance back when Tess didn’t follow him brought a smile to his face. A sweet, knowing smile played as she cocked her head, sending sparkles to her eyes.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” she said. Alistair glanced off to make sure no one eavesdropped.

“You’re _already_ married to me. And don’t you forget that again,” he teased his wife. Her words warmed him all the same. He figured she meant _marry him in front of everyone._ Alistair wanted that too.

Her sweet smile fell apart in a grin at his silly joke. “I mean in front of our friends. With a dress, and a proper ceremony.”

“I know. I can’t wait either, Tess.” He held his hand out, eyes locked, closing his fingers around hers when she grabbed on.

“And I want Anora to watch you kiss me in front of people again.”

Alistair laughed, a grin dominating the width of his cheeks. “And there’s the hidden motive. _Wow,”_ he joked, unable to stop grinning. “Good thing I’ve got a box of things from _Orzammar_ left to break in.”

Tess bit her lip with a shy smile, and as Alistair took a step, her hand slipped from his and spun him around by the collar. Her face squished into his for a kiss of giggles and sighs. _Maker, he loved his wife. More than love_ did not express this feeling enough anymore.

“For being so small, she really knows how to yank you around.” _Zevran._

King and Queen giggled into each others mouths again before breaking apart.

“At least you used tongue this time,” their elf teased. Alistair’s cheeks flushed through a laugh, and he shoved Zev away by the face. The slight man giggled and stepped out of reach, following them outside anyway, reminding them he’d be in the front row at their wedding to make sure they kissed right.

 

The blaze from town looked like a small bonfire from the castle. After so much fuel and the gentle breeze that skimmed the lakeside, the fires needed no extra feeding to stay lit, even through twilight fog. Smoke hovered above Redcliffe like a full rain cloud trying to reach the visible moon. It was _almost_ a lovely sight.

The Archdemon interrupted sleep. Alistair expected it, but he couldn’t fall back asleep. He’d warned Tess it might happen, but the nightmare hit her hard; a painful exposing of proof that monster had used her against her husband again. Strong drink and a sleeping potion set her back in slumber, but not Alistair. He stood now at the window of the late Isolde’s old sun room, open bay windows cradling him in a welcome chill breeze that reminded Alistair he was still alive. Eamon’s strong brandy scraped his throat, as bitter as the Old God flying and screeching off in the distance of the blackened sky.

The Archdemon was livid. _Urthemiel_ could not see who caused the fire, but its darkspawn were disobeying. Even now hours past the nightmare, Alistair felt its frustration. In the dream, Alistair had seen the horde. He didn’t know where they were, it was too dark to tell, but they were confused and disorderly. The more intelligent ones - the emissaries who used magic, the _alphas_ of the packs - they marched on, ignoring the distraction. But the archers, the _average_ warriors, even some ogres and Shrieks turned around. Darkspawn were trampled on by their own kind as the ones in less control of their minds saw the distant blaze and thought they’d gone the wrong way. Their intent almost chanted inside Alistair’s veins, just like Tess arriving at the Dead Trenches; _Fight fight fight._ Tess’ _dark master_ struggled to control its horde. It worked better than Alistair planned.

When it came time to face the Archdemon, Alistair hoped it saw right through him and knew _Alistair_ struck that blow.

“Was it worth it?” A glass clanked and liquid splashed. Alistair didn’t look over as Fergus Cousland joined him at the window. He gestured with his drink hand after a sip.

“Sacrificing generations of hard labor and successful businesses to aggravate my enemy?” Alistair guessed the rest of the sentence. “Absolutely.” He tossed back the rest of his glass.

“It’s a sipping drink,” Fergus teased without a smile; an ongoing joke no matter who drank with Alistair, it seemed.

“Not when I drink it.” He refilled his glass.

Fergus hummed through a sip. “So I’ve heard. I believe Cailan would be jealous of your tolerance.”

“It’s a Grey Warden thing. It’s _his_ fault, really, come to think of it.” Alistair returned to the window and flicked his wrist to relish the liquid burn again. “Part of me wishes he was still King,” he admitted.

“Why’s that?”

Alistair gestured outside. “The boy who met Tesslyn Cousland at Ostagar would never have burned an entire town in hopes of confusing the Darkspawn.” He took another drink. “In truth, I want nothing more than to live with Tess away from people and _society_ , where we can have our own life without anyone telling us how it should be done.”

“So why _did_ you become King?”

Faces of dead men flashed through Alistair’s mind, as did the Archdemon at Bownammar. Broodmothers and golems. _Lyrium._ Blood magic. “Because I don’t know how to keep my wife safe from the world without being King. Meeting Tess changed my life _entirely_. I never had anything to lose till I met her.” His teeth clanked against the glass. Fergus stared at him but Alistair kept his eyes on the waning blaze below. “I just wanted to change her life like she changed mine. I can’t do that without being King.” He shook his head. “I will burn a _thousand_ Redcliffes if it means buying myself time to keep my wife safe. I refuse to wake up without her.”

Fergus shoved his own glass to his face, and a heavy hand clapped Alistair on the back. Though he was bigger than Fergus, _solid_ and large, Alistair moved under the hand that squeezed his shoulder. Alistair needed no help interpreting the approval from his wife’s brother.

The night fared long for Alistair. Awake in part from anxiety of more darkspawn reaching Redcliffe, in part because he didn’t want to wake Wynne _just_ for a potion, Alistair walked around. Nightwatchmen patrolled the castle. Night shift servants kept fires roaring to keep out winter’s chill, opening windows every now and then when a room grew hot. Castle cats wandered out of the kitchen to catch mice scurrying to stay warm. The night maids in the kitchen brewed Alistair hot tea they made for Eamon on sleepless nights, but it seemed to take forever to work.

With his third mug of bedtime tea, Alistair decided a walk outside might help. A fur cloak over his shoulders and steaming tea in hands, Alistair gasped at the rush of icy air that greeted him with the night sky.

Thin fog clung to the bridge past the castle courtyard. The half-moon tried hiding behind clouds above, but a steady breeze kept exposing it, only to hide it behind more clouds. The fires down in town either died out or were extinguished by fog. Two castle guards practiced their swords on new dummies erected since supper. Busy breath illuminated life; proof that hope for a better day wore on, no matter how many times homes burned. Other than swords and the occasional _Your Majesty,_ Redcliffe was silent. Though snow had not fallen, winter had claimed Ferelden. Alistair walked on, almost wishing the old stables still stood so he could burn them again for warmth.

The fog on the bride was thicker than it looked from the castle doors. His fur boots scraped against the stone bridge, echoing in the cloud he walked through.

Then, a single light. Sudden and otherwise invisible in the fog from a distance. A small flame and a hooded cloaked figure; female, as he stepped closer. Alistair’s feet slowed.

“If you are here to speak of Pádraig, there is no need.” _Morrigan,_ waving Alistair away like he was a gnat. One hand rested aflame like a torch.

Alistair wasn’t glad for the reminder his friend bowed to Morrigan with stars in his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he insisted. “What are you doing out here, Morrigan? Waiting for someone? Or is this what your mother meant when she said you like to _dance under the moon?”_ he mimicked best he could the old woman Morrigan introduced them to so long ago.

The fire on her hand exaggerated her scowl. “I do not dance under the moon!”

“Right, so this is you _not_ being a creepy apostate anymore.”

“I desired a place to think without servants pestering me. I have _always_ walked in moonlight. I am not afraid of the dark, unlike your _precious people.”_

Alistair studied her. The fog reflected her flame as if the sun still warmed the sky. An otherwise beautiful scene, had it not been _Morrigan._ “Right. Yeah, you’re still a creepy apostate, Morrigan. Whoever you’re meeting out here, I don’t want to know about it.” He picked up his feet and moved on, hoping the witch would be gone when he returned this way. More so, Alistair did not wish to catch her and Pádraig meeting alone in the dark.

“Are you not afraid of facing the Archdemon?” The fog did not drown out her voice. Alistair growled into his steaming tea mug. The wooden soles of his boots ground when he turned, wet grit scraping on the stone bridge. “Most in the _army_ you gathered _are._ Yet you do not seem so.”

“Are you implying something, or is this you asking something _personal_ about me and my wife again?” It was even harder to tolerate her knowing she’d captivated his friend. Alistair could force civility in front of Tess, but without, he saw no reason.

If Morrigan blushed at the reminder she once asked Tess if Alistair was good in bed, a scowl and her magic flames hid it. When she did not answer, Alistair sighed.

 _“Yes,_ Morrigan, I _am._ I am _terrified_ of facing the Archdemon. The closer we are to it, the easier it controls us. I am _terrified_ of it turning me against Tess. I am _terrified_ of the chance I’ll have to watch my wife _die_ and not be able to stop it,” he admitted. “But I can’t fucking show it because I have an _entire country_ to inspire so _they_ believe fighting to the death to save my _wife_ will actually wound the _Archdemon_ instead. I just made an entire town _homeless_ to confuse my enemy for _ten minutes_ in hopes it will buy me an _extra day_ to save my wife.” Alistair gestured to the north wing of the castle where Tess’ quarters were. _“Now_ you know my greatest weakness. Are you _happy?”_ He turned again and set off, his blood trembling and feet heavy now that Morrigan reminded him of what might happen in only days.

“What if there was a way I could save her? _Help_ save her?”

Alistair sighed again, his heart as heavy as his feet now. “There will be no _if,_ Morrigan. You _will_ help save her, along with the _rest_ of this country.”

“I do not mean on the battlefield. I mean, if there was a way - with _your_ help - I could save the woman who has become my… sister.”

All this talk of losing or saving Tess wracked Alistair’s heart worse than her Taint leaving without notice.

“A way to guarantee she would not die. _Neither_ of you would.”

“I can’t - I can’t talk about this right now, Morrigan.” Alistair shook his head and waved her off. He walked back towards the castle instead, towards Tess. “Whatever tricks you have left up your sleeve, you’d better use them. If you can save my wife but don’t, I will dismember you and rip out your organs.”  

Morrigan’s words chilled him to the bone. When Alistair somehow stopped shaking and slept, nightmares attacked. The Archdemon sat in the mountains like the dragon before Andraste’s Ashes, feeding on something that crunched and spewed blood. Body parts and blood and bones littered the ground. The Archdemon gnawed like a dog, its clawed paws reaching up to turn and keep its snack in its sharp jaws. A head popped off, cut so clean the neck did not bleed until it hit the ground with a crack. As the head rocked unevenly on stained rock, ashen hair came loose from a bun until it propped the head in place. Wide green eyes stared at him in pain and surprise above the double-knot scar on her right cheek. Alistair shot up from sleep so fast he hit his head and fell off the bed right onto Po. Tess slept undisturbed, mouth hitched open and snoring. Alistair crumbled on the floor and cried, shaking so hard he couldn’t scratch out the pain wreaking havoc in his heart.

The Archdemon needn’t give Alistair nightmares anymore, he was doing it to himself. Just like in the Deep Roads before they met the Archdemon _there._

He refused to leave Tess’ side after that. Afraid to sleep and afraid to leave his wife in case he missed the chance to say goodbye. Come morning, Tess turned everyone away at her door to stay in bed where Alistair could hold her. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to walk. Didn’t want to risk walking into combat if they left the castle. He’d managed to force the possibilities of war out of his mind before, but Morrigan’s question broke down every barrier he’d put up. The reality of battle hit him hard, and he was in a war so unthinkable there were no methods of winning unless thousands died. Alistair did not have _thousands_ to waste in place of his wife.

By the time Tess coaxed him to eat and get fresh air, the sun had fallen again and the half moon was rising. But Alistair would not sleep again. He would not - _could not_ \- live without Tess; he was tired of his dreams reminding he might have to.

Riordan returned the next evening. His presence prompted everyone to ready for the march out. Potions were made, smoked meat and water packed, injury kits stuffed to the brim. Everything sat ready by the door so come daybreak, they could mount the horses and ride. Through his telescope, Riordan saw Alistair’s army; they would meet them halfway to Lothering. Through his Taint - his _Calling_ \- Riordan recognized where the Darkspawn marched and destroyed.

Denerim was already under attack. Riordan also dreamed of the Archdemon’s agitation when Alistair burned Redcliffe, but it only stalled the Darkspawn one day. They had reached Denerim a night ago; the night after Alistair burned the town. The horde had crossed the Brecilian and Dragon’s Peak, avoiding the army of humans, dwarves, and elves to spare their own numbers after already wasting time. From what Riordan understood, after the horde controlled the seat of command, they would move toward Tevinter from some unnamed access to the Deep Roads not far from Denerim; the Free Marches, where they would re-surface, and Nevarra would be obliterated along the way.

 _There was no backing out of this war._ If the Darkspawn returned underground after destroying Ferelden, the rest of the world would not believe the Blight still endured. In the eyes of the public, Wardens would discredit themselves claiming so. No country would be prepared for the Darkspawn resurfacing in the Free Marches, and unless Weisshaupt in the Anderfels had a Warden force the size of ten armies _plus_ a thousand gryphons, Grey Wardens would be obliterated before half the horde climbed out of the Deep Roads. If the Archdemon controlled Tevinter, there would be no stopping this Blight, not with half of the Tevinter Magisters already waiting for their Old Gods to return. It would never matter if Alistair owned a guarded castle or built a cottage on a remote beach; the Darkspawn would overtake it all and everyone would die anyway. _Tess_ would die anyway.

Eamon gave orders in place of Alistair; if he felt as graven, he hid it well. Any damage done to Denerim could not be reversed, but if they left at dawn, they would reach the capital in time to liberate it. Sten training the city guard would show its fruit when they arrived. With the city Templars aiding the guard, Denerim stood a decent chance on her own in the meantime, at least. Resting before the expected week or more of no sleep was mandatory. The Wardens needed rest most of all; it would be _them_ pulling all weight in the end.

 _As if Alistair needed another reminder he might soon lose his wife for good._ He didn’t want to be king anymore. He wanted to disappear. He wanted the _world_ to disappear so he didn’t have to worry about saving it _just to keep his wife._

Riordan asked to meet Alistair and Tess before they retired for the night. _Warden business;_ no one else, no matter how tempted the others were to join their friends in planning what seemed like the end for them all.

Feet dragged through stone halls and up circular staircases. The top floor where the bedrooms sat seemed years away. Alistair couldn’t hide the despair he felt. He didn’t want to see Riordan, but he didn’t want to later interrupt his last sleeping night with Tess. Hand in hand, Alistair let his wife lead him through doors and corridors to the room Riordan asked to meet them in.

The elder Warden sympathized with their fallen faces. “Thank you for coming, my friends. I know these days are not easy.” He closed the door and slid the lock in place. Riordan took a deep breath as he moved around to face them. “We near the end.” _As if it wasn’t obvious._ “I know you did not have as much time with Duncan as most Wardens get with their mentors,” he continued when they didn’t speak. “I need to know you are properly prepared. Tell me, did Duncan tell you why Grey Wardens are needed to kill an Archdemon?”

Tess shook her head. “Duncan didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. What I’d read in books.”

Alistair didn’t look at Riordan. He kept Tess against him, pulling her hand behind him so she _needed_ to lean on him; _he_ needed to feel her body heat, needed to know she was still alive. “Those who survive the Joining take on the survival instincts of the Darkspawn,” he recalled; his voice was just as heavy as his heart. “We take in their strength and their stamina, and it allows us to stay awake and focused long enough to reach the Archdemon, where normal people wear out and become easy targets. The longer we stay awake in constant battle, the harder it is for us to fall because each hit reawakens our Tainted adrenaline.”

“I was afraid of this.” Riordan sighed. "I had hoped, but..." Alistair finally raised his head. Riordan looked beyond troubled - _as if Alistair needed anything else to worry about!_ The old Warden took a breath that puffed out his chest. “He told you about Darkspawn being empty, soulless vessels?”

Alistair nodded.

“Soulless like dogs?” Tess was offended at such a thought. “Try telling my _mabari_ he’s got no soul.”

Riordan smiled though it did not reach his eyes. “Mabari may forever be a mystery. No, I mean their bestial nature. They kill without compassion, because they believe they must. They have predatory survival instincts and do not frighten away or cower. They have no speech and do not communicate, thus they do not negotiate or sympathize-”

 _“Duncan_ met a talking Darkspawn once.” Alistair frowned, thinking of Riordan so vehement against Tess sympathizing with the Archdemon. “He called it the Architect. It wasn’t like regular Darkspawn, it wasn’t some ghoul-creature, but definitely a darkspawn. An _intelligent_ one.”

Riordan frowned now. “Yes, we have heard his claim on this Architect. But as Duncan is the only one to ever see it,* it cannot be so. Duncan was just a recruit himself, then, and lost many Warden friends the same time he claimed he saw this Architect. Since no others have seen him, we must assume Duncan was with fever or disoriented from being underground. Talking sympathizing Darkspawn don’t exist. But that is not my point-”

“Then why were the Darkspawn in Ortan Thaig afraid of the slime in the water that ate at Zev’s legs?” Alistair didn’t trust the moment. Riordan wanted to meet them so he could declaim everything Alistair knew to be true? “They didn’t attack us when the could have. They stood right in front of us and just _watched_ Zev scream.”

Riordan sighed again. “Survival instincts and nothing more. A rabid wolf will avoid that which he knows will kill him, as well. Again, that is not my point. I called you here to discuss the Archdemon and how to kill him.”

“Let me guess, _now_ you’re going to say we don’t just chop off its head?” Alistair couldn’t keep the ire from his voice. Duncan had taught Alistair how to survive against the Darkspawn, and in the Deep Roads Alistair and Tess made more discoveries than they’d ever learned about the monstrosities from books. _He_ knew they weren’t wrong. What made _Riordan_ so sure they weren’t right?

“Not entirely, but you are also correct. _If_ a Grey Warden is present upon the Archdemon’s death, then yes, we chop off the head and we celebrate our victory.”

“And if a Warden _isn’t_ present?” Tess looked Riordan up and down with a frown.

“Then the soul of the Archdemon will inhabit a random nearby Darkspawn and remain. And since an Archdemon is intelligent but the Darkspawn are not, even more chaos will ensue. The Archdemon will struggle against its primitive mind and body, and the other darkspawn will scatter - and kill - everything in sight until they locate the presence of their master. They seek a leader, but possessing a darkspawn husk will leave the Archdemon unable to give commands.”

Alistair frowned deeper than Tess. “And if a _Warden_ kills it?” He was afraid of the answer. He didn’t like the direction this conversation headed.

“If a Warden is present when an Archdemon is slain, then the essence of that Archdemon will cling to the Warden. But a Warden is not a soulless vessel like darkspawn are.” The look of utter certainty in his eyes made Alistair’s breath halt. His heart began pounding in his chest with each second Riordan hesitated. “Upon that moment, the Archdemon’s soul will clash with the Grey Warden’s. We do not know the cause, only that the force of the collision is too much for a the Warden’s body to handle.”

Pulse and breath stopped. Hair stood up as a chill ran over Alistair’s body. Tess beside him did not move but her Taint already raced in fear. “You- … We’ll die?” Alistair didn’t want to be right. “If we kill this Archdemon, we’ll _die?”_

“Yes. It is unavoidable.” He shook his head. “It is too much for the Warden and too much for the Archdemon’s soul. In order to kill one, we must let it kill the other. Otherwise the Blight will never end. Now you know why we are needed, and why we must take our secrets with us to the death.”

Alistair’s pulse and Taint sped back up. “We _die? No!”_ He shook his head, refusing to believe this was the end of the line. “No, not a fucking chance, Riordan! There _has_ to be another way!”

“There is no other way, my friend, I’m so-”

“I don’t believe that! _You_ snuck in, why couldn’t _others_ sneak in?” All the fright Alistair had felt the past days came out as anger. “How long have you been in the country, even? You’ve been with _us_ two months; it had to be at least two more sneaking around Ostagar! Why didn’t you tell us before? ” he demanded.

“I apologize, my friends. I assumed you knew and would let her make the kill. I assumed that was the reason for all the ceremony. With her condition, it seemed-”

 _“Her condition?!”_ Alistair shrugged off Tess and let his hands fly. Riordan staggered but held his ground.

“Please do not push me. It was a mistake to assume, and I apologize. But this is not the time to war amongst ourselves,” Riordan said. “We are the only Wardens in Ferelden-”

“So you just fucking _assumed_ I’d let my wife kill herself?” He tried to charge again, but Tess had a firm hold on his waist.

“Alistair-” she began.

 _“No!_ He fucking- _two fucking months!!_ Riordan, you had _two months_ to tell us! _You’ve_ _lived with us for two months! Why didn’t you tell us?!”_

“The past is done with and no longer matters, as-”

Alistair broke from Tess’ arms and shoved, and when Riordan staggered again, Alistair drove his foot. Riordan crashed into a potted plant, shattering it on the floor. Tess cried out, but Alistair ignored her. He couldn’t stop himself, didn’t want to stop himself. This _Warden_ watched for two months as Alistair did everything in his power to make sure the Landsmeet couldn’t execute his wife, only to assign Tess a suicide job! _Because he fucking assumed!_ Alistair yanked Riordan to his feet; the old man did not fight back, but Alistair didn’t care, _he deserved it!_

Tess stopped his fist, though. Pulling on his elbow with all her strength till Alistair’s feet followed her and kept Riordan out of reach. Huffing and ready to kill, _waiting for Riordan to fight back,_ Alistair finally looked at Tess. Trying her best not to cry though tears spilled out anyway, Tess searched his eyes.

“Please don’t,” she pleaded. “We _need_ him!”

“To what? He wants to _sacrifice_ you, Tess!” Alistair glared at Riordan again. “Is this all you fucking came here for? To sacrifice someone else so you can say you did your part? So you can go back a hero?”

“She has a degenerative condition, I only assumed-”

He lunged again with his fists. Tess pulled him back too late; Riordan wiped blood from under his nose. “An addiction someone _forced_ upon her lowered her health ten years ago, so she deserves to _die?_ She _has_ no fucking condition, Riordan! She is _not dying_ to that thing! _You don’t get to sacrifice my wife!!_ She saved your life! Don’t you fucking forget that! _You owe her!”_

Still Riordan did not fight back. He looked down at his hand as he wiped more blood away, then dug a cloth from his pocket and wiped his hand. He did not meet Alistair’s eyes, did not look at Tess’ tears. Riordan winced through a deep breath as he caught the blood. “In past Blights,” he began again, his voice nasally from pinching his nose to stop the bleeding, “the eldest Warden tries to make the kill. My time is ending soon anyway. It is best it ends sooner than later, for me.”

“Damn fucking right.” Alistair couldn’t calm his breath. Every fiber in him screamed. Tess still clung to him, trying to keep him with her, though Alistair guessed she felt his desire to beat Riordan to a pulp.

“But if I fail, one of you must make the kill. If the Archdemon wins-”

“It _won’t,_ because _you’ll_ fucking make up for _months_ of planning to sacrifice _my wife!”_ Alistair told him. “You _fucking asshole._ Wardens aren’t supposed to betray each other, Riordan!”

“I did not betray you, friend,” Riordan shook his head, closing his eyes.

Alistair laughed at the nerve to lie. “You’ve lived with us for two months! You meditated with us, you ate with us, you trained with us, _you’ve helped us for two months!_ Secretly planning to sacrifice my wife is fucking betrayal!”

“I did not mean-”

“But you _did_. You fucking meant it. No one _made_ you hide it from us! Assuming I would just _let_ my wife - assuming I’d _just stand there_ and watch my wife _destroy_ herself -- you fucking meant _every second_ you kept this from us! _Assuming_ and _not telling us_ is what makes it fucking betrayal!”

“And I just said I would attempt the kill first.”

“You won’t just _attempt_ it, Riordan. _You will fucking kill that thing_. I am _King_ and you are in _my_ country by _choice_. I am _ordering_ you to kill that fucking dragon. You don’t get to fail, you don’t get to just pass this off to me or my wife. You knew our mentor died before he taught us everything, it was _your job_ to finish teaching us how to be Grey Wardens! You can find your fucking redemption for _betraying us_ in _killing_ that thing so _we_ can live to teach others how it must be done.”

Alistair spun around and marched out, dragging Tess with him, though she hadn’t let go since she pulled him off the second time. Alistair slammed Riordan’s door behind them; the rattle vibrated the wall and floor. The guard at the end of hall turned his head to avoid Alistair’s anger as they passed. But with each step away from Riordan, the heavier his words sank. They didn’t even make it to Tess’ bedroom door before Alistair crumbled.

He stood hugging Tess, holding her as close as he could, shaking in the effort to not cry. Without looking, he waved the hall guard out; clanking armor grew softer until the hall held only them. _There was suddenly not enough time._ All those months spent underground to gain Bhelen’s army did not matter anymore. Saving the mages didn’t matter anymore. Helping the elves, saving Connor, killing Isolde, _killing Loghain_ didn’t matter. There was not enough time left to live like they wanted anymore. And with Riordan’s Calling so progressed, they could not rely on him to make the killing blow. _Time had run out for good._ They never even knew they’d had any to spare.

There was only one thing to do.

“We need to leave.” He hoped on everything his voice was too quiet for anyone else to hear. Tess shook with a deep breath and raised her eyes to his. He nodded. “Right now. Whatever we can hide under our cloaks.” Tess nodded eagerly at his quiet plan. Hope radiated from her eyes as all the confirmation he needed to know _this was the right choice._ "We’ll grab Po and leave.” He still nodded. There was no other way to survive this. Alistair refused to spend his last moments fighting when he could hold his wife away from danger. They could be on a boat in a week, far away from Ferelden and the Grey Warden who might not even remember them by then. No one knew them in the Free Marches, and Alistair had always wanted to see Rivain. Ferelden would fall, but eventually other Wardens would come and take care of the Archdemon, Wardens who had nothing to lose. The other Wardens would sort it out. It was the only way. “We’ll just say we’re going for a walk,” he breathed. They nodded together. Alistair pushed his face to hers for a last kiss before they ran for their lives.

Hand in hand, hearts pumping in excitement of preparing to flee without getting caught, they crossed the rest of the hall, and Alistair held their door open for Tess.

“There is no need to run.”

Alistair didn’t look up in time. He crashed into his wife. The door banged against them as they straightened themselves out.

Alistair closed the door and looked from Tess to Morrigan. _“What_ did you say?”

Standing before the fire with her arms over her chest, the Witch of the Wilds took a deep breath. She turned like she had all the time in the world. “There is no need to run.” Morrigan unfolded her arms.

If Morrigan had heard him, it was possible Riordan had too, or a guard or servant who might tell. They couldn’t waste anymore time.

“No. Out. Now. There is no time to argue. If you won’t leave, then you’d better help.” Alistair locked the door anyway and took long steps to his and Tess’ belongings.

“I have a solution,” Morrigan said. “A way to save you both.”

Husband and wife exchanged a glance. Hope ran through both of them, but if this was a ruse, they were wasting time they could not afford to waste.

“You’ve been listening in? For how long? What did you hear?” Alistair demanded.

“Listening to what? The disagreement twas heard downstairs?” She nodded. “Yes, in fact, we _all_ listened. Not to worry, we will ensure he obeys your order of sacrifice.”

“No.” Alistair frowned. “You just said there was no need to run. _How did you know?”_

“We have spent eighteen months within reach of each other. If I have learned _anything_ of you at all, tis you will not risk the other dying.” Morrigan took a deep breath and sat on the edge of Tess’ bed. “I have a plan. I have _always_ had a plan, if you are curious. Do you care to hear it, or shall I help you pack?”

“Make it quick,” Alistair said the same time Tess said “Help us pack.” They met eyes again. He read it all over her face, she didn’t want to chance any promise not working. Their relationship had struggled enough against broken promises. Alistair began packing anyway but glanced at Morrigan. “Tell us.”

“Twas no need for me to eavesdrop on Riordan’s _secret Warden meeting,”_ Morrigan began. “I have known all along what happens when a Grey Warden kills an Archdemon.”

Alistair’s head flew to her. “You _knew?! And you didn’t tell us?”_

“Specifically, I have known since you were tied to my bed healing, Tesslyn, and you Alistair were sleeping in my swamp with the hound.” Morrigan looked uneasy for the first time. “My mother told me.”

 _“Told you what?”_ Alistair demanded.

“There is a ritual. To capture the soul of the Archdemon upon death without any Warden dying.”

“A ritual?” Tess was apprehensive.

“What kind of ritual?” Alistair asked.

Morrigan paused again. “Twould have been easier to tell Tesslyn alone and have _her_ tell _you,”_ she muttered. Another deep breath. “A ritual to conceive a child on the eve the Archdemon is slain. That is to say, _tonight.”_

 _“WHAT?”_ Only one Warden present in the room could conceive a child with Morrigan.

“Lie with me tonight, Al- _Alistair,_ before there is no more time to do so. The child will bear the Taint, but it will be _pure._ Taint not exposed to the dark forces that corrupted it to begin with; so new and protected you might say the Taint itself is pure. When the Archdemon is slain, this pure Taint will guide the soul of the Old God like a beacon at night. The body of the Archdemon will be slain and the Blight ended, but all Wardens will survive.”

Alistair could only stare. _Morrigan wanted to give birth to a Tainted Old God._

_This night kept getting better and better._

“Are you fucking mad? You want to give birth to an Archdemon?” he hissed at her.

“Not an Archdemon,” she shook her head. _“Uncorrupted_ Taint,” she emphasized. “The pure essence liken unto _before_ it corrupted _into_ the Taint. There are _great forces_ in this world in this world worth preserving; take that as you will. What _I_ will carry 'twill be the _soul_ of an Old God _inside_ a child, a chance to start anew; nothing more. A chance to help it _remember_ the Old God it once was. We argued this very concept with Riordan on the way here. Tis possible if done correctly. _Tesslyn_ is certainly proof of this. In fact, 'twas _her admission_ of her dealings with it that evinced _quality_ of the ritual.”

Alistair recalled that argument at midnight. _Like a child,_ Morrigan had said. “You fucking bitch.” He dropped the sack. “You’ve been fucking - you’ve _both_ been planning to use us from the _start! You and Riordan both!_ ”

“No one need die for _my_ plan, though, Alistair,” Morrigan insisted.

“Not until that _thing_ grows up and _kills_ everyone again!”

“Which is the _reason_ for raising it from infancy.” She sat straighter to assert herself.

“You’ve…” Shoulders curling in, arms closing, Tess walked backwards. She was retreating into herself again. More betrayed by Morrigan than she felt by Riordan. “You’ve been _planning_ this? Since you _met_ me? You’ve been p-planning to _sleep_ with my _husband?”_ Retreating into herself like when Alistair had hurt her in the Deep Roads. Alistair hated himself right now for even considering Morrigan’s proposal.

Morrigan’s brows creased. “Tis Flemeth’s ritual, and he was _not_ your husband when I left the swamp with you. Upon leaving with you, twas nothing more than a matter of asking a young male Warden to participate.” She seemed to have a hard time looking at Tess. “Do you not wonder why she rescued _you two_ when she had countless others to choose from? She said so when she ordered me to leave with you. Indirectly, of course. A cryptic hint. Do you remember?”

Tess eyes swam side to side before her face scrunched up and she backed up even more. Her feet hit the vanity chair but it didn’t phase her. _“Repayment for saving our lives.”_ A full pout took over as tears threatened to rain again. _“That which she values most in the world.”_ Alistair hung his head in defeat. He’d been sitting out of earshot when that happened, but Tess recalling it now was all the proof he needed. Tess had a flawless memory when she wasn’t withdrawing or under control by the Archdemon.

“Yes.”

“Killing Flemeth in the swamp -” Alistair began.

“You did not permanently kill her, only her mortal body. The demon which possessed her still exists,” Morrigan interrupted.

“Yes, I remember that.” He ran a hand down his face. “You said she wanted to possess you. But she really wanted you _pregnant_ with the Old God before she possessed you,” he put the pieces together.

“I believe so. She did not say it, but there is much she refused to tell me. I can only imagine the _power_ she would inherit if she possessed me, _then_ possesses the Old God when _it_ is trained.”

“Just as bad as an Archdemon.” Alistair remembered the old hag’s bitterness most, her willingness to bribe them against her own daughter so she could ambush Morrigan later on.

Tess already had a hard time with this proposition, though. Alistair stared at his wife. _Worse than miserable,_ and Alistair hadn’t even said _yes_ yet. But he was willing to desert - leave all his friends behind to die - to get his wife to safety and never look back. Was this any different than leaving the _brothers_ he’d acquired to die in his stead?

“I’m not- I’m not saying I’m considering this, but - it’s still a _week_ back to Denerim, and Maker-knows _how_ many days till we actually kill the thing?” He looked at Morrigan. “Won’t it have its… _own_ soul by then, or something? Won’t it just die then, when the Archdemon is killed?”

“If we lie tonight, no. Conception takes two to three days; I will spare you the tale how my mother learned this. There are already enough nightmares these days, are there not? Flemeth also insisted it takes up to three weeks for a soul to manifest, which then produces the personality of the fetus, and later the child. This gives plenty of time to return to Denerim and kill the Archdemon.”

“But we have _no idea_ how long it will take to kill the Archdemon,” he repeated.

“Then _I_ suggest we _all_ put forth our best effort to end it as _quick_ as possible.”

“Why _my_ husband?” Tess gasped through quiet crying. _“Why_ _Alistair_ and not Riordan?”

“Riordan’s Taint is too far progressed. Even if he could be convinced, he is already half-ghoul. _And_ he is too headstrong to accept there is another way.” Morrigan shook her head. “Alistair, however, is still fresh enough in his Taint; the _frequency_ of your coupling should say enough. Male Wardens with Riordan’s Taint do not have the drive because their bodies no longer produce seed, _nor_ the hormones that _urge_ the seed be used.”

“And what will happen after? When the Archdemon is killed, _then what?_ I suppose you figure you’ll stay here and we’ll all be a happy family?” The irony of the very question seeped through his voice as spite.

“Of course not. Even if… even if twas _not_ my friend I must ask this of, _no._ After the Archdemon is killed, I will leave. I will raise the child away from society and teach it to remember the _purity_ the Old God once possessed. And you _must let_ me.”

Alistair took a deep breath through his nose. He loathed himself beyond the raw Fade already: “Can you guarantee it will work?” His voice was low and made him sound desperate. He raised his head to meet Morrigan’s eyes. From the corner of his eye, Tess bit back a sob and turned to bury her face in her hand. Morrigan hesitated with her mouth open. Maybe she didn’t think Tess would take it so hard, or thought they would jump at the offer with no marital repercussions. “Morrigan, you have only been with us because _my wife_ wanted you here. She _adores_ you, Morrigan. She _trusts_ you.” _Trusted_ was a better word for the moment, though; from now on. The Witch met his eyes as Tess fell into the chair and clung to the back. He saw Tess’ eyes pleading with him but he couldn’t break eye contact with the sneaky bitch in front of him. He _needed_ a guarantee. _“Can you promise this will work?”_

“Yes,” Morrigan nodded. Alistair tried to read her; he’d never been good at reading her, though, it seemed. She’d lied to them from the start and no one had seen it. “I am confident of this!” She insisted. “If I truly did not care for Tesslyn’s life, I would not suggest it!” She couldn’t read Alistair just as well, though. Her eyes darted and her brow furrowed deeper in worry as seconds passed. “I will always dislike you, Alistair, but I don’t wish your death either. I know how that would affect my fr- my _friend_. _I_ did not expect to find _friendship_ on this endeavor just as my _mother_ certainly did not expect it, but I did. I found a _sister,_ even. It may be my mother’s ritual, but it is _not her_ I want saved. I am _trying_ to save my _sister._ If _ever_ you _trust_ me, _let it be this once._ I _promise_ it will _not fail!”_

“No dying?”

“No dying,” Morrigan answered him. “I cannot guarantee _other_ creatures, but killing the Archdemon will kill neither of you. And I will do my best to keep you alive and well as we fight.” Awkward pause filled the room. Morrigan looked away with a shaky breath of her own. “Tesslyn, you gave me a chance to choose how I live. I only wish to return the favor. I cannot repay you any other way. This is _not easy_ for me. No matter how you regard me at this moment, I _sit_ here asking my _sister_ to _blindly trust me with her life_ by _letting me borrow her husband,_ knowing as I do so I am _also losing_ the only friend I've ever had. Please do not make this more difficult than it is becoming. As soon as the Archdemon is dead, I _promise_ I will be gone and you can forget I exist.”

Alistair stared at Morrigan, then Tess. Her reason for this ritual resembled his own reason for becoming King. Tess had given them a world of beauty. There was little in the form of repaying worth when one came from a sheltered life. And Morrigan had a point: when it came to Tess' safety, Morrigan risked no chance. No matter how much she repulsed Alistair, Morrigan always stuck by Tess, encouraging her to be her best just as Tess had done to her. She'd accompanied Tess to rescue Anora _to protect Tess_. Alistair had _blindly_ _trusted_ the witch then, and it had been worth it. Morrigan had proven her loyalty, regardless of Alistair. 

“Tess.”

Heartbroken emeralds found his face. There were no words to say how sorry he was for hurting his wife so bad _already_. Her weeping gaze moved across the room, then back to Alistair. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth stretched in a cry but clamped closed, Tess nodded. She continued to nod as she rose from the chair, clumsy and unable to find her balance, but consenting to share her husband. Trembling hands grabbed her cloak from the door and pulled the iron lock open.

“No.” Alistair stood, shaking his head. _He hated himself for this._ He hated Riordan for not telling them sooner, he hated the _Order_ for not telling the world, he hated Morrigan for offering it, he hated it was _Morrigan_ he had to do this with. He would do this fucking ritual and impregnate Morrigan so he could guarantee his wife would not die, but Alistair would not make his wife leave her room so he could fuck her best friend on her bed. “We’ll go… somewhere else.”

Alistair couldn’t look at either woman. From the corner of his eye, he saw Morrigan stand with a deep breath. He saw Tess move to Morrigan’s place as the witch neared the door. Morrigan waiting just outside the door, Alistair kicked himself as he followed her and grabbed the door behind him.

“I more than love you both!” Tess sobbed after them. Alistair met her eyes. Morrigan made a noise and hurried ahead.

Knowing what he was about to do, Alistair felt unworthy to return his wife’s love.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * In the Dragon Age/Bioware book [The Calling](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Dragon_Age:_The_Calling), Duncan is not the only one to meet the Architect. Grand Enchanter Fiona is there as well. I have plans for a later story regarding Riordan saying Duncan is the only one who has seen the Architect. This is the reason I have chosen to make Duncan the only one who mentioned the Architect to other Grey Wardens. I hope this has not confused anyone :)


	73. All This Trust Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan's Dark Ritual ends a friendship in bitterness. Trying to ensure his wife survives makes Alistair the third person to betray Tess in one day. Once assumed Morrigan would always be around as _sister,_ now Alistair and Tess want nothing to do with her. But trying to rescue Denerim from the Darkspawn cracks Alistair's shell. With each district they liberate, Alistair realizes Morrigan has more to lose by carrying his _dragon... god... whatever_ than Alistair and Tess do by knowing _why_ they'll survive the Archdemon. Riordan's plan to separate in the city doesn't make things easier, and as goodbyes are said and endurance tested, Morrigan and Tess are forced to rely on each other for a big decision Tess isn't sure she can make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING******NSFW*** Heavy Angst; angst sex; consensual sex with unwanted pain/partner; bleeding during sex. Mild self-harm. Substance Abuse, relapsing, addiction.  
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [See What I've Become, by Zac Hemsey](https://youtu.be/lWDYAJ2-Y1E)  
> [Redemption, by Zac Hemsey](https://youtu.be/VzgYqiOjc4Q)  
> [Tangled Earth, by Audiomachine](https://youtu.be/-O_-y6xI43U)  
> [The Lion's Heart, by Audiomachine](https://youtu.be/Mvlm7lKunjI)  
> [Champion, by Fallout Boy](https://youtu.be/JJJpRl2cTJc)

Alistair was not gentle. All the fury reserved for Riordan came out on Morrigan. Too scared, too angry, too worried, _too hopeful._ He refused to take off his clothes, forbade Morrigan to take off hers; he didn’t want to see more of her than necessary. He was angry at himself _and Tess_ for agreeing to this plan, angry at Morrigan for even suggesting it - and angry at her for hiding the only reason she’d been with them in the first place. _More betrayal._ Too angry in his own shame of _betraying his wife to save her_ that he couldn’t stimulate himself. He forced Morrigan to; grabbed her, yanked her, shoved her face down over his exposed groin. _Livid at himself for enjoying it, for realizing the act made the pleasure, not the person. For holding her hair up to watch her mouth on him._ Her tears and gagging only fed the shameful stimulation; Tess never gagged on him.  _Wrong mouth, wrong nose, wrong face._ It felt good anyway. _Forcing his people to attend to their King;_ it’s what kings did, right? He shoved her away before she could spend him too soon. Alistair pushed her to her knees and walked behind. When he shoved her shoulders down, she cursed in pain. He only hesitated before penetration. Untamed curls too dark, lips too thin. _Not his woman._

_Was he really doing this?_

Tess wailing in the distance pushed him. Hard and fast, Alistair breached without ensuring Morrigan was ready; he’d always taken his time with Tess. _His breath stole away._ The Witch cried in so much pain it broke her voice like she was shot in the arm all over again. Alistair didn’t stop. She kept trying to arch away, but he couldn’t get deep enough like that. He held her hips so hard his knuckles went white, trying to hurry… _wanted_ to hurry. _Tried to remind himself this was for Tess._ But it _felt good._ Releasing frustration or not, _Morrigan felt good around him._ He  _couldn’t stop_ thrusting. Dark hair hid the face buried in her arms on the floor, hardly muffling noises of pain. But Alistair couldn’t stop. _He needed it._ Tighter than he ever remembered Tess, _siphoning_ from him the need to beat the old Warden to death. He’d _wanted_ to hurry, but his hips slowed to _enjoy_ pulling from her tight hold. She had been dry when he entered, now every push was slick. He watched himself pull all the way out; _she was bleeding;_ enjoyed the suction and the roll of his eyes as she took him back in, _all the way in._ He let the moans and grunts roll from his tongue. When his sack tightened again, _he sped up to enjoy her more._ Whimpers that didn’t belong to his wife hastened. Morrigan buried her face deeper, hips arching away again, but Alistair pushed on her back and thrust faster.

A noise of raw masculine pleasure escaped him when he spilled. Alistair held himself in as deep as he could, sack stuttering to empty him. It was _Tess’_ name that fell from his lips, reminding him he had done this to stay with his _wife_ in the end. He held Morrigan in place until he finished, his eyes clouding with tears that finally remembered this act of _saving his wife_ was no better than betrayal. The two people Tess loved most in the world were creating a _baby_ together, _without_ _her_.

Morrigan remained on the floor when Alistair stood up. Back to her, he looked at his spent cock. Smeared blood rubbed off when he held himself. _Proof he fucked another woman._ He never made Tess bleed.

“Please get out.”

Alistair looked over his shoulder to see Morrigan fastening her pants, her own back to him. She wiped a palm across her face.

“Now.” Her voice trembled with uneven breath.

Alistair’s eyes narrowed. He went to the washing basin and rinsed himself off; _he couldn’t go back to his wife with another woman still on him._ The wet rag left wisps of red in the water. He would scrub himself as soon as he left.

With his back still turned, he tied himself back up, triple-knotting his smalls. “You’re sure the Archdemon will go into it?” He’d asked this a dozen times already. Alistair only wanted validation for the adultery he just committed, _justification_ he did the right thing. Did the Maker forgive stuff like this?

“Yes, of course I am! _Why else,_ Alistair? Why else would I do… _this_ with _you?”_ Angry and bitter herself, now. Alistair dared himself to look back.

“Maybe because my wife told you I was good in bed?” he guessed. He did not regret causing her pain or discomfort.

Morrigan’s eyes looked even more wild with her frown of hurt. “She is my _sister,_ Alistair!”

He shook his head at her. “Not anymore, I think. You will never be welcome here again.”

Alistair slammed Morrigan’s door; two door slammed, two betrayals.

 _No. Three_ betrayals.

He stood with his back to Morrigan’s door, feet frozen. Shame, embarrassment, self-disappointment. _Weakness._ It was all too easy to be unfaithful to his wife. But _he_ had done it. Not Tess - who’d had countless people before she met him, but _Alistair._ He valued the Chantry’s laws. He said his marriage vows in front of Andraste, for crying out loud. He believed in the Chantry’s laws about love and marriage. _But_ **he** _broke them._ Not Tess, who’d tried to leave him. _Alistair the good little Templar_ was unfaithful to his wife…. with her own best friend.

His chest hurt. Breath hurt. His head hurt with the pressure of trying not to cry. He needed to go to the Chantry. He needed to repent and ask the Maker for forgiveness so he could ask his _wife_ for forgiveness. And he needed to scrub his genitals raw. Boiling water and lye and salt scrubs.

Alistair grabbed the shoulder of a passing servant. Arms so full of blankets, she almost fell over when Alistair stopped her. “Oh! Your Majesty! I beg your pardon!” She almost fell over again when she tried to curtsy.

“Fill the bath in my room. _Tess’_ room. Boiling water, the strongest soaps you have. Right now.”

“I- but Your Majesty-” she looked at the quilts she had trouble balancing since he’d stopped her.

 _“Now._ ” He surprised himself at the darkness in his own voice.

“Yes, Your Majesty…”

Alistair walked down the hall, avoiding the gaze of everyone. Avoiding Zevran, Pádraig, Leliana. He didn’t bother stepping around servants; either they moved or he shoved past them.

The door slammed open, then slammed shut behind him, bouncing against the frame. Tess sat on her bed with bottles of liquor and a puffy tear-stained face. The noise of her sob caught in her throat, and as the door creaked back into place behind him, Alistair just stared at her. A near-empty bottle of rum suspended halfway between her lap her mouth. As she stared back, hurt and confusion melted into hope, but Alistair felt his face harden.

There was no reversing what he’d done. He could never be a loyal husband again; it took only _once_. Tess had agreed, Alistair had agreed. But the act itself had changed them both. He saw this already. And now Tess would _live_ with the knowledge her husband impregnated her best friend; her _sister._ And _Alistair_ would live knowing he could never do the same to his _wife_.

He averted his eyes and nodded. Tess wept again. Nothing changed when servants bustled in with steaming water and a bucket of soaps.

He scrubbed himself raw. The bristles felt like needles stabbing his shaft, but he didn’t stop. _Couldn’t_ stop. _He needed to cleanse himself._ When new soap stung and the stroke drew blood, a noise of pain escaped. Tess came to the stone tub in tears to stop him, but he struggled, trying to stay out of reach while still needing the brush. With his movement restricted in the tub, Tess won. He couldn’t look at her, but from the corner of his eye he saw the question on her face: _Why are you doing this?_

Alistair hung his head between his wide shoulders; a giant of a man folded like a frail old woman. The water still steamed, even with the hearth heating the room. His eyes filled; he turned his head to keep her from seeing, but it rolled down his nose and dripped into the bath. _I liked it,_ he had to get it off his chest. She _had_ to know why, _he needed_ her to let him scrub the witch off. _It felt good._

Uneven breath broke the silence of the room. Tess turned his face, but Alistair closed his eyes to avoid her. Before he could apologize, a hand landed hard on his face. But the sting of her palm didn’t compare to shame in his heart and the pain he caused scrubbing. _Alistair deserved it._ Tess crumbled against him in more tears, her own apologies so broken they came out in syllables. She buried herself in him, clinging to his far shoulder, trying to pull him in. Tried without end to pull his arms around her though Alistair would not let himself touch her.

Fingers slid at his face, so slick with tears of his shame and bathwater steam. Unable to turn his head again, Tess leaned over. Her hand slipped; she hissed at the heat of the water as she splashed in. She _crawled_ in, soaking her noble gown, wincing at the pain of water best left for cooking shellfish. Alistair watched her struggle, trying to make room when he could hardly move himself, thinking her mad for plunging in like she had. He still tried to keep away from her stare. Soaked and sobbing on her hands and knees, she balanced herself on one arm and reached for his face. She was now too close to avoid her eyes.

Trembling lips pushed against his, and Alistair fell apart. She _kept_ kissing him, refused to stop, kissed him until he gave in to her need to know he still loved her even though  _he had like it._ Through tears and gasps and slipping hands, they kissed in place of apologies and confessing heartache and promises of _never again._ When Alistair finally reached up to hold her, she broke the kiss with a wail and slid down his face into the crook of his neck, quaking so hard she shook him. He cried over her, arms firm in place where he did not expect her to let him be yet.

 _She forgave him._ Alistair had broken her heart _again, but she forgave him. His wife forgave his unfaithfulness._

 _How many times had they cried together already?_ Dress drenched and floating atop water, Tess lay against him like she would never let go, and Alistair kept his wife to his heart. They did not move until the water chilled around them and toes wrinkled.

Climbing out of the tub for a last night of sleep reawakened Alistair’s painful attempt to remove all traces of the witch. Shiny and raw and unable to be dried, Alistair cursed himself. He had broken his most sensitive skin when he had a five-day ride and unknowable sleepless days in battle ahead of him. He needed a thorough healing, otherwise his smalls would chafe and keep the skin open, and _days_  in battle without baths would invite infection. _Infection on his penis._ Fucking void, it was almost more horrifying than the _idea_ of fucking Morrigan. While Alistair lie nude on the bed and let his groin air-dry, Tess peeled off her wet gown and under clothes, tying closed a heavy robe on her way out the door. Barefoot and obvious she wore nothing under the robe, Tess left Alistair to fetch salves and potions from Wynne.

Potions and salves alone did not do the trick, though. Neither husband or wife spoke of Alistair’s reason for scrubbing while Tess hovered over his crotch and applied balms. _Admittedly the most stupid thing Alistair had done._ There was not a single place Tess could touch that was not raw and tender, and the natural crinkling of his foreskin irritated him no matter what Tess applied. Covered in a draped sheet, Tess left again to fetch Wynne. Thank the Maker Tess already had a believable lie ready: _Alistair tried a new soap tonight and he had a bad reaction._ Wynne stood over him funneling her sparkling creamy spell into his entire body. She said nothing, as Alistair caught her from the corner of his eye, while she observed husband and wife’s tear-stained faces. If she knew what had transpired with Morrigan, Wynne did not say it. And if Wynne knew, the others might know.

 _How would Alistair forget what he’d done?_ If everyone knew, it would shame him forever and insult Tess; they would be seen like Anora and Cailan with all his mistresses. He only hoped the rest of their _friends_ were as courteous as Wynne.

Tess lay under the covers and Alistair sat atop, still nude for fear the blanket would irritate his healing skin. The salves and spell had healed enough, full scabs had formed and his skin returned to its natural shade. He would heal by morning. At least for the night - the last night in  _comfort_ \- Alistair had a painful reminder he’d _fucked_ a woman his wife had trusted. The only reason they slept that night was because of Wynne's deep sleep potions.

Daybreak brought a volley of discomfort. Alistair tried to keep the _hard king_ facade, but it proved a chore. Though it was not out of character for him to ignore Morrigan, his wife doing so was more unexpected than snow this winter. After a year and a half of blatant favoritism to each other, Tess and Morrigan no longer acknowledged one another. Questions arose. Alistair even figured Zevran and Leliana already guessed; the other masters of deception in their party. If Tess had not hardened her heart before, it was stone now. For hours, the primary sound of the party were the horses hooves and the golems stomping behind.

To make matters worse, Pádraig seemed to feel the discord between Tess and Morrigan stronger than anyone. While Tess looked ready to behead everyone, Morrigan showed a smudge of depression; if it was even possible for her. Pádraig kept asking _How can I help? Please, let me help._ When Morrigan snapped at him malaise and resentful, Pádraig could not disguise his concern. He begged Alistair to tell him the trouble. As much as Morrigan was now a thorn in their side, knowing his friend hurt because _Morrigan_ hurt made him want to keep his adultery a secret that much more.

As if tension between Tess and Morrigan wasn’t obvious, _no one_ liked Riordan anymore. Morrigan had been right about everyone hearing Alistair whirl off on him. Wynne and Eamon upheld formal pleasantries, but even Teagan scowled at the old Warden. Riordan had been accepted without question; he ate as one of them, trained as one of them,  _laughed_ as one of them. He’d given them practice fighting Darkspawn so the army would be effective when it mattered most. But he’d not had the courtesy to warn of the true danger. The entire party, including those of Tess’ elite guard who’d rescued them from the Deep Roads, felt betrayed. Zevran gave their disapproval voice as the ride from Redcliffe held tensions too thick to cut: _From this awkward silence, you’d think a_ **_brother_ ** _announced his chosen sacrifice to the_ **_voice_ ** _in his head._ Shale then offered to  _squish_ any heads that needed _squishing._ Riordan’s reason for _assuming_ Tess would die seemed as Zevran said, like Tess was intended to  _appease_ the Old God of Riordan’s _Calling._ Though he willingly rode along, Riordan was more like a prisoner of war, remaining only so Alistair could make sure _he_ made the killing blow. Efforts beyond what the party knew themselves capable of were invested in _healing as a family,_ and  _no_ one was willing to sacrifice they only family they had left.

 _Not even Morrigan._ This realization alone made Alistair soften towards the Witch. The unspoken agreement between husband and wife was to forget Morrigan existed, but Alistair couldn’t do it anymore. He still hated himself for _betraying_ his wife, but knowing the party’s reason for taking _Riordan’s_ betrayal to heart, Alistair understood Morrigan’s motive. She’d said so upon proposal, but Alistair only now believed it. _She only wanted to save her sister._

Tess refused to acknowledge Alistair’s change of heart, but it didn’t stop him. When they stopped for a relief break, Alistair hurried to wait at Morrigan’s horse. Though he felt Tess’ glare, he didn’t back out. In effort to save her sister, Morrigan had _let_ Alistair _hurt_ her, and she’d not complained or told him to stop. She had endured whatever pain he caused that made her bleed. In effort to forgive himself so he might enjoy his _wife_ again when this Blight mess ended, Alistair needed to acknowledge Morrigan’s intent. _He needed to._

Head down with a frown, shame and solitude on face, Morrigan did not see him until Alistair thrust out fresh rations packed only for the King and Queen. He wasn't sure if it made a difference to _her,_ but everyone else had groaned at having dried meat again; their staple in the Deep Roads. He hoped sharing made his point. Morrigan stared at the food and him, suspicion retracting her body from reach.  

She scoffed, the look on her face saying she couldn’t believe it took _them_ this long to betray _her._ “Tis _poisoned?_ Give it to Riordan. Unlike him, _I_ need to live through this.” She pushed past Alistair and grabbed the saddle of her horse.

“No.” Alistair shook his head. He took her hand from the saddle and closed it around the wrapped meat and dried fruit. “This is me trusting my wife’s sister.”

Shock of the unexpected act of kindness resonated back to Alistair when Morrigan met his eyes. The bitterness and hatred Alistair thought he’d feel was not present as Alistair stared back. He caught her effort to hold back emotion that shimmered as she turned her head.  _More embarrassment and shame than he imagined._  Alistair squeezed his hand over hers, then left without another word.

Pádraig, whose horse was one of three between theirs, stared as Alistair neared. If Pádraig had ever wished to hide his feelings for Morrigan, he was incapable now. Alistair clapped his friend on the arm. “Ride with her, Pád.” Maybe the only blessing Alistair would ever give his friend for this union. At this point, Tess’ safety, and Alistair’s, depended on Morrigan’s. Until Morrigan disappeared like she promised, Pádraig would be there for her.  

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Pádraig’s admiration of Morrigan proved he was not ready to hear the source of her anguish and Tess’ disregard. Alistair nodded at his friend before returning to his disapproving wife.

Tess glared as if he had _nerve_ to speak to her betrayer after last night. Alistair climbed his horse with ease, grateful Wynne’s healing and balms worked as hoped; he suspected it would be difficult otherwise to show Morrigan kindness. He took a deep breath as he adjusted himself and wound the reins around his fist.

“Tess,” he looked at his wife, keeping his voice quiet, “if I don’t trust Morrigan right now, what kind of husband does last night make me?” For the first time that day, Tess let the pain inside seep out. Alistair held her hand as they rode, knowing it would not be enough until Morrigan was long gone from her sight and memory.

 

_Only a single squad from the entire army remained._

Still over half a day from the ruins of Lothering, panic set in as the party watched _only four soldiers_ run to them. Pádraig sprinted his horse ahead, but before he could even ask, they got their answer. Breathless and sweating, the soldier who reported in said the tail end of the army spotted the Darkspawn through telescopes. The dwarves ran back to intercept the Darkspawn. Since half the army was only two days off, the sergeants of each regiment also agreed to return. They would hold off the Darkspawn and thin the horde as best they could in Denerim while the Wardens returned. While both Pádraig and Alistair wanted to reprimand the squad in place of the army, they couldn’t. The army had made the right call on their own. Alistair was grateful for the dwarves once again; the Legion’s experience with darkspawn was already a leading example for the surfacers who’d never seen one in their lives.

Catching his breath in relief like the winded squad, Alistair praised his soldiers for the integrity to inform them. Without this single squad, they would have ridden in fear of the whole army dying, lost hope and no point continuing. If they’d gone any more days without seeing the army, Alistair might whisk Tess away after all.

The knowledge of the armies marching ahead meant no time could be spared. If the Wardens took their time, it would give the _Darkspawn_ time to drag survivors underground to feed and create _more_ darkspawn. The mabari were riled, Tess more inspiring to the hounds than anyone; the only of them who had bonded with one. Watching Po respond only to Tess reminded them all of another reason to save Ferelden: mabari loyalty. It had led the country to success through the ages despite the odds, an advantage over foreign enemies all Fereldans carried in their blood. The horses were fed dried herbs for stamina. While the party stiffened and prepared for faster travel, the squad who’d run for days on foot recovered with potions. Even more than yesterday, _there was no more time left - for anyone._

 

 **_Tess_** **_:_ **

_The walls of Denerim are on fire. Flame from oil and dry flame, the smell of burning flesh. The closer I ride, the clearer it is to see: the bailey is not aflame, but burning flesh stuck to it. It’s like the dead were set on fire and catapulted in place of boulders. If not scraped off in time, the grout will char and crumble, the bailey will fall. This city that has stood ages will fall._

_Those fucking toads. Where did they learn to destroy stone like this? And this has been happening for days?_

_A screech off in the distance answers for me. My Blighted dark master. I still hate Riordan for lying to us, but I won’t deny he’s right about the Archdemon. The only good Archdemon is a dead one. If … if that **Witch** of the **Wilds** wants its soul so bad she can have it. But I want this one’s body dead, and she better keep its soul far out of my sight. _

_Are you listening, Urthemiel? I’m coming._

_As if he can hear me, the dark dragon flying yonder turns and roars. I can feel Urthemiel’s eyes from here._

 

The bulk of the army had scattered. Those fighting outside the city gates informed Pádraig as they rode up. The army scattered according to where the darkspawn concentrated; multiple regiments outside the city walls, but where the others were, the soldiers at the gates did not know. Charging into Denerim did not prove the challenge they expected so far. Blight or no, that was never a good sign in war.

The party rode further into the vestibule of the city. On a normal day, a stroll through the Atrium district was exciting. Now it only inspired fear and vengeance. Fires still burned but some buildings were already blackened. The only way to identify wagons or barrels were the designs of burn marks upon the ground. The Grey Warden in Alistair saw the  _beginning_ of the Archdemon’s wrath. The _King of Ferelden_ saw generations of successful guilds and notable attractions _gone._ Theatre house, music hall, breweries that specialized in smoked peat drink _unique to Ferelden,_ city museum and historical society, bed and breakfast inns, Fereldan sweets shop, city library, hunters lounge, ladies’ hall and men's club… _all gone._ Everything that strengthened Ferelden’s flow of trade _destroyed._ All that work to rid crime from Denerim, and now none of it mattered. The nobles of their party looked around with heavy hearts with their King. It would take years of sea trade to raise the coin to rebuild, and they could only hope survivors made it underground or to sea in time. Without survivors, there would be no merchants to bring in coin and Denerim would not rebuild.

They didn’t make it to the end of the Atrium district before darkspawn emerged. From the market district they spilled, guttural laughing like the darkspawn thought they surprised the Wardens. Mabari charged, heading the offense, and as soon as the party dismounted, the Anderfels horses joined the hounds. The Wardens thought they had prepared, seen all the tactics and strength of their Blighted enemies. But the Archdemon had withheld the best for last. Between darkspawn that took no time to fell, genlocks who fought like Zevran and Tess popped up from nowhere; _almost worse than shrieks;_  and hurlocks swung like Oghren and Sten. _As if the Darkspawn had studied them in the Deep Roads._ As the party fought on, the chance for survivors looked worse and worse.

Nearing the threshold to the market district revealed an ogre, a hurlock, and three genlocks. Before breath was even caught, the ogre reared to charge, and the genlocks and hurlock raised shimmering hands and toothy grins. _Darkspawn mages._ Alistair hated Blight magic as much as blood magic; they differed little. He didn’t know who to target first - the ogre which could crush people with a single squeeze, or the monstrosities who favored necromancy and magic prisons that crushed victims from inside.  

Tess rushed ahead with daggers out, but Blight spells primed first. Instead of targeting different sources like Morrigan and Wynne did in combat, _all four spells hit Tess at once._ Time stopped around Alistair as he watched in horror at the fire, lightning, and a crushing prison attack  _only Tess._ A scream ripped though his throat. The ogre charged with its head, but for once an ogre was not priority. Alistair raised his shield and ran towards the hurlock, yelling for others to take out the other emissaries. _This couldn’t happen! Not like this! He’d done the fucking ritual, Tess wasn’t suppose to die!!_

He never made it to the hurlock. The moment froze them all:

A fist of stone more sinister Branka's hand ejected from thin air, but as it hit Tess, _injure_ was not what happened. In a pulse of light, a cocoon of energy began winding together and Tess was lifted to her toes. The light pulsed again; a scream was lost as a steady stream wove around her body. Thousands of wisps wrapped, clouding her skin, _her eyes flashed like thunderbolts,_ growing brighter by the second. Even the darkspawn stopped to watch. Alistair tried a cleansing burst with no avail. Wynne tried to siphon mana to absorb the force, but Tess had no mana. Then without warning - _as if any of this came with a warning_ \- Tess _erupted_ with a scream. A flash so bright Alistair couldn’t see, a noise louder than a dozen shrieks. Alistair screamed when a pyretic roiling pulse knocked him off his feet. Eyes shut so tight he saw red, Alistair heard the scream dim. A pulse shook beneath his knees, then again. He opened his eyes to see a barrier like shallow ocean water surround the entire party, except Tess. _Her_ voice was muffled. Head thrown back and arms outstretched like she offered the world a hug, Tess returned another wave of Blight magic to the Darkspawn. Purple lightning, golden fire, shards of rock. Everything outside Wynne’s dome of protection flung back and fell in slow motion, bloodied shards and blackened drops landing first. The ogre fell so hard the ground shook beneath Alistair; a corner of the its leg caught in Wynne’s spell the only part of it not damaged.

Wynne’s spell shimmered away like evaporating water. Tess swayed and staggered. Alistair yelled for his wife, but as he got to his feet, Tess dropped like a soggy rag doll. A jerk like a charge of lightning shook her body. Alistair skidded to his knees, but the first touch bit him like hot coals; he pulled back with a yelp. He stared at his wife while he shook his hand. Purple and white bolts swam and dove under her armor, like the leather was part of her skin. _Lurching like a fish out of water._ Clouds of flame rolled around. _Her pupils glowed white._ She convulsed and gasped, each wave of fire and lightning causing harder jerks and the illusion of solid rock crumbling over her skin. _Fuck! Tess! How could Alistair stop it? They hadn’t planned for this!_

“No, no no.” A voice that never expressed worry until mere nights ago. Morrigan crashed to her bare knees on the other side of Tess. “No! Tesslyn?” She withdrew her hand with hiss, only to fumble around her belt.

“Wynne!” Alistair’s voice broke. But the old woman was already there funneling a sparkling golden mist into Tess. Still his wife spasmed, bolts and buckles on her leather armor clanking against the ground. The glow in her eyes brightened. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck!_ “Why isn’t it working?”

“What’s wrong with my sister?” Fergus skidded over.

Morrigan made a face as she forced her hand to open Tess’ mouth, jolted by the same fire and lightning that rolled through Tess. She brought the bottle Tess' face anyway.  _Lyrium!_ “Are you fucking kidding me?!” Alistair hit the vial of blue liquid out of Morrigan’s hands.

“No!” Morrigan twitched as another bolt absorbed into her finger. She immediately dug out another vial of lyrium. Alistair pushed her away, but she came back up. “Stop! Alistair, she needs this! Look at her!” Tess gasping and jerking below didn’t calm.

“You’ll kill her! _Someone stop her!”_ Alistair yelled.

“The magic is _already_ killing her! _Look at her, Alistair!”_

“Lyrium is what started this to begin with!”

“Alistair-” Pádraig started.

“And what’s left in her blood is the only thing keeping her alive!” Morrigan cried out. “She’s been too long without it! If you don’t let me give it to her, she will _die in minutes!_ _Let me give it to her!”_ She tried to uncork the vial out of his reach, but he leaned over and hit that one away; a second wasted bottle of lyrium.

Alistair stared at the Witch. He couldn’t discern the voices around him, the fires around them blurred.

 _“Someone tell me what’s wrong with my sister!”_ Fergus demanded. Alistair stopped Morrigan’s hand again.

 _“No!”_ she wailed. “She _needs_ it! Let me help her pass it! _She’s dying, Alistair!_ It will _continue_ until it expends the last of her!  _Lyrium_ tells her body what to do with magic! She’s gone too long without her dose in the Deep Roads, she’s _not processing_ it like lyrium lets her! This will _remind_ her! _You must let me give it to her!”_

“Alistair, she’s not breathing! Let her try it!” Pádraig insisted.

Alistair couldn’t think. His wife’s face grew purple without air beneath him, _darker by the second,_ but _he_ was unable to stop it. _He couldn’t save his wife. Again._ Morrigan’s _fucking betraying ritual_ hadn’t planned on Tess intercepting magic for them. Once more, Alistair had no choice but to trust the woman who made him an unfaithful husband. Breath caught, fear choked him. Someone caught him as he fell away from his wife and the Witch.

Morrigan winced as she held Tess’ mouth open. Her elbow shook as she tried to steady her hand for a slow pour. Tears gathered at her eyelids; Morrigan hissed with every zap that hit her. Alistair could only watch as the blue stream _whose last withdrawal almost killed Tess_ disappeared past her lips. His chest hurt _worse_ in anticipation of the next weaning; _how many times could he pray this wouldn’t kill her?_ He heard nothing but his own heartbeat and gasps.

Like a string pulled her up, Tess gasped with the largest breath Alistair ever saw someone take. He laughed in relief and crawled back to his wife, the pain in his chest cracking away like a broken mirror. Out of awareness, Tess took hold of the vial and drank like a starving babe. Breath deepened and slowed. Lightning and fire waned from her body, and the rounds it made decreased. Morrigan fumbled with a larger, less concentrated bottle, and when she replaced the empty one at Tess’ mouth, she sat back with her own sigh of respite. The glow from under Tess’ eyelids dimmed. By the time she finished the second bottle and took another breath, all traces of the magical attack had disappeared from her skin. _Lyrium reminded her body how to process magic;_ just like Morrigan said. From the corner of his eye as he held his wife and kissed her head, Alistair saw Morrigan wipe her face.

 

**_Tess:_ **

_“Now will_ **_someone_ ** _please tell what just happened?” Fergus demands._

_I can’t answer him yet. The blocky triangular bottle in my hand has a trace of sparkling blue grit at the bottom._

_Lyrium. I guess that explains why I feel like I can spit-shine every wall in Denerim in an hour._

_For the first time since fighting together at Ostagar… however long ago that was, Alistair is not upset with me for using it. He won’t stop kissing the top of my head._

_A slender hand extends palm up; fingertips red and raw like they were held to flame. I look up before I consider it might be Morrigan; she was always the one to give me lyrium. In spite of the awkward ride here with not a single glance at her, I’m surprised to find she looks the same. Well, not the same, but not the demonic shrew I expected to see her as from that night on. I honestly expected another Desire Demon, but she is still Morrigan. Morrigan like she was when she took noise away in the prison. Her face is long and her eyes have glossed. The corners of her mouth tremble as she continues to hold her open hand out. I place the empty bottle in her hand, and she nods in response._

_As her hand retracts, a solemn look of comprehension etches her face. It makes me uncomfortable. But looking away reminds me why I needed the lyrium in the first place. Darkspawn litter the ground around us. I remember the genlock mages, and the hurlock with the staff. I remember the pain; the fire and lightning and squeezing. It swirled inside me and bunched up, then exploded like all those failed experiments in Tevinter. Worse than that night at Ostagar and the Alienage._

_Morrigan is still wearing that same stare when I look at her again._

_I understand the look on her face now. I ran into a swarm of Blight magic, and lyrium helped me absorb it; it is exactly the reason it did not kill me. No one else took the magic, I took it all for them. The lyrium inside my bones stole the magic from the air. From the pain I felt, I doubt the spells even neared the others. I stole the bad magic and kept everyone from getting hit._

_Morrigan thinks I’m the only one who can win this war._

_I look down at my hands; Alistair has moved from my hair to my cheek. I turn my hands. I can feel the lyrium circulating in me, I feel the remnants of the magic. I can feel the remainder of essence the magic has left on the lyrium inside me. Maker, she can’t be… That can’t be right. Morrigan’s not right._

_Is she?_

 

“It is her addiction,” Leliana answered through a sip of water as Alistair pulled his wife to her feet. “So long in the making she does not need to take it every day. We saw it in the Alienage as well.”

“What?” Fergus laughed in incredulity.

Tess nodded, taking her own sip of water as Alistair brushed off her back and hair. “Lyrium and me are ridiculously good friends,” Tess said. Humor was always her way to mask embarrassment.

“Wait wait wait-” Fergus shook his head and held up his hands. “That was _lyrium?_ Lyrium _does_ that to people?”

“When you take dozens of potions a day, yes,” Tess answered.

"I thought it was for _mages,_ to aid their mana?" Fergus looked at their own two mages.

"And Templars," Tess added. "It's _in_ my _bones,_ Fergus. I guess it made me like a  _super_ Templar."

“You don’t want to know her limits,” Alistair told Fergus.

“And _Loghain_ did this to you?” Fergus stared at his sister.

Tess hesitated with a tip of her head and a wince. “A Magister _perfected_ it, but Loghain started it.”

Alistair frowned. “I wouldn’t call it anything near _perfect.”_

“A _Magister?_... so that's what you were doing in Tevinter. _Maker’s fucking breath_ …” Fergus ran his hands down his face.

"I _told_ you, you wouldn't believe me," Teagan said, clapping him on the back. Fergus looked almost lost. "And now you know why she could not go home sometimes."

“Sister, that is _madness_ what you did," Fergus insisted. "I trust you _realize_ how _dangerous_ you are?” He turned around in effort to gather his thoughts. “Mother would be furious. _Grandfather_ would be _so_ jealous.”

“I expect the First Warden would be jealous as well. And I trust the _Archdemon_ knows your danger,” Riordan’s voice spoke up. “He sees through the darkspawn easier than he sees through old Wardens in their Calling, I’m afraid.” He walked ahead. “I will need to go by myself. I feel the Darkspawn too well here. You stand a better chance at living when I am not with you.”

 _“No._ You will _stay_ where I can _see_ you!” Alistair started after him. “You will not run off and avoid your duty! _You are killing that fucking dragon, Riordan!”_

Riordan stared at him. “I cannot stay. I will do my best to kill the Archdemon, but if I stay, the darkspawn meant as fodder will converge. I sense the generals in city already; in turn, I know they feel us. Together, we will be recognized as Grey Wardens. But separate, my Taint is ripe; Wardens progressed as myself do considerable damage before we expire. You two are not far enough in your own Taint to draw so much attention from a distance. While you fight your way around, I will try to draw the mass of the horde away from you.”

“What do you mean, _generals?”_ Fergus demanded. “I thought you said these things were unintelligent?”

“We don’t have any better names for them.” Riordan shook his head. “They are the ones who lead the horde when the Archdemon is not giving orders. They keep the others in line, so to speak. They are the strongest and most adept in battle, but that is where their talents lie. They are stronger and less wary, so they are followed. The _alphas_ of the pack. Their positions do not differ much from our own commanders. Hence, we call them generals. There are three that I can sense so far. I pray that is all the generals we find.” Riordan looked at Alistair and Tess. “The generals will be drawn to Warden Taint, the stronger the better. They have an uncanny sense for feeling us, and this is why I must leave you. I will make my way toward the Archdemon and try to draw him towards Fort Drakon. I will head for the roof. There, we can confront him without losing the rest of our army. If I meet him first, will do my best to kill him. But if I stay with you, we are an easier target for the mass of the horde. If we are met by the remainder of the horde, no one will survive. No matter what you may think of me anymore,” the elder Warden said, “I am proud to have met you both. You are skilled more than you realize, and I know you will do your country proud. You have already done the Wardens proud.” He crossed his arms and bowed. “If I do not see you again: _In War, Victory, In Peace, Vigilance,_ Your Majesties.”

Alistair watched Riordan jog away, leaping over rubble to climb a broken wall; age nor Calling affected Riordan's agility. Alistair sighed. _It was a fucking day for trusting backstabbers._

 _This_ trust _shit had better pay off in the end._

“I can take him _and_ the next two towers out at once,” Branka offered. Alistair glanced back and groaned when he saw the chunk of rubble in her huge hands.

 _“I_ can paint him on the first tower and still leave it standing,” Shale challenged before Alistair could speak.

“If one of you _throws_ me, _I_ can _pin_ him to the first tower, and he will die  _very slowly_ while the  _birds_ pick out his _eyes,_ ” Zevran suggested with a nod.

 _“No!_ _No_ one is breaking my _walls_ and _towers_ and _no_ one is getting thrown!” Alistair scolded them. “The darkspawn are doing enough damage!” He wished he’d brought a flask like Oghren. As he turned around to find the drunken dwarf, clanking footsteps approached.

Leliana pulled an arrow and aimed, mimicked by half the elite guard. The man running around the corner almost fell over trying to stop so fast.

“Maker’s breath, I’m not a darkspawn!” he cried out with his hands up.

Alistair lowered a hand at the guard and Leliana, and the soldier whirled around. “What are you looking for?” Alistair asked the man, surprised he hadn’t spun himself dizzy already. Alistair thought too soon though. The man spun back around, but upon recognizing Alistair, a sudden bow caused him to lose balance.

“Sodding- !” the soldier tripped over his own feet trying to stand. “Your Majesty, forgive me!”

“Where is your unit?” Pádraig demanded.

“I was - _oh shit! Captain!”_ the soldier jerked himself upright in salute.

Pádraig sighed in disbelief. “Fucking deserters already!” he breathed. “Maker preserve me!”

“No! No, Captain! I swear! I was sent ahead to check the area was clear! Angus of Fifth Regiment!” he saluted again, still out of breath. “Fifth and Ninth Regiment are behind me, Ser! We were sent back to hold the gates!”

“Hold the gates?” Alistair echoed. “What about the rest of the city?”

The soldier laughed in disbelief. “Surprisingly better off than here. We were three days late, but even then they’ve only taken here and the markets. The city and palace guard put a _damnable fight,_ Your Majesty." At least he was proud of his compatriots. "We cut them off on the Northeast residential district. They’re easily distracted by fire.” He gestured around to the burning buildings. “As soon as we figured that out, the guild masters themselves burned this place. That was when we cut them off. They turned right back around, and the dwarves ambushed them. I mean, not that we’ve not lost anyone, but compared to them… we’re not doing as bad we feared. We need to stop for breath more than we do wounds.”

“If we’re doing so well, where’s the rest of the army?” Alistair asked.

“Scattered, as _they_ are - the darkspawn, that is, though the bulk is closer to Fort Drakon. But we match them savvy to blade. We know the city, they don’t. They’re at least triple strong, but disorganized, and they don’t seem to fight with purpose. There’s just a _lot_ of them, like they’re only meant to wear us down. I don’t think it’s working like they planned, though.” He nodded.

“And the Archdemon?” Tess asked.

“Flying around screeching, Your Majesty. We think he’s eaten a few of us, but… well, truthfully, we’re trying _not_ to think of that.”

As soon as Fifth and Ninth Regiments caught up, the Wardens party learned the rest of the city was otherwise under control. Like Angus said, Alistair’s army matched Darkspawn wit against number, and for now the odds were even because of it.The darkspawn came back in batches every now and then to the same places they’d fought before, suggesting they could not navigate the city. Many districts housed defensive positions Alistair’s army used every time the darkspawn reappeared because the monstrosities didn’t learn from mistakes. Most districts were under constant battle, but for the most part, the Wardens and their party had arrived in time.

If they killed the Archdemon quick enough, Denerim would come out much better than expected. According to Duncan and Riordan, as soon as the Archdemon was killed, the horde would flee. With any luck, the Chevaliers and Orlesian Wardens would arrive and help kill the retreating stragglers.

The Market District was the Wardens first stop. The Regiments had seen a new fire start from that direction not long before they got their orders to hold the gate. But as the Wardens and their party started towards the markets, another spill of darkspawn clustered at the city gates behind them.

Alistair stood torn for a moment, so much noise and fire and smoke around him it was hard to think. He needed to run through his districts stopping what he could, but he also couldn’t let the gates fall. Expendable or not, the darkspawn at the gates could overpower the city if they kept battle focused there.

“Go, Warden. We will hold them off.” Sten gave a nod as Alistair found his eyes.

Alistair looked at his his party. Oghren readied his battleaxe and nodded also. Leliana held her bow tighter. Shale banged her fists together.

“Go!” Sten repeated. “You have a job to do, one we cannot fulfill. We will hold them off.”

“Do not worry about us.” Leliana stood firm. “We will make them regret annoying us in the Deep Roads.” She tried to fake a smile, though her knuckles were white at her bow.

Tess already worried. She looked from their party to Alistair and back again. Alistair shared her apprehension. He had never considered a day where they would not all be together. Together, they were a force to match the Maker's own wrath; they were each others shields and blades. Now, they could not waste time on formal goodbyes, but it felt like they needed to. It _felt_ like goodbye. So much discomfort on the ride back from Redcliffe, and now it all seemed like a childish squabble. There was no time for goodbyes, but with the darkspawn outnumbering their army five to one, they might not meet again. _A year and a half_ with most of them, no breaks. They knew each other's footsteps and how much each ate, they knew what foods to avoid _or offer_ to give each other gas. They could predict each other’s remarks. They _breathed_ each other. 

 _Family,_ no matter how different they all looked or how much they irritated each other. Alistair frowned and blinked to keep his eyes clear.

“Oh, go on. This moment of contemplating when I’ll next see it is straining on my optic pebbles,” Shale said. Alistair couldn’t help a smile.

He met eyes with all of them. Deciding how to balance the scale when everyone complimented each other was more tough than the decision to kill the _Hero of River Dane_. It came down to leaving the heaviest hitters to hold off the remaining horde at the gates, while the _smallest_ heavy hitters  _and Morrigan_ went after the Archdemon. He felt like a traitor himself for even considering leaving his  _uncle_ and Tess' brother to hold the gates.

He felt it proved  _what he was willing to sacrifice_ just to keep his wife. Kingship was a horrible, lowly business.

“Shale, Zev, Morrigan.” Alistair nodded for them to join him and Tess. 

Po barked in excitement as if he’d been called and stood proudly at Tess’ side; the other mabari followed suit as if Po was their leader. Pádraig called for the elite guard to follow the queen and king, but Alistair only took half; the rest were needed with Teagan and Eamon and Fergus.

Alistair smiled at Wynne; frail old lady who would likely not last a whole day of combat. He hated leaving her to help hold the front gates, but the party would need healing, and Morrigan needed to be where the Archdemon died. “Anyone who falls down, Wynne, you take that walking stick of yours and _you beat_ them back up,” he teased.

Wynne made a noise through a laugh. “Walking stick, eh? You’re lucky I don’t beat you with it!” she wagged her staff at him. “Walking stick my rump!” she chuckled. Alistair felt his eyes tear up while he smiled.

“Ah, get out of here,” Oghren said. “When we’re done, I’ll have Branka throw a messenger over.”

“I’ll throw Oghren over,” Branka corrected. Alistair laughed again.

The King of Ferelden turned around and gripped his shield tighter. _This was it,_ he supposed. Before he could start off with Tess at his side, a mess of cherry hair flung at Tess. Alistair looked down to see Leliana hugging Tess as hard as she could.

“If you don’t come back, I will be _very cross_ with you!” Leliana whispered.

“Oh, Maker. Don’t make me cry, I have to go kill things!” Tess said.

Alistair himself was turned around. Teagan looked as grim about maybe never seeing him again as Alistair felt his odds were seeing the others. King and _Arl_ met eyes before Teagan pulled him in for a tight hug, as well.

“I am proud of you, nephew,” Teagan told him.

 _As if this goodbye wasn’t hard enough._ Alistair didn’t want to hug Teagan. He didn’t want to feel like he _needed_ to _just in case._ Though he called him _Uncle,_ Teagan was more like _father._ Alistair wanted to believe Teagan would be still be alive and kicking when the Archdemon was dead.

Alistair hugged him anyway, the best he could with his shield in one hand and his sword drawn. “You can’t die,” Alistair’s voice broke even though he’d kept the tears at bay so far. “That is an _order,_ uncle.”

Teagan kissed his head and pulled back with a smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it. You’d have no one to chug brandy with.” Alistair couldn’t help that laugh for the life of him. But he understood the last silent exchange too well: Teagan _chose_ to stay behind to buy them time, even if it meant dying. Alistair's eyes filled; Teagan smiled again and cupped his  face with one hand. "My job is done, nephew," he whispered. Alistair tried so hard to hold the tears back that he couldn't say  _he still needed his uncle._

Teagan moved on to Tess with a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t you die, either, young lady. You’ve a _wedding_ to attend. I have a handful of over-eager women already sewing your gown.”

“Oh, Teagan.” Tess looked up at him with a pout that spilled tears.

“Who else am I going to give away at Alistair’s wedding?” Teagan smiled only for her.

“What am I? Chopped nug?” Fergus walked up beside Alistair checking his straps and buckles.

“Fergus, you _cannot_ marry Alistair, how many times must I tell you?” Teagan joked, stepping back with his brother and the rest of the party. Another round of laughter when all they wanted was to know they’d celebrate with each other the next day.

 _“I’ll_ give my sister away, thank you.” Fergus grinned. He pulled his own sword and shield from his back. _“You_ can give _Alistair_ away. And we’ll make faces at each other from across the way the whole time.”

“Fergus, I need you here to hold the gate. You saw them all out there,” Alistair said with a lump in gut. He gave last nod to Sten to avoid Fergus' eyes, then watched Sten lead the others into battle; Teagan took his time following. The Anderfels horses were already engaged in combat alongside Fifth and Ninth Regiments and the soldiers outside the gate.

Fergus stepped into view, ignoring the order. Alistair didn't mean to catch his gaze. “If you think I’m going to let my little sister run up to a dragon and stab it to death without getting my _own_ sword in there, you’ve got an interesting life as _my brother_ -in-law ahead of you.”

“Fergus, we don’t make promises of life in this party. They never come true.” Tess shook her head and turned away from their party and Teagan. Alistair shared a glance with Morrigan; Riordan still had Tess convinced she would die.  _Alistair's wife followed him here even though she expected they'd die._

 _“Nonsense!”_ Pádraig stepped up on the other side of Morrigan. _“I’m_ here. We’ll all be perfectly fine.” He looked back at Alistair with a wink. Alistair didn’t have the heart to tell his friend to stay back with Teagan.

Maybe with Fergus and Pádraig with them this time, they _would_ come out unharmed. Pádraig was blessed with good timing, after all.

... And with Pádraig here, Morrigan would survive to fulfill _her_ promise. 

Tess began walking. “Only until you take another arrow to your leg, Pádraig.”

“That is very likely. I am here, too. We’re bound to get shot together again,” Zevran joked.

“You’re just a bunch of sodding rays of sunshine, both of you. Er, _Your Majesty,”_ Pádraig added with a grin.

“Ah, the men running my country,” Fergus teased.

Between the emissary attack and the goodbyes, Alistair hoped they lived to joke tomorrow.

The Market district was almost as bad as the Atrium district. Had Alistair not felt the need to save as much of his capital as possible, they would have ignored the smoke and run straight to Fort Drakon. But what good was a country with no capital city? In which case, what need was there for a King? He was glad he listened to his gut again. Not as many buildings charred into burning coals like the Atrium, but things aflame nonetheless. The smithy was demolished; Alistair guessed it hadn’t taken long for flames to consume it. The Chantry was on fire, shops, houses that lined the market streets. The tavern, Wonders of Thedas, Brother Genitivi’s house, even Eamon’s manor. Fergus mentioned it was good Eamon stayed behind. Though nothing burned quite the blacksmith’s shop, the marketplace was ruined. Empty stalls, crates, barrels, the canopy and streamers above all on fire or already burned up.

It was hard to tell if the Taint coated the city - in which case Alistair would have to let his city burn just to purify it - or the darkspawn ran _everywhere_ astray. The market streets were clear until the group reached the other gate. Almost as soon as they passed under the now-gateless arch, Alistair felt a buzz like Riordan’s that made Po growl. The other mabari growled because Po did, and Zev readied his daggers again with a smile.

“Oh, good. I was getting bored,” he joked; he could always be counted on to lighten the mood.

They turned right back around; with the smithy gone, they saw the darkspawn with enough time to prepare.

More ogres; seemed only proof the Archdemon sent that which actually challenged the young Wardens. Fodder genlocks and hurlocks; no challenge. But the one that caught Alistair’s attention was a particularly large hurlock. Clad in heavy armor, it awaited them like it had all the time in the world. It paced without rush as they approached, movements controlled and _confident;_ Alistair began to think Grey Warden history was in denial when it came to darkspawn intelligence. Pacing, staring, it even banged its sword against its shield to intimidate them.

 _A General_. Just like Riordan said. Alistair wondered if the _General_ expected Grey Wardens to be stronger, larger, or if he acted the way he did out of conceit. 

With their party narrowed, Alistair got a chance to see what Tess meant when she said her brother could have stopped her attacks in the Deep Roads. If Tess and Teagan sometimes trained together, Fergus must have helped the old Antivan Crow train her. Like Tess, Fergus was fond of kicking, and like Zevran had made Alistair train in the Deep Roads, Fergus’ shield was little more than an oversized second weapon. How the fuck Fergus managed to train in the yards without them noticing was another story. The man was quick, put his hands up like he would punch, but each punch had a shield or sword attached to it. With Fergus being left-handed, Alistair was able to join in at reach. Alistair bashed, Fergus stabbed, and Alistair jumped out of his way to watch him bring his shield down with his sword still stuck; Alistair was fond of that too.

Despite the warriors, the mabari were their own aggravating force. Attacking from the back, injuring legs and ankles to stagger the darkspawn, making some fall right on the Wardens weapons. Zevran and Pádraig had become a team in combat, and while Pádraig swung high and wide, Zevran attacked low in a wide berth, sometimes circling opponents completely with his blades for moving on to the next. Shale, as big as she was, knew everyone’s movements. A fist of solid rock or a chunk of rubble was always _right there_ when swords swung away.

While they were busy ridding the _General_ and his _fodder_ from in front of the Chantry, another ogre charged from the opposite exist. Tess jumped from rubble to the Chantry yard wall, then ran along with a leap she couldn’t quite make. Fergus sighed and growled _Sister!_ and jumped to bash his shield against the soles of her foot. At first, Alistair thought it an accidental catch, but when Fergus’ boost gave Tess enough air to land on the ogre’s head, Alistair realized once again _Tess planned the exact movement._ The ogre tried to shake her off, but Tess was just as stubborn. When she couldn’t slice at its head with all its grabbing, she stuck in her rose dagger and slid down its back, dragging the blade.

 _The ogre screamed._ Alistair had never heard that before; almost more disturbing than his staring contest with the darkspawn at the Ortan Thaig creek. Holding on with her feet, Tess alternated her daggers, causing roar after roar, until she stuck a dagger in the ribs and held on at the side. With her other arm hidden from view, Tess leaned parallel to the ground, raising another monstrous yell of pain.

Then the ogre froze and fell. Tess jumped and rolled away, her daggers still in its back. The monstrosity hit the ground on its belly with a loud _plop!_ A messy crevice of black blood and dark flesh bared itself to the sky. Only when Tess stood did any of them realize she held part of the spine her hand.

Pádraig pretended not to notice. Domhnall of the elite guard applauded like he wasn't sure if should be entertained or wary. Zevran wandered over in curiosity and made a face of disgust. Various mabari sniffed, then snorted and turned away as Tess returned the messy bones to the dead ogre. Morrigan turned away completely and tried to walk past as far away as she could. The rest of their elite guard copied Pádraig or Morrigan.

Fergus grimaced. “Lovely. Congratulations on your murder, Sister.” Tess straightened her back and dipped into a curtsy at her brother.

Alistair just stared at his wife. The others might tease, but Alistair knew the truth behind it. _Lyrium_ did this to her. She’d done this at Ostagar soon after they met; exposed a spine then, _and_ climbed an ogre. Her jumping off the wall at the place she _knew_ Fergus would intercept her was no different than her relapse in the Deep Roads with the raw lyrium stalk. She’d predicted down to the split-moment _then_  as she did now. She was more clear, more clever in battle, more vicious. Maybe now with this drug in her veins again they would do more damage and kill the Archdemon sooner, but at what cost? _What would happen to Tess in a few days?_ Alistair wasn’t sure he could handle another withdrawal.

She shook off her daggers and sheathed them, then looked around. The expression on her face when Alistair caught her eye said she knew the fear on his face. It was not her fault she’d had the lyrium, and without it she might be dead right now. But seeing her dexterity increase before his eyes when she hadn’t been so cunning an hour ago was unfair. _Like he didn’t have enough to worry about right now._  

The scout had not exaggerated when he called the darkspawn _fodder_. Unless all the _alphas_ converged on Riordan, his plan to separate to keep the horde off Alistair and Tess didn’t work well. The run uphill to the Alienage found Darkspawn running to meet them, sometimes so sudden Alistair had to jump clear over them to avoid stumbling. _So many darkspawn._ With the mabari and half the elite guard, the _fodder_ darkspawn posed little trouble, but it wasted time. Some bouts of battle felt an hour or more long because the darkspawn threw themselves into death with no regard. But as they neared the Alienage and heard screams, the party found themselves needing to ignore the darkspawn just to press on. They felt the confusion as they ran with genlocks who couldn't keep up, but at the rate Alistair had to jump over them, the genlocks would nip their ankles soon.

Descending the last slope into the alienage, Morrigan turned with a growl and began frosting the ground. The witch was fed up with darkspawn fodder obstruction as the rest of them. Alistair saw a glimpse of panic on his wife’s face right before she doubled back to protect Morrigan. For once, Alistair didn't protest his wife throwing herself in danger; if Morrigan died, _their last chance to survive was lost._ Tess stood firm in front of her,  _right in Morrigan’s ice_ _,_ leaning, kicking, crouching, stabbing, _holding them off._ Morrigan cried her name and backed up, but Tess backed up with her, refusing darkspawn room to close in. Black blood splattered against forming crystals. Tess seemed oblivious to the ice forming around her, _absorbed it,_ feet moving like ice did not prevent traction. Alistair ran back to help his wife but Morrigan cried out again. Tess didn’t need rescuing though; with another kick, she spun and slid right through Morrigan’s wintry spell. And Alistair gasped with the others.

Out of the bright ice reflecting off itself, Tess now revealed how much magic ice she absorbed, though it was _hardly ice_ on Tess. Staring back like she had no idea why they stared first, her entire backside glistened in frost. On her hair, the sides of her face, down her body, _outlining_ all of her, _glittering_ as it reflected off the wall of ice. Though it began _melting_ _into_ her before their eyes, for a moment Tess had _glowed_ like diamonds in the winter sun. Alistair could not have imagined the raw lyrium in the Deep Roads would affect her like this. It was almost like she'd had so much lyrium she became part of the Fade itself. No, not part Fade.  _P_ _art magic_.

 _How much of_ **Tess** _was even left now?_

Morrigan’s gasp echoed off the wall of ice when she turned around, retracting for a moment like Tess had grown three heads. She yanked another lyrium potion from her belt and shoved to Tess’ mouth, then staggered back with a faint apology. Confused as the others, Tess looked to her husband for help; Alistair nodded and told her to drink it. Consuming the lyrium helped her _process the magic_ as Morrigan had said earlier, allowed it to absorb quicker and neutralize her body; it _needed_ to be taken now. But as he watched his wife, Alistair saw only _wailing and_   _scratching_ and _hitting her head_ again, _more concussions. Weeks_ of pain Alistair would not be able to stop, followed by weeks of watching her learn to talk again.

_This wasn’t worth it. They should have left instead._

Pádraig tapped on the wall of ice. “This is impressive, Lady Morrigan.”

Morrigan winced, trying to regulate her breath. “Please do not call me that.”

“Will that hold them?” Fergus gestured to the ice.

“You can bet on it. Tess taught her that,” Alistair said.

 _“You_ taught her to make walls of ice?” Fergus asked his sister.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Fergus, I’m not a mage.” Tess frowned.

“You _kind_ of _are,_ though.” Fergus gestured to the empty lyrium vial in her hand.

“Then so is Alistair and every Templar,” Tess pointed out. “It’s _not me,_ it’s the _lyrium.”_

"Impressive all the same, both of you," Pádraig praised.

“I did not know you could do this,” Zevran examined the ice wall.

“Tesslyn wished me to focus my talents on ice, so I have. It served us well in the Deep Roads, tis all that matters.” Morrigan waved him off. Alistair took note of her breathing, uneven and more shallow than normal.

“Why did you not do that back at the gates?” Fergus demanded.

“I cannot spend all my mana at once!” she insisted. "I must save it for when we need it most."

“Perhaps it should coat _me_ in ice. I should like an ice-sword. Imagine all the guts I could spill,” Shale remarked.

Pádraig did a double-take at Morrigan, and his face fell in concern. He looked her up and down. “You’re shivering. We should have brought a cloak.” Morrigan did not shy away when Pádraig touched her arm.

Time slowed around Alistair again as he observed Morrigan: her shoulder and head turning in toward Pádraig, no matter how slight. _Morrigan cared for Pádraig;_ at the least, she desired the comfort Pádraig clearly wished to give her.

Morrigan’s act to _save her sister_ sunk deeper in Alistair now. Here was Pádraig, a _good_ man offering her comfort and love, and right now Morrigan stood not as a _Witch of the Wilds_ or even a _mage,_ but a woman needing the man who loved her. Not idle infatuation,  _love._ But she carried _Alistair’s_ child. She had given herself to a man she knew loathed her, had lost the trust of her _sister_ by offering the act. Any hope of remaining with Pádraig now would only shun them both when she began to show out of wedlock. And it would get worse when Morrigan gave birth to a child with _ginger_ hair. Alistair glanced at his wife to see if she observed what he did; Tess frowned and turned to avoid looking at them.

“Tis nothing,” Morrigan insisted with another deep breath. “My mana is spent.”

“Why not drink a potion?” Pádraig asked. “If they’re empty, I’ll run for more.” Alistair hurt for his friend, and he never felt like more of an arse. Alistair had never imagined Morrigan earning _anyone’s_ love; it still confounded him why Tess liked her. But Pádraig was so tender with her. _He just offered to risk death alone in the burning city to get her more lyrium potions;_ no different than anything Alistair ever offered to fetch Tess. Alistair could not reverse what he’d done for the sake of either of them.

“I cannot. Tesslyn needs them more than I. Tis _fine,_ I shall just need to recover naturally.”

“There’s a shop in the Alienage, they might have some,” Pádraig offered.

“Excellent idea! Let’s all go shopping in the middle of war, yes? Where is Leliana? She would actually like that.” Pale blond hair leaned close to Alistair’s face. “You are seeing what I see, yes?” Zevran didn’t bother whispering. Alistair met Pádraig’s eyes with the glare meant for Zevran, and he pushed the elf away with his shield. Zevran only chuckled.

“Tis nothing to see!” Morrigan stepped away from Pádraig with a hardened face and started off without them. Pádraig's worry was vivid. Alistair hurt for his friend once more.

Alistair pointed at Zevran’s nose from around his shield. _“You_ stay out of it,” he reprimanded. He looked at Tess.

“I can take care of myself,” she muttered, still frowning. They were of the same mind after all today.

Alistair nodded and looked at Fergus and the elite guard. “Morrigan’s safety is priority. No one gets in reach of her, keep your eyes on archers and mages. Po, that includes you.” The Warden mabari barked eagerly, copied by his dozen eager mabari companions. Alistair hesitated at Morrigan ahead of them. With a nod to Pádraig who needed no orders to stay at her side, Alistair caught up to _Pádraig’s_ mage. “Morrigan, just focus on you,” he ordered. “Keep yourself healed. _I’ll_ take care of Tess.” Shield tight in hand, Alistair jumped down to the bridge and led his small regiment into the very Alienage they’d saved weeks ago.

 _Just follow the screams._ That appeared the cardinal rule when locating survivors in war; also useful when trying to find Tess amidst battle. Down the narrow path they’d run before, past the haunted orphanage; everything otherwise looked the same. As soon as they came to the worn down Vhenadahl tree, elves led by none other than the loud-mouth redhead almost collided with them.

“It’s you.” Shianni looked at all them in a mix of relief and desperation; not much different from when they first met. “The Maker gave you the gift of good timing!” she laughed, still half in fear, at the hope they brought in. Alistair found himself glad to see her; despite the events that brought them to the Alienage last time, the profanity that came from her mouth was amusing for such a tiny person.

Morrigan shook her head and gestured towards Pádraig. “Tis not us. _Pádraig_ is the one so _gifted_ with timing.” Alistair recognized the glee in Pádraig’s grin was not from the joke; the woman Pádraig loved said his name.

Alistair let Tess take over to stand by his friend. “Wipe that silly grin off, Pád, you look ridiculous,” he teased quietly.

Pádraig giggled without noise, his grin growing. “And what do _you_ do when _she_ says _your_ name?” he whispered. He meant Tess.

“That depends on when she says it. _Sometimes_ I make her call me _husband,”_ Alistair muttered back. "So if she says my name  _then,_ she's in big trouble."

Pádraig winced through a harder silent laugh. “That was -” Pádraig met his eyes. _“Fuck_ you and your _Sometimes_ _,_ Alistair. I don’t _always_ need to know everything.” He couldn’t stop grinning, and so Alistair couldn’t stop. His friend’s happiness was infectious.

More than he ever considered Morrigan staying for Tess, Alistair now wanted her to stay for Pádraig.

“Blatant insubordination,” Fergus Cousland joined them with a smirk and an elbow on Pádraig’s shoulder. “He’s right, Alistair, _fuck_ you and whatever you do with my _sister_ that’s supposed to be private.”

 _“Eew,_ no, Fergus, you _can’t fuck_ me with her. That would just be _disturbing,”_ Alistair played back. Fergus fell off Pádraig’s shoulder in a quiet laugh of his own, covering the wince on his face.

 _“Boys! Please!”_ Tess scolded.

The three of them stood straight and tried to stop grinning. "No, of course we're listening. King, Teyrn and General, _professionally_ awaiting the Queen's orders," Fergus rushed out. But it only brought another wave of stifled giggles. Tess sighed, looking at them like they were beyond help.

For the moment, everything was right again.

Still trying to quiet himself but also not wanting to, Alistair watched his wife. Tess rolled her eyes and shook her head, turning to Shianni again. “Sounds like this is a _woman’s_ job today. _I’ll_ take care of it. My _husband…_ ” she sighed again with a glance to Alistair, “will stand there _giggling_ with his general and my brother like little girls-” it only made Alistair giggle again. “With any luck, it will confuse the darkspawn. Get inside, get to safety. And please-” she stopped Shianni before she ran off. “Morrigan needs lyrium. Any you can dig up in your shop, we would appreciate. We will reimburse you, I promise.”

And there the fun waned. Tess playing _Queen,_ promising reimbursement in the middle of war when the likelihood of survival hung on Flemeth’s honesty to Morrigan about the dark ritual. Tess did not make promises.

“Your wife ruins all the fun,” Fergus joked out loud.

Tess looked back with a scrunched look of accusation; one of the cutest faces Alistair had ever seen her make.

“And you say _I_ look ridiculous!” Pádraig teased as they ran after Tess, Shale, Zevran and the hounds.

“Alright, I admit it!” Alistair laughed. “I probably look _more_ ridiculous.”

“Alistair!” Morrigan stopped him as he hurried; Pádraig stopped as well. “Alone, please,” she requested without looking at Pádraig.

Pádraig read Morrigan well, though; same reason Alistair read Tess so well. Pádraig looked from Morrigan to Alistair, worried about the woman who made his spirits soar; if Pádraig knew she was pregnant by  _Alistair,_ he was taking it well. Alistair nodded to the side. “Wait there. Please,” he added, letting Morrigan pull him aside.

“Do not encourage him,” she begged in a whisper. _“Please,_ Alistair. I cannot stay.”

Alistair searched her eyes; he’d never done so this close up before. Right now, he saw traces of Tess in her, when Tess worried in Haven and in the Deep Roads. Morrigan indeed cared for Pádraig. “I think you should consider it.”

“I cannot! Tesslyn would not allow it! She no longer wants me here, you know this!” _Because of the baby; more proof Tess had broken long before the Taint could prevent motherhood._ “And what do you expect _he’ll_ do when he finds out? Rejoice in your honor?”

“Maybe you should take Pádraig with you then.”

“No!” she hook her head with an adamant frown. “He cannot accompany me, and I cannot stay. This is how it must be!”

“He will take care of you, Morrigan.” Alistair couldn’t believe he was having this conversation.

She shook her head still. “I _must_ go alone.”

The crash of wood and the sounds of battle began. Mabari barked and howled.

“Alistair!” Pádraig called out.

Alistair still stared at Morrigan though. “Just consider it, Morrigan.” He looked over as Shianni returned. Only three small bottles of lyrium, but it would be enough. Alistair turned Morrigan to face the outspoken elf. “Feed her, please, if you can. She is in a delicate state-”

“I am not delicate, Alistair!”

“Regardless of your choice in the end, you are delicate, Morrigan. Shianni, please. Take her inside. We’ll return for her after we clear your home. The other way is blocked, you should be safe.” Alistair ran off, calling for Pádraig on the way to join his wife.

“What’s wrong with her?” Pádraig asked.

“Nothing. I’m keeping her out of the way, right now.”

“Will you ever tell me what going on, Alistair?”

“No. Maybe.” He shook his head. They turned the corner and raised their weapons for battle. “You’ll only hate me for it, Pád. Leave it alone for now.”

“You make everything sound so fucking _ominous,_ you know that?”

Alistair huffed at the irony, bashing his way into combat. “You have no idea how wrong I wish you were!”

Though the King and his general were late to the fight, they were needed. Shale up ahead pounded the ground to stagger and disorient the darkspawn dropping in from the wall between the Alienage and the Arl’s manor; they couldn’t seem to work the winch. Like along the way, these darkspawn were fodder. Numbers, but not challenge. Overall the Darkspawn seemed to defend themselves better against Alistair and Tess, but that only took time. The Wardens Blighted _brethren_ were not here to destroy but stall. So far nothing in the alienage burned. It was too late to assume if they'd gone the long way around through the Arl's manor, the Alienage might have burned _or_ remain overlooked.

When the last darkspawn fell, the party took a long moment to catch their breath. If these darkspawn were good for anything it was running them ragged. They could only hope Riordan was closing in on the Archdemon. The city had been like this how many days? Other districts could be on fire as they huffed and gasped, while the rest of the army caught breath. Pádraig ran off to check on Morrigan. Alistair drank from his waterskin, then held it out to his wife, who looked around with narrowing eyes.

“Have you seen Anora?” she asked.

Alistair paused and glanced around. He’d almost forgotten Tess condemned her to work here. “I don’t suppose it's too much -” he paused for breath, wetting the corners of his lips.

“Too much to hope she’s hanging by some unstable rafter three stories high with the Taint burning her blood and rabies swelling her brain?” Tess finished for him. Alistair grinned at his wife.

“Sure,” he nodded. He took another drink. “We’ll go with that.”

But as soon as he closed his mouth, a feminine scream filled the air from the other end of the Alienage. Husband and wife groaned together, a shared glance of regret that said after the grand punishment of humiliation, they’d end up having to save Anora.

 _“Alistair!”_ Pádraig’s voice sounded from the same direction as the scream.

 _“Shit.”_ Alistair breathed deep as he secured his waterskin back on his belt. He wove around the mabari, the entire party having regained their stamina at the alarm in Pádraig’s voice. If that scream belonged to Anora, she was damn lucky Pádraig was trustworthy with a orotund voice.

Alistair skidded back around the gate that normally separated the Alienage from the bridge to the Market District. Fergus grumbled in place of him: _If this is Anora’s doing--_

But Fergus was cut off. _Not Anora;_ though by the scream, she hid nearby in fright. The darkspawn had broken through Morrigan’s ice wall.  _Alistair hated their Taint all around, he needed warning._  Chunks of ice tumbled down brick and onto the bridge as genlocks and hurlocks with swords and bows shoved past each other. They’d hacked it down; no more Blight magic yet. Catching up to Pádraig and the mabari who’d passed him, Alistair braced his shield and charged.

“Morrigan stay back!” Alistair yelled, swinging his sword.

“No! I can fight!”

 _“Where the fuck is she?”_ Tess soared over their heads from a lookout stage behind the failed fence. A look of alarm passed over Pádraig’s face - _he thought she meant Morrigan -_  but before anyone could ask, Tess yelled: _“Anora!_ Come out, you little dust wench! _I know I heard you!”_ Tess didn’t let her quest for Anora distract her, though. Whirling through the air so fast her hair began to shake loose, Tess made her way around the cluster of darkspawn with a spray of black blood droplets flying out in circle after circle.  _Killing the darkspawn so she could find Anora without obstacle._

Those fighting with them were impressed, but all Alistair saw was the lyrium. _It was Tess with raw lyrium all over again._

An ogre broke through the rest of the ice up ahead. Alistair sighed, already knowing Tess would take it on. He yelled for her to stay, kicked and bashed his way over, swung his sword hard enough to hear it sing despite the Tainted bodies it hit. Before she could run to meet the ogre on the bridge, Alistair threw his sword and shield toward an unoccupied stretch of stone wall and tackled his wife in the same direction. They crashed into the wall as a mess of shoulders and heads.

 _“Ow!”_ she winced out of breath.

“That didn’t go as planned,” he croaked. In trying to keep her head safe, Alistair's hands and own head felt like he smashed them with bricks. He slid down to let her breathe; she gasped so hard he moved with her body. Someone intercepted darkspawn beyond Alistair’s line of sight, and while they had a chance to breathe, Alistair took the moment to look at his wife.

Running on adrenaline; _her on lyrium;_ both in pain at the moment, but together in spite of the odds and the bigger picture, Alistair couldn’t help but smile at her. She was beautiful; every scar, every crease, the tilt of her nose, the slant of her eyes. _A moment to remember why he chose to be unfaithful that night. So much more than love._ He couldn’t bear to think of waking up without her.

Alistair shifted again to relieve pressure on his wrists and from her belt digging in too low, but sliding over put him at a convenient angle. He winced in the thought of pleasure. “We’ve been in this position before,” he teased, letting the others take over the battle.  _Glad he could trust his friends._

Tess nodded, searching his face, a smile spreading. “Quite a few times,” she agreed. “But with -” she breathed deep again, “-less family and less-” another breath as she nodded again towards the battle, “less darkspawn.”

“Shall I order them all to close their eyes?” he played. But raise of brows as she contemplated his joke made him giggle. Completely in love and  _feeling_ it in the middle of battle, Alistair dropped his head and kissed her. Lips dry from breathlessness but soft all the same, husband and wife licked dryness away between kisses in a well-deserved moment to themselves. Another kiss arched her hips; Alistair groaned into her mouth as he slid better into place atop her.

A shield blocked a weapon above Alistair’s back. Tess screamed while Alistair flinched.

“You’re welcome!” Fergus grunted through another attack. “Now get off my sister!”

Alistair growled and hopped to his hands and feet, pulling Tess up while he stood. Tess reached down to grab Alistair's sword, closer to her than him. “Fergus, don’t interrupt the king while he’s busy!” she said. Her face hardened and she lunged; Alistair jumped away as Tess swung Starfang.

 _“Wow!”_ she said in awe as the hurlock fell over with a clean cut. Her eyes followed Starfang when she gave it a pleasure swing. “This works _really well!”_

“I’m beginning to see why _I’m_ the only one with lucky timing!” Pádraig shouted over the clanking and barking.

Alistair grinned and took his sword back from his wife. “You can play with my sword again tonight,” he promised only for her ears.

All of a sudden Tess remembered they were in a war they may not survive. _“If_ there’s a tonight?” she asked.

“No,” he shook his head. He paused to knock a hurlock against the wall with his shield, dug in his sword for good measure. Then Alistair turned back to Tess. She had secured her daggers. He now wish she’d brought her bow; he wanted her back at a safe distance with Morrigan. “There will be more _tonights_ than we can count,” he told his wife. “I will make sure of that one way or other. We still have one option left if the others fail,” he reminded her in a whisper, holding her gaze. _Running away_ still felt like the best insurance; they would take it if they needed to. He pushed his lips to hers; someone intercepted another attack. Then Alistair rammed back into battle, determined to keep his wife.

Keeping his promise to keep Tess alive meant no more unguarded rests.  _No rests at all._ If the Darkspawn meant to wear them down did not wean, they had to run straight through the city, fastest route to Fort Drakon where Riordan said he’d try to lure the Archdemon. Alistair agreed it was the best place; he didn’t care to run through that maze of a tower again, but the size of the force that might fit up there to help kill the Archdemon was nothing compared to the city population or the army.

As soon as the last darkspawn fell in the Alienage, Alistair allowed one last break. Breath was collected, mabari fed, thirst quenched, those who needed relief did so while the others refilled waterskins at the Alienage well. A last long kiss between husband and wife before they might… be too busy to kiss again for awhile.

But as soon as Alistair reached the end of the bridge, his veins swarmed like wasps aflame. He heard himself scream and couldn't stop, heard Tess shriek and Po howl. Stinging, _stabbing everywhere -_  only from the inside.

_Down, down… almost…_

**_Perfect._ **

_Something inside him brought him to his knees._ Alistair didn’t need to see to know _the Archdemon_ flew right above them. He burned _, flaming acid inside,_ he itched everywhere! Pushing harder, _Alistair reached up but there was nothing! Nothing!,_ shoving him till he folded over himself and pressed his forehead to the bridge.

_So here ye tarry, Taintling. Hast been too long…_

Tess! Alistair tried to scream for her but he was already screaming. Hands touching him, pushing the flaming sting, making it worse.  

The Archdemon laughed in Alistair's head, amused as if it watched Alistair walk into his own trap. _Hie, Taintling. Verily I await._

A screech curdled Alistair’s stinging blood before waxing into a roar his entire body  _cowered_ before. He had the urge to run, but the Taint he bore made him hide on the ground. _Unworthy--_

A blast of heat awoke his body and gave back control. Whoever pulled him tripped when he stood up. _Fire,_ flame as large as a man, wild and raging like the Taint under the Archdemon's call. Voices screamed; not Alistair for once. When he fell back against a wall, he looked around, surprised Tess took it so well; normally the Archdemon made her scream so loud Alistair forgot his surroundings. _The fucking Blighted dragon breathed fire on them!_ But as Alistair looked around, his heart skipped. He counted bodies, counted faces, names ran through his head…

Something was missing, something that _should be_ here.

 _Tess!_ Alistair ran back out, looked around and around, under the bridge, looked behind Fergus … He watched Morrigan shriek. Fergus yelled, Pádraig and Zevran took turns trying to reach something in the bonfire. Po growled and barked at the flame with the other mabari. _But where was Tess??_

Every hair stood on Alistair’s body as he looked at the flame. His heart thundered in his ears, blocking the sounds of rushing fire. _No… it couldn’t be_. He would do that? _Just like that, the Archdemon would do that?_ _The size of a man…_

_No._

_The size of a woman._ The burning bonfire wasn’t a bonfire.

_It was Tess._

Her name scraped his throat. Alistair put his weight into his front foot and charged; he’d put it out, _the river would put it out!_ But someone grabbed him, swung him away from the flame so his feet came off the ground.

 _“NOOO!!!! TESS!!!”_ he screamed and screamed for his wife, fighting and kicking, but he couldn’t shake loose. His fists hit nothing, he feet found no one. _Why weren’t they letting him stop it?!_ Alistair pushed off again but it only brought the heavy body down on top of him. Pain raced through his jaw and down his spine when his beard didn’t cushion the fall on his chin. _“MORRIGAN!!_ _SAVE HER!! PUT IT OUT!” Why were they stopping him? He had to save Tess! He couldn't live without without his wife!_ He headbutted whoever held him, but it only jolted his skull on stone. Alistair had no choice but to lay stunned, bright colors flashing before his eyes.

Morrigan did not need to put the fire out. As vision came back and doubles returned to single objects, _the fire had shrunk._

Like a wasp nest carved before his eyes, _flames_ wrapped Tess. Clouds and smoke and crackling cinders, the engulfing fire shrunk smaller and smaller until all that remained of her was a Tess-shaped body of flames. They rescinded again, each time showing more of Tess than before.

Alistair laughed in raw relief. He hurt from head to toe and his chest crushed his heart still, but it was okay. _Tess was okay,_ she’d be okay. She absorbed the Archdemon’s flaming breath like magic. Alistair was almost glad for the attack in the Atrium district, it must have primed her body for any sort of elemental damage.

Morrigan’s feet backed up. “No no no, not good,” she muttered. She smacked into Fergus, knocking them both down. “No!” she said. _“Run!”_ she scrambled away backwards on her hands and knees. Pádraig helped Morrigan up while the other picked up their feet and got as far away from Tess as possible. _“Run!”_ Morrigan repeated.

“What? Why?” Alistair didn’t want to. _He couldn’t leave his wife!_

“Alistair, you fool, _run!_ She’ll-”

An explosion cut off all sound, throwing Alistair into wall. Bright and searing like detonating barrels of oil. _A bomb of fire._ And Tess was the heart of it.

 

**_TESS:_ **

_Fuuuuuuck!! What the fuck did he do? He set a fucking dwarven bomb off inside me! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! Maker, I hope that flying bastard can hear me right now!_

_Where is everyone? I can’t see - it’s - fire. Nothing but fire. Just like in the fucking Fade, and that stupid Burning Man thing. Dammit! I don't want to be back in the Fade, please no!_

_Stepping back greets my heel with nothing. Instinct waves my arms, I try to lean forward but it’s not working. As I wave and wobble, shapes come into view. The fire grows translucent, I see rocks, brick. None of this returns my balance! Why can’t I stand? Where the fuck am I that can’t stand?_

**_“TESS!_ ** _LET ME GO!” Alistair growls; a crack and curse of pain while my arms flail._

_I'm not a fucking bird! Someone help me! Please!_

_Firm familiar arms clasp around me and pull. Alistair comes into view with his face distorted in pain and determined to something._

_My feet snag on solid ground, and we fall. Alistair pats himself. My husband is on fire. His armor, his beard, the end of his hair._

_“Alistair?” Why is he burning?!_

_Pádraig and others rush over and help. So many hands on him patting flames out. Morrigan stumbles over with frosty hands and coats him. The fire yields to her magic. My chest cracks in relief; the only fucking reason I like magic. I let myself fall back as he relaxes._

_Alistair pants. His armor moves drastically with each breath. Part of his beard and mustache is singed and half his lip is raw, as is the tip of his nose and the nostril on the same side. As grateful I am he’s not on fire anymore, his new wounds pinch me deep. Alistair might scar again. How many scars can we handle?_

_I lean back, but my glove scrapes on rough stone and slips. Alistair yanks me back again with a loud cry and I look down. The noise that escapes is like a Shriek with a sore throat._

_The bridge is gone! Not- fuck! Not all gone, only the center of it right behind me. A **huge** center. A gap too big to jump over. The surface bricks are charred, and the rest of the bridge is in chunks in the channel below. Holy shit. _

_Alistair stares back. Searches first my body, then my eyes. He’s scared. Why? Because he caught me from falling? I know how to swim, why would that frighten him? Or is it the fire? Fire has never scared him before._

_Oh Maker… the fire. I look down and touch a blackened mark. The stone is still warm. The **stone** was on fire?_

_Did I do that? **I** blew up the bridge? Did I set **Alistair** on fire, **too?**_

_Is this some kind of joke? Fuck! Maker, this is **not** funny! _

_I’m still on fire. I feel it. My insides are on fire. There’s no fire on my hands, and I know there isn’t, but I turn them over anyway; no fire. No fire coming from my armor. I still feel it… it’s becoming more gentle, but it's there. It’s quieting down._

_An ironic representation of my temper; even moreso since **Alistair** calmed it._

_The lyrium is holding it in. Yuck. This will bite me like a hangover tomorrow. There was reason for practicing inverse enchantment; people are not meant to be a storage unit for magic. I was supposed to test it as a weapon, use someone’s own magic spells against them. Practicing regularly was supposed make to do automatically when the time came. I suppose I could have used more time with the Magister._

_I think I needed more time with **all** my mentors, actually. Especially the Grey Warden one. I don't have a fucking clue what I'm doing. _

_Magic, though…_

_Wait._

_I look at my hands again, pat my face, feel my hair. This isn’t right. This isn’t supposed to be magic, that was dragon fire. Dragons breathe actual fire; all the ones we found in the old Temple of Andraste did. All dragons in history books do. Real fire, real ice. Whatever they use, it’s real because they are natural conduits of the elements, maybe even hatched of all the elements at once; soused in liquid power. It’s why some people think dragons are Gods; what else could summon real natural destruction from inside without using the Fade as fuel?_

_Then why did I suck it in like a spell?_

_Alistair’s watching me. His eyes follow my hands as I pat myself. I can feel Fergus staring, too. Po whines a question of well-being._

_Morrigan’s stare is the only one that answers. She’s frowning but not angry. Confused? ...Maybe even worried._

_\-- Maker, after what she did, she still plays off worry? Though I'm more mad at myself for falling for the **sister** act.-- _

_Her eyes travel to my hands, then back up. As the last of her frost disappears back into her own hands, I understand._

_I suddenly can’t breathe well. FUCK. Fuck fuck fuck. No, no no…that can’t be right._

_I don’t want it to be right. Because what if Morrigan is wrong about her ritual?_

_No, no! I don’t want this, it can’t be true!_

_I look at Alistair, Pádraig, at Morrigan again. The pinch of her eyebrows tells me I’m right._

_The Archdemon’s fire breath is not really fire, it’s only magic, which means… he’s not really a dragon. He’s not really a dragon so it’s not really fire. Real fire burns me; I have that scar from Honnleath still. But magic fire doesn’t burn me. Like earlier with the lightning and that forsaken crushing prison and the fire there… it didn’t burn me. Just like Urthemiel’s breath. It burned Alistair, but not me._

_Morrigan knows. And now I know._

_I’m the only one who can get close enough to the Archdemon._

_Why? Maker, why???_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Archaic Dialect:  
> Hie = Go quickly  
> Ye = You  
> Verily = Truly, Genuinely  
> Tarry = Loiter  
> Hast = Has
> 
> Notes: There's a wee re-occurring theme of time slowing in this (and the next) chapter. This is the first time I've used time-slowing, and it's actually a bit annoying to _me,_ but in case you miss it, it serves a purpose. Heavy moments of realization for Alistair, and (at least in this chapter) have an epiphany-like effect on him, even though they are unfavorable moments. They are moments that change his perspective on either what he's experienced/witnessed in the past, his choices from the last chapter, and (in the next chapter) what he will experience. They are intense moments for _Alistair_ and him alone in an already intense time, and time slowing was the best way I could emphasize that just now.


	74. In Peace, Vigilance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time to face the Archdemon. Fear and doubt grows with each step, especially when Riordan falls. But allies reunite with the heroes, and each victory restores determination. Alistair and Tess remember hope and reason to end the Blight. Friends step up again to help the Wardens bring down their ancient enemy. There is no more time left. It _has_ to be enough. _In peace, Vigilance._ That is all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING*** Angst: inconsolable worry, preparing to end life; unexpected mass death; substance abuse: relapsing, addiction; **POSSIBLE VETERAN PTSD** war.
> 
> Mood Musc:  
> Pre-Fort Drakon rooftop & Killing the Archdemon: [Champion by Fallout Boy](https://youtu.be/JJJpRl2cTJc)  
> Rooftop Archdemon fight: [Uprising, by Audiomachine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r7NAgcgxzTo)  
> Becoming the Rune: [I am the Fire, by Halestorm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8hkmuTvkp_s)  
> Tess' Goodbye: [I See You, by Leona Lewis, Avatar Official Soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3YDz-ftqr1g)

Something was wrong with Tess. She fought the same ferocity as she had before the Archdemon set her on fire, but she was _different._ Between bouts of combat, she spoke as little as Morrigan now, and her eyes searched the sky. Alistair caught her locked on to the Archdemon flying in the distance more than once. He suspected she felt betrayed by _it_  as well. All the intimate talks she shared with it, only to be set on fire. But she wouldn’t talk about it. Even more upsetting, Morrigan could not hide fear and sorrow. _She_ ran and fought like she was already in mourning when her whole reason for the _dark ritual_ was to _save her sister._

A nagging horror in the back of Alistair’s mind said their behavior meant Tess would die. But he didn’t want to think of it. He didn’t want it to be real. Alistair was afraid of _manifesting_ his fear into reality.

Wave after wave of darkspawn did not distract them.

The armies pressed on though. Alistair was grateful for each regiment they ran into. He learned darkspawn inside the city had tunneled their way in and popped up in random streets. Untold dwarves ran back and forth, their army split to chase darkspawn from ambush to ambush. Patrols of healer magi accompanied by a Templar assisted multiple regiments, running to and from a district reinforced as a medic station. The _medic station_ district wasn’t the only one blocked off, though. Alistair and his party passed and ran through neighborhoods so converted by blockades that entire districts became a labyrinth. Without sense they navigated the amateur mazes, until found and led by a civilian who told them other civilians stayed behind. The darkspawn hacked at the southern bailey, but while that stone had survived centuries and wars, their persistence took fruit. Civilians who did not flee aided the city by re-laying broken bricks into the wall, whence mages cooked the grout solid. Others protected them outside the wall; that’s where the bulk of the army was.

While Alistair awed at the initiative to save themselves, it also vexed him. The Wardens did _not_ have time to run through mazes.

By the time the party reached the palace grounds, the clouded sun began to fall. Alistair wished they stayed on horses and rode straight through, now. If they were lucky, it was _only_ a run up _flights_ of steps.

As Alistair and Pádraig tried pulling on the gates, a patrol of Dalish ran from around another corner. Darkspawn chased them all into view, guttural laughs of triumph. Elven archers shot moving targets _while they ran backwards._ One threw knives; so controlled the way he flicked his wrists, tiny daggers curved with the breeze and stuck deep into genlock eyes. Impressed beyond words, Alistair’s own regiment stared.

“Holy shite,” said Eirik of the elite guard.

“Why can’t _you_ do that?” Zevran asked Tess.

“What?” Her mood still hadn’t lightened since the Archdemon set her on fire.

Zevran shrugged. “You jump off people and use your dagger to make fancy lights in combat, and you carve people’s spines out while they’re still alive-”

“It was an ogre, it wasn’t a person.” Still no smile.

“You cut out eyeballs-”

Tess frowned deeper. “Zev, _don’t,”_ Alistair warned.

“I meant that scout in Redcliffe. But I understand the glare. I apologize.” Zevran bowed his head.

“If you’re asking if my sister can throw knives, the answer is yes,” Fergus said.

“I threw my dagger in the Alienage,” Tess reminded Zevran.

“And in Honnleath.” Alistair winced as soon as it came out. He met his wife’s eyes. “I’m sorry. _Fuck._ I did not mean to say that, Tess, I’m so sorry.”

“Both of you are astoundingly encouraging right now,” she said.

“But if you can do it, why don’t you do it more often? The _Crows_ would _kill_ for someone like you.” Zevran then grinned. “Or _try_ to,” he giggled at his own joke.

“We both need to shut up, Zev.” Alistair turned back to find the elves watching King and Queen and Crow in hesitation.

 _“Oh!_ It’s _you!_ Grey Wardens!” A single elf stepped forward in a bow of courtesy. Alistair couldn’t remember the face for the life of him. In truth, with helmets and _Vallaslin_ on each face, the elves before Alistair looked almost the same. “Forgive me, you may not remember me; it’s been many months. I’m Deygan, you pulled me out of the forest and brought me back to camp. Well, the old human mage you had with you did, and the archer with red hair. Oh and _you!_ The Dalish who grew up in the city! And I remember _you!”_

“Charmed,” Shale replied. “I suppose I should be happy it isn’t another mage.”

“Yes, this is a heartwarming reunion,” a wry comment from a female elf. “We’re Dalish in a human city. Are we _city_ rats now? Too bad _Fluffy_ isn’t here to see this.”

“Fluffy?” Fergus echoed, his curiosity piqued in the female elf staring at Tess.

“Yeah, your _Warden_ there called our former Keeper _Fluffy._ I assume that’s some kind of shemlen insult.”

“Ohh shit.” Zevran took a step back. “You’re _that_ elf.” And then Alistair - and Tess, by the look on her face - remembered where he’d heard that. When they’d neared the Brecilian forest, Tess had called the greeting Dalish scout a _forest rat_ then called the Keeper _Fluffy._

Fergus looked at his sister with a reprimanding glare. “You called a Dalish Keeper _Fluffy?”_ From Tess’ reaction, Alistair bet she saw her father in Fergus right now.

“I was…” Tess hesitated. Her head moved towards Alistair to take over for her.

“That … does not matter,” Alistair told everyone. He looked at the elves with a polite smile. “It’s good to see you all again. I am _King_ now, and my wife is _Queen._ Last time we met, we were just regular Wardens. How is your clan, by the way? Everyone healed, and all that? Halla doing well?” he rushed out the last sentences.

“Very smooth, Alistair,” Zevran muttered.

“King and Queen? Congratulations to you!” Deygan must not have heard the complaints before they saved the clan. “That’s a high position, right? For humans?” he whispered aloud to his fellow elves. Zevran snorted.

“Thank you,” Alistair wasn’t sure how else to respond. “And yes. We own the country now. Very exciting.”

The Dalish scout Tess had called a _forest rat_ smiled with thick satire and gestured with her bow to the dark dragon flying beyond. Alistair did a double-take at the Archdemon; it headed their way again. “I’m sure it must be,” the elf replied. “Would you like to help us kill it?”

_Cheeky fucking elves._

“We appreciate the offer, Mithra,” Tess said. _Right, that was the name._ Tess always remembered details. “Beware it’s mouth. It burns.” She turned around. Alistair caught her eye. She winced, then craned her neck. “And… again, I apologize for calling you a forest rat.”

“Apology accepted, _Your Majesty.”_

Shale groaned in disgust. “I think I may vomit. Will it let me throw something now?”

“Soon, Shale,” Alistair promised. He studied the elves for a moment, reminded of Riordan's brief history on the Old Gods. "You're not against killing your own god?" Though if the Dalish were willing to help kill the Archdemon, Alistair wouldn’t refuse.

Mithra scoffed. "Is that what shemlen teach? No Archdemon is a god of ours." It occurred to Alistair then, with how the elves fared with the darkspawn on their tail, Alistair’s party wasn’t the only one who needed help.

Shale broke down the wooden gate; barricaded from the other side, the golem was the only one strong enough. But upon entering, questions why the palace guard left disappeared. Alistair stepped over splinters, eyes locked ahead, frowning so hard it hurt.

Right in front of him, _his brand new house_ \--- _on fire._ A turret stood cracked open and whatever lay inside lit the crumbled top like a torch. Another turret’s roof was on fire. Bits and pieces of rooftop along the whole building - _on fire._ Exterior flags - _the new Theirin-Cousland flag_ \- all on fire except a broken one lying on the ground.

"They set my bloody _house_ on fire,” Alistair said in bewilderment. This was _not_ supposed to happen. _On top of everything else?_ _“My house! My brand new fucking house!_ That is _not_ okay." Regardless of Riordan or Morrigan, Alistair was supposed to recover with Tess in their new palace and be _happy ever after together._ _How could they do that with their new home in flames?_

Alistair looked over when he felt eyes on him. Tess stared like she didn’t understand what he meant by all this. "We _just_ picked out curtains," he reminded her. “And _now_ they’re on fucking _fire!”_ They hadn’t even gotten to sleep in their new bedroom yet. It felt like the last straws to wear him down. He wanted _one thing_ to go right today. _Was that too much?_

Tess gave a smile full of sadness. The only smile since the Archdemon lit _her_ on fire. Her smile broke Alistair’s heart, though. She did not believe they'd return to see the new drapes, but she wanted to appreciate his humor anyway.

It wasn’t even meant to be funny. But amidst a battle-filled day when they drew closer to final confrontation, Alistair supposed fretting over his new house in flames was silly.

He _just_ wanted a home with his wife. _Was that really too much to ask?_

Alistair wanted to blame this whole mess on the Grey Wardens, now. Riordan and his stupid promises that weren’t coming true. If the Wardens had ignored Loghain to begin with and crossed the border anyway, the Blight could have ended at Ostagar. And Alistair could have retired with Tess somewhere far out of reach of anyone. They wouldn’t be in this mess getting set on fire and needing to feed addictions to stay alive. He wanted to close his eyes and wake up to discover it nothing but a bad dream.

Right as Alistair wondered where Riordan was, the Archdemon flew overhead. A _body jumped_ from a nearby tower top _and soared._ Whatever the Archdemon had planned for that moment failed: whoever jumped landed right on it. _Urthemiel_ screeched; an otherworldly howl of pain. Roar after screech after roar happened so quick in succession it almost sounded like one long draconic wail. The Archdemon stumbled in the air. _Not some freak accident. Someone had wounded it._

Tess stood frozen next to Alistair with a grip so hard he felt it through his armor. _“Riordan,”_ they whispered together. They watched the Archdemon wobble as it tried to fly on. In that instant, _hope_ restored. _Riordan was killing the Archdemon._ In _mid air,_ Riordan would kill the dragon. As much as they wanted to hate him right now, they could not.

“What in…” Morrigan cut herself off with a deep gasp. _She knew it too._ From the Blighted screams above, Morrigan’s promise was about to come true.

The Archdemon’s screeching dimmed. As it circled back around, Alistair could only guess one thing: _Riordan was riding the dragon._ Higher and higher; were they above the Fort? Alistair almost could not see them. He laughed a little. _Who ever got such a glorious chance?_ A last chance for a boyhood daydream to come true before the painful death of glory Riordan said awaited the Grey Warden who killed the Archdemon.

In this moment, Alistair was glad for the old man. He deserved whatever happiness riding a dragon awarded him. “In peace, vigilance,” Alistair whispered into the wind, hoping it would carry up to Riordan before the Archdemon’s soul overwhelmed him.

The dragon screeched again. Alistair’s breath caught, Tess clung with both hands. Another roar, more hysterical than the others; _Riordan inflicted a critical wound._ Alistair’s hands grabbed at Tess.

_Any moment now._

It would all be over. The past year and a half of nightmares, _done._ No more darkspawn. No more haunting voices in his head, no more overpowering Taint when something flew above. No more Deep Roads. No more running, no more camping on the road, no more stamina potions, _no more._ The bad luck was about to end and Alistair’s _happy ever after_ was about to begin. It was almost too good to be true.

They watched the Archdemon flap, its movements erratic and senseless. _Urthemiel_ gave one last loud roar and spiraled.

_Something flew off._

A noise caught in Tess’ throat. The breath of air Alistair tried to take pushed back out with a whisper of denial. The Archdemon kept flying. The _thing_ kept falling. So far away, but there could only be one answer for there had only been _one thing_ on _Urthemiel’s_ back.

 _Riordan_ kept falling.

Fear escalated right back in Alistair with a tearless sob of horror. _It wasn’t over._ Riordan failed.

And now there were only _two_ people in the country who could kill the Archdemon.

The dragon still flailed. Uncoordinated but still flying. _Still alive. Urthemiel_ angled and landed on the roof of Fort Drakon; the closest highest perch. The falling body disappeared behind the palace with a wet crack that rang like _Death_ to the last two Wardens ears.

 _“No.”_ Tess shook her head, a pout distorting her already horrified face.

A moment of silence overcame the party. Alistair and Tess didn’t speak. Morrigan didn’t speak. With the Archdemon still alive, the party knew what Riordan’s death meant. And with Fort Drakon _so close,_ certain death was also close.

 _Run. They had to run._ It was now or never. Alistair could order them into battle, or he could order them to turn around and go for the gates. He and Tess could slip away then. _It was their last chance. There was no other way. Maker, forgive me for what I’m about to do…_

His feet already backed up.

“Alistair?” _Pádraig._ “Orders?”

 _Orders?_ Alistair shook his head. He couldn’t say what he wanted to. _Pádraig, you need to… I’m sorry, Pád… it’s the only way… you need to be…_

Bodies littered the ground before them. What was once a beautiful blossoming courtyard full of life now was a deathbed. Alistair hadn’t noticed the dead soldiers _and dead darkspawn_ with the palace aflame and false hope. _I’m sorry Pád. You need to fight this for us. Sorry Zev. You need to buy us time. Please buy us time._

But an angry _Old God_ answered aloud before Alistair could. The Archdemon shrieked, bellowing like a man betrayed. _As if it had right to be angry._ Fire exploded from the top of Fort Drakon; another hideous roar.

Tess tensed. Frowning, head towards the tower top that overshadowed the palace, starting to shake. The Archdemon blew a weaker flame. Face twisted and breathing through her teeth, Tess ran as fast as she could, whipping her daggers out.

The rest of the party started after her, Fergus cursing her recklessness.

Tess stopped without warning. So sudden she froze that Alistair thought she’d been shot and he screamed for her. Morrigan and Fergus cried out. Alistair’s feet refused to move; he grabbed the person next to him to hold himself up. _No no no, not like this!_ The two regiments stumbled over Alistair and the person he clung to.

 _Then he saw them._ An ogre waiting at the top of the stairs that led behind the palace, and another on the stairs past that; he swore he heard more than he saw. _Countless_ darkspawn clustered in wait by each ogre, and as Alistair stared, more flooded in. Beyond the ogres, fires burned, replacing the shrubbery at the wall that separated the palace from Fort Drakon. Darkspawn poured in from out of sight, firelight behind them. _Too many darkspawn._ Alistair might have two regiments with him now, but with so many ogres and never-ending darkspawn, his own numbers would not matter. The darkspawn had come to protect their _dark master._

Then a whisper of a sound Alistair feared almost more than the Archdemon’s blood. _Shrieks._ It did not matter they were too far away right now. Shrieks reduced distance in a blink, and Tess was up there unguarded, no doubt bleeding out.

Instead of the cry of fear expected from Tess, she flipped her daggers and readied herself. _She wasn’t hurt!_ If Shrieks might not ambush them any second, Alistair would have laughed.

More unexpected than halting a minute ago, Tess threw her head back - _and howled._ Long and _eerie,_ back arched to resonate her voice, _Alistair’s wife howled like a hound._

“What the unholy…” someone muttered behind Alistair.

Before Alistair could begin to guess what Tess was up to, Po pushed though and joined her. Tess _stomped_ and _growled;_ Po howled the _same tone she did._ Po pawed and growled, letting his claws drag. They repeated, mabari and mistress howling, growling, stomping, each time louder and louder. Po barked warning after warning between each repetition.

Alistair was _so confused_ he could not move. The Darkspawn up ahead took notice and huddled closer to stare, also confused. _What the fuck was going on?_

But he already knew the answer. _Lyrium. It had to fucking be lyrium._ Alistair knew no other thing that affected Tess so _eclectically._ It let her understand outlandish things Alistair never knew existed - until Tess made sense of it.

 _Great. Fucking great._ He didn’t want to imagine what this withdrawal would do to her.

A mabari in the distance behind him howled in response; immediately Tess and Po howled back. As if cue to the dozen hounds with them, a simultaneous howl erupted _in the same tone Tess used._ Echoing off the arched walls of the palace gates so loud Alistair’s _ears rang,_ and hair stood on end. Tess and Po continued their barbaric duet; more hounds in the distance sounded off. Fergus gasped _Rally the hounds_ before running off to help Tess and Po. Tess dropped and stomped with her hands, daggers clanking, helping her raise noise. Fergus stomped and banged his sword against his shield, his own howl uncanny; a man his size _howling_ in heavy armor was unnerving enough.

Only when Alistair noticed darkspawn cover their ears did he notice his team doing so; the Dalish most sensitive. He’d never seen Darkspawn _flinch_ before.

_Stun the enemy. Tess found a way to give them a chance._

The dozen mabari _pummeled_ through the two regiments. Before anyone could regain footing, _more hounds from behind jumped through;_ hounds _not_ in their party. Po gave a last howl, Fergus a last crash of his sword and shield.

 _And they charged._ A small army forged by a mabari mistress and the courage she inspired in her hound. Genlocks who had gathered to stare backed up. _Alistair saw the fear on their faces._ The madness of lyrium that inspired Tess once again came as a blessing when they needed one.

Someone pushed on Alistair’s back; he ran with the crowd. Still not sure what was transpiring, he held his shield and sword tighter and chased after his wife. Though Alistair ran hard to catch up, Queen of Ferelden and her mabari army were such an intimidating force that darkspawn cowered - the only time Alistair ever saw them afraid of war.

 _Dammit, he wanted out of there though! He didn’t want to fight more, he wanted to leave! He wanted to grab Tess and leave!_ Maker help them because his wife could not read his mind right now. Alistair ran as his wife did, even though his gut screamed their death awaited at the top of the Fort.

“This is officially the first time I have undressed her with my eyes!” Zevran said, running next to Alistair.

 _“Zev!_ My _house_ is on fire and the _my wife_ just howled like a dog!” Heavy breathing broke up Alistair’s words.

“I know! That isn’t sexy to you?” Zevran made a noise as he dove, rolling up into the fight with a stab to a Blighted gut.

Alistair swung his shield and stuck his sword; _Starfang whistled through the air._ Tess and Fergus assaulted ahead with the hounds, drawing as many darkspawn to them as they could. Though they were surround by ogres and genlocks and hurlocks _and shrieks,_ the last of the Couslands and their army of hounds were not outmatched. The longer it went on, the more obvious _lyrium_ made Tess do this crazy feat, and her brother and her dog were trying to find reason in her drug-induced actions.

 _“No,_ Zev!” Alistair finally answered. He bashed a hurlock, ramming it into the side of his palace. “Nothing about this Blight is sexy.” He jerked his sword from the gruesome creature and staggered back. “I just want to wake up and know this was all a bad dream.”

“But -” Zevran ducked under a hurlock to stab it in the back with both blades. He twisted his daggers and pushed the suffering darkspawn to the ground with his foot, reminding Alistair of Tess in the Korcari Wilds. _Arainai training._ “- if this is all a dream,” he huffed for breath, “you wouldn’t be Wardens together, no?”

Alistair groaned. He hated that Zevran was right. If there was no Archdemon to kill, Alistair would not have met Tess in the first place. “You and your fucking philosophy in the middle of battle, Zev,” he complained. “Shut up and just sodding _kill_ stuff!” Zevran bounced back into battle with a giggle.

The Archdemon and lyrium tore Alistair down. While he pulled his weight and bashed his way to his wife, the Archdemon shrieked and spat fire from Fort Drakon’s roof, and each roar from above hardened Tess’ face and strengthened her blows. Lyrium turned her into a weapon Alistair could not distract from combat. _And Alistair was running out of time to whisk her to safety._ When more shrieks converged atop the stairs leading to Fort Drakon, the _mages_ appeared. Darkspawn emissaries with one purpose: _stop the Wardens._ The Shrieks or genlock magi could not compensate for Tess and her lyrium madness, though. She rushed ahead and threw back a bomb of soot to distance their party. When Alistair recovered in a coughing fit with the others, Tess was absorbing the magic _again._

 _She stalled Alistair to endanger herself; endangered herself to_ **_save_ ** _him._ She wasn’t giving him a chance to save her.

Ice and lightning; if Tess was in pain, she didn’t show it this time. Blocking Shrieks blades, she gave herself time to explode. Alistair recognized it this time, caught on _before_ she exploded. He hit the ground short of breath, heavy armor reverberating the impact clear to his bones. Alistair crawled back with his shield over his head while the explosion that was his wife cooled down to a shimmer of frost and hairline crackles. He had no choice but to feed his wife a bottle of lyrium.

_Lyrium. It’s what started the howling madness in the first place. Fuck, he just couldn’t get away from it today._

Finally able to breathe, Alistair slumped as far as his armor let him. Tess took the tip of a Shriek’s blade but her explosion had repelled it before the blade sank further. She sat slumped over as well, head down as Zevran stitched the inch-deep wound at her back and, without words, Morrigan funneled a sparkling golden healing spell into her. If it wasn’t dragon fire or Blight magic, it was _Shrieks;_ just like in the Deep Roads. And the end wasn’t any more promising. Alistair did _not_ want to go on.

Four mabari lay dead. A fifth lay wounded and heaving, spitting black foam from the mouth; Taint poison.; a sixth lay next to the dying mabari. Diarmad of the elite guard tried to coax the sixth mabari away so a Dalish scout could put the dying hound out of its misery. The elves did a headcount; two missing. If Alistair’s own party had anymore, they might have lost lives as well. Tess was lucky she only had a shallow wound; _Alistair_ was lucky. Fergus’ bloody nose had dried. The scrape on Alistair’s head from diving away from Tess’ explosion only trickled a little and his lip bled from something he didn’t remember. His thigh felt bruised. Otherwise they overachieved triumph in this battle. _Thanks_ to lyrium, the darkspawn had lost _pitifully._

 _Glorious;_ Cailan’s voice echoed in Alistair’s as if his brother had not died over a year and a half ago.

 **_Not_ ** _glorious, Cailan,_ Alistair answered his dead brother.

Tess needing sewing up forced a last break on everyone. Though Zevran stitched fast, husband and wife stalled returning to their feet. With Riordan's death meaning now either Alistair or Tess would die with the Archdemon, Alistair had no drive to push on. _He couldn't,_ his fear of living without his other half kept him rooted. No one else seemed eager to send them up to die either. Alistair looked at his wife. Out of the heat of battle, Tess stared at nothing with that solemn countenance returned. Her eyes moved every time the Archdemon screeched from the roof; _she listened for it._ Otherwise no movement.

Alistair felt he understood. He didn’t want to understand, but he did. Tess was _terrified_ of pain. But _lyrium_ \- a thing which gave her unthinkable pain when it wore off - put her in a position to _need to endure_ pain. _Just so they could advance another sixty feet._

Enough lyrium, though, would _kill_ her. He'd lost count of all she'd consumed today, but he didn't want to tempt fate. _It wasn't worth it._ Alistair wanted to point out the _howling_ was only more proof they needed to escape.

Someone asked about the howling. Another guessed it a lyrium side-effect; _Alistair’s thought._ Fergus explained in place of Tess: The Couslands had mabari since the Black Age and Dane and the Werewolf; a litter rewarded for helping the Alamarri drive out the werewolves. Since then, a single Cousland in each generation bonded with a mabari. Tess bonded with Po when she was three, and as children, she and Fergus riled their hounds like they did today; said it drove their mother mad. Many mabari with them here were raised with Po at Cousland castle. Fergus called the memory of those hounds _a miracle._ Howling to mabari never held meaning outside of play before today.

Alistair wasn’t convinced lyrium wasn’t _part_ of it, though. Tess had always done something _mad_ on lyrium, from the day he’d met her. He’d never seen her howl with Po before.

Alistair glanced around. With everyone focused on Fergus, it was a perfect chance for a last plea. Alistair pushed himself up one step and scooted next to his wife. Tess turned her head as he leaned in to kiss her. She met his eyes as if to say _This is it, isn’t it?_ Alistair held her head and buried his face in her shoulder, not wanting it to be true. _He didn’t want the whole day to be true._

“We need to leave,” he murmured to his wife. The Archdemon had called for help, and the darkspawn had responded with a myriad force. There might not be Blight magic for Tess to absorb and expel next time. _The blades would sink,_ next time. Or the Archdemon’s fire would be _too hot_ for Tess to absorb before it killed her. And having Morrigan near did nothing as far as the dragon was concerned. Alistair couldn’t risk another _next time._ Their last chance to come out of this alive had fallen off the back of the Archdemon about an hour ago.

“What?” Tess whispered back. Alistair raised his head and met her eyes. “Alistair, he’s _right there._ We can’t turn around now.”

“There are other Wardens, Tess. They’re probably halfway here by now.” He shook his head and kissed her again. “I know you think we won’t make it. It’s just another sign we need to leave. They’ll…” he blinked, but the tears seeped out to his eyelashes anyway. “I will miss them all, but they can give us time to leave.” Tess’ mouth turned down in a pout. She knew he meant to leave their friends - _their family_ \- while they made a safe escape. “If Morrigan’s ri-ritual works, Pádraig can slay the Archdemon and they’ll- they can stay here together, and _we’ll_ be somewhere _else,_ where it’s _safe._ You’ll barely survive this _withdrawal,_ Tess. I can’t handle anything else on top of that. I think we should have run at Redcliffe,” he admitted. “What’s the point of coming this far if there’s no guarantee we’ll live past the next hour?” he whispered.

Tess searched him, not like she already believed they’d have a happy ending but like she _wanted_ to believe. “Carlyn,” she whispered, “And Eleonora. Griff.” _Their babies from the Fade._ The fat tears that rolled down Alistair’s face had no chance of interruption. “I’ve always liked the name Sorcha,” she told him.

 _Their children._ She wanted to stay alive so they could find a way to make their children from the Fade _real,_ and make _more_ babies.

 _The best reason not to run away. The best reason to make the world a better place._ Alistair nodded. “Sorcha is a beautiful name.” He leaned in again. Her tears fell as their lips met. Salt and sorrow and fear and _hope._ With the Archdemon cursing above, Alistair held and kissed his wife, praying they would survive to make their babies again.

“Oh, _this_ explains a lot.” A familiar voice announced. Alistair ignored it; Fergus or whoever could take care of it. Alistair wanted to continue the moment with his wife. Try or not, he feared he would not feel her arms again after an hour.

“If you’re here to ask us to help you slay the Archdemon, you are too late,” Zevran said.

The other voice huffed. “I think not, my friend. Your bomb missed by a few hundred feet.”

“I mean the elves. _They_ bullied us _first.”_

"Zevran, _you're_ an elf," Pádraig reminded.

Shale made a loud noise of discontent. “I must be hallucinating. Darkspawn, elves, and now dwarves? Throw in a dragon and this sums up my entire existence in Warden servitude.” Shale hesitated as the Archdemon screeched again, then sighed. _"Oh._ Nevermind. Hooray for nostalgia.”

“Ran into the _Paragon_ back there, also. More surprised to see Oghren sober,” not-Pádraig spoke again.

“Hmm, that is a surprise,” Zevran agreed.

Tess pulled back first, wiping her face. “Kardol?” she sniffed. Alistair made sure his face was dry before looking over. Twelve dwarves; equal to a full regiment in strength. Alistair hoped this wasn’t the last of the nine hundred dwarves who came to help.

“I am oddly reminded of the Dead Trenches right now. You two even _look_ the same as you did down there.”

“Tess _and_ Alistair, I hate to to inform you, but all your friends are assholes.” Fergus gestured from the dwarves to the elves.

“Oh, _we partied_ with all these assholes,” Zevran said. _“That_ asshole especially,” he pointed to Kardol. “Down in a deep, dark hole. For a long time. His _stamina_ in the dark is _remarkable._ ”

Kardol grinned, his many tattoos moving with his cheeks. “If that’s what you consider partying…”

“Oh, definitely,” Zevran nodded with a proud grin. “No one goes crazy like me, am I right?”

“You can say that again.” Kardol said. “Trying to assassinate would-be kings livens up _any_ party.”

Zevran nodded again, glancing back to Alistair in contemplation. “You know, _now_ that you _say_ it, that _seems_ to be a _habit_ of mine.” Zevran smiled at him from down the stone steps.

Alistair couldn’t help a smile. “Fergus is right. You guys are all assholes.” He hung his head to wipe his face again.

“For a last minute goodbye party, this is a shoddy operation. Where the sod are all the drinks?” Kardol walked through, eyeing the Dalish with nod.

Alistair gestured to his burning home. “In there. But I think my kitchen might be on fire.”

Kardol stopped a few steps below them and tipped his head all the way back to look up. The Archdemon gave another roar and a blast of fire. “He seems pretty annoyed.” He looked back down. “Might be easier to chop his head while he’s down. Got any more bombs?”

Tess frowned in shame. For a moment, she and Alistair both forgot what lyrium had done to her. “The bomb was me.” She looked away.

Kardol stared at her and nodded, his hesitancy obvious. “That doesn’t sound healthy. No wonder Wardens don’t live long.” Another attempt to lighten the doomsday mood. Tess looked back at the dwarf with another sad smile.

Alistair blinked long and slow to postpone meeting eyes. “We needed a moment.”

“Of course you did. I have a feeling all the other Blights were ended by Wardens who weren’t married.”

Alistair choked on the irony. “Tell me about it.”

“We can tell the Archdemon while we back him into a corner.” As small as dwarves were to Alistair, Kardol held out his hand.

Alistair couldn’t help a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’ll fall down trying to help me up.” Forcing himself to be braver than he felt, Alistair stood up.

“It’s the thought that counts, right? Bhelen said something… _Maintaining diplomatic foreign relations,_ or some shit.”

Alistair pulled Tess to her feet with another accidental laugh. “Sounds like Bhelen.” The look on his wife’s face made him hesitate again. Tess searched his eyes for moment; _scared this might be the end,_ as much as they wanted to hope.

“Come on, Wardens. It’s time to do this. You can _gaze lovingly_ _and shit_ into each other’s eyes during the after party.” Kardol patted their arms as he walked between them.

 _It’s time._ Maker, why did that have to sound so unpromising?

“He’s right, you are such an asshole.” Zevran smirked.

Kardol glanced back with a grin as he gripped the portcullis winch. “Right. You can help me be an asshole later. I hear these surfacer palaces make great ale.”

Kardol moved the small army forward. Mabari, dwarves, Dalish archers, the elite guard and a handful of people who loved Tess and Alistair to no end…

Alistair hoped it would be enough in front of the Archdemon.

Fort Drakon’s courtyard was as bad as the palace grounds before it. The Darkspawn spilled out from a mound in the yard; tunneled their way in to protect their dark master. A frightening thought they could dig entire tunnels in such short time.

Kardol and Pádraig both tried to direct combat. As soon as Tess began to absorb spells, both yelled to take out the darkspawn mages. As the others took on drakes and more darkspawn, Kardol’s dwarves and the elite guard assaulted. Before Tess could absorb spells, the emissaries lay chopped and twitching. Pádraig didn’t fancy someone else in command, but they’d been effective in almost no time.

For the first time that day, Tess revealed how much her ability to absorb magic frightened her. _Lyrium’s_ ability to absorb magic _for_ her. She fell into Alistair’s arms with a sob and he saw the pain in her eyes. _Ripped apart from inside,_ she said. _Always afraid of pain;_ Alistair could not fault his wife for this fear. She drank another lyrium potion, trembling in relief of not exploding again. Alistair hoped but was unsure how they could avoid anymore explosions. He also hoped the Archdemon bled out by the time they reached him. _Did the Maker still answer prayers?_

Approaching the heavy doors of Fort Drakon was _yet another_ encounter of familiarity that day. The last time Alistair was here, Branka smashed new _doors_ in the walls and Alistair killed everyone inside.

Tess stared at the doors while others walked around her. "I would have been fine not seeing this place again for awhile."

Alistair smiled for his wife. “You can help me kill everything, this time.”

“Or,” Zevran stepped up as if he was already part of the conversation, “we can put _Alistair_ in chains and strip _him,_ and then _we_ can _save_ him. When he is _naked._ He will need a _lot_ of saving, very _personal_ saving, up close, _lots_ of touching. I will need to perform a full-body exam. Can you imagine?” Zevran nudged Tess.

Alistair couldn’t help the grin. He was forever grateful for this elf who once tried to kill them. Zevran had a way of making the worst situations fun.

“I _already know_ what he looks like naked,” Tess reminded Zevran.

“But _I_ don’t. It would be a _learning_ experience, yes?”

“I - no. _No,_ I would prefer _not_ to see my sister’s husband naked. Thank you _immensely,_ elf.” Fergus said as he walked past.

“You are _such_ a _party_ pooper. They make some good noises together when they’re naked,” Zevran nodded.

“It’s significantly easier for _me_ if I imagine my sister in a _chaste_ marriage.” Fergus looked back with a fake smile at Zevran.

“A very unkind thing to wish on someone. I almost feel sorry for your enemies,” he frowned at Fergus, though his eyes laughed. Fergus snorted and looked away. Zevran looked at Tess. “Ignore him. _I_ will be your new brother. From now on, you shall call _me Fergus,_ and _he_ can be _Zevran._ As your official brother, _I,_ Fergus Cousland,” Zevran put one hand in the air and one over his chest, “bestow my blessing of many long gratifying nights with your giant sexy husband.”

Alistair held his wife’s gaze, trying not to laugh. Tess looked like she wished she hadn’t walked herself into such a conversation during such a time.

“Zevran! There you are!’ Pádraig wore a grin as he walked up behind Fergus and slapped him on the back. “I can’t wait for tonight. This pantless sparring match is a _great_ idea! Tonight’s _Orlesian Courtesan_ night, don’t forget! I’ll have a servant leave the silks in your room! As soon as the women go to bed!” Pádraig winked with a grin as he walked inside, leaving Fergus grimacing like he wished he’d stayed in hiding.

Alistair lost it. In spite of the dead bodies and Archdemon and certain death upstairs, laughter erupted like Alistair hadn’t done so in years. He doubled over, Zevran and Pádraig laughing with him, _laughing so hard his sides hurt._ Zevran laughed just as hard, crashing into Alistair, his face scrunched. Fergus gave in and laughed from the doorway with the rest of the elite guard.

Then one glance at Tess, and tears replaced Alistair’s laughter. She watched him with a sad smile, her eyes leaking. She stared like she was trying to memorize his smile and his laugh. Alistair left his friends and fell into the arms of the only person he wanted to laugh with in the end. _He wanted to believe this was not the last time._ He let the others move on without them, allowing himself to soak up the breath and love of the one person he could not live without.

For a moment, Alistair had forgotten the Archdemon lay above screeching. He was glad the laughter attracted no darkspawn. Tess had stayed safe in Alistair’s moment of vulnerability. He prayed the Maker took pity on them.

With a sniffle, Alistair walked hand-in-hand with Tess inside Fort Drakon. The was no fighting. No clamor, no yelling, no banging. Alistair expected war, the guttural laughing of genlocks. But there was silence; if anyone was in the building, they would have heard the explosion of laughter at the door. Silent, like last time he was here, only this time, dead bodies littered the floor upon entering. Human and darkspawn bodies strewn across the floor like someone wiped them all out at once.

Alistair led Tess through the lobby and beyond, careful where they stepped. With all the bodies, this was _another_ round of familiarity. "It looks the same as I left it," he remarked.

“I really don’t want to be back here,” Tess muttered, frowning not at the dead bodies but her memory. Alistair couldn't imagine how she'd felt chained and paraded down this hall last time.

“Not to worry, Your Majesty,” Pádraig assured her. “Even if someone took pity on Cauthrien while we were gone, she suffered her dues and then some when I locked her up. Though I suppose it’s unkind to hope she’ll get infected and die a ghoul.”

Morrigan scoffed as she started up the spiral stairs behind Alistair and Tess. “She would only become mindless and content. Twould be a merciful death. Had we the time, I’d prefer she continue to suffer.”

“I have no qualms turning around,” Pádraig told her. Even with Pádraig behind him, Alistair heard the smile in his friend’s voice.

“Weekly torture would be best, don’t you think, Morrigan?” Alistair asked behind him, reminding her she could stay. Alistair would weather Tess’ disapproval when the time came; Pádraig was a good match for Morrigan.

Alistair stepped out of the stairway and tried to hurry down the corridor. He remembered this floor too. It surprised him the Veil wasn’t torn with how many died his last visit here; though today was half as bad.

Morrigan never got to answer. As if Alistair’s thoughts were a cue for monsters, raspy growling echoed. Starting with the nearest rooms shooting down the hallway, until doors flew open in succession. _Feral_ undead; Alistair knew no other words for these things. Weapons needed brandishing far and wide. Either in death or possession, finger bones became talons that ripped like jagged blades and poisoned wounds with fleshrot. The dwarves charged like brontos, hacking so hard most of the undead broke in half, overcompensating for the rogues who had no throats or arteries to slice.

As the last fell, Alistair looked at the mess in the corridor. The others stepped over the undead with remarks of disgust or grimaces. _King_ Alistair saw the mess and wondered how the fuck he could burn a single floor without the entire Fort igniting.

Morrigan answered a silent question Alistair had pondered through the battle: “The Veil is not torn here. These were not made by accident. Mages await us.”

Tess, tired of get set on fire and jolted with lightning, looked Alistair for help. They would have to keep Tess as guarded as Morrigan; _he really wished she’d brought her bow now._ With the elves _and_ dwarves _and_ extra mabari, there might be enough to fight in place of both women. _But how the fuck they could kill the Archdemon with Tess unable to fight…_

“The bomb thing. Right.” Kardol looked at Tess. “How did you avoid this in the Deep Roads?”

Nerves of the next painful magic attack already wore her down. Tess shook her head at Kardol. “I didn’t get hit with magic in the Deep Roads. And the cold spells down there were _healing,_ then. I have no idea. I don’t think this started till after the Anvil, but…” she shrugged. Her daggers were ready as if the next attack would be as sudden as the undead. “I haven’t been hit with spells till now. Well, in the alienage with the toys, but I took that in too. But that wasn’t strong, I just… absorbed that.” Her face fell as she turned and started down the hall. “I just want the day to end. This isn’t supposed to happen to people.”

“None of it is,” Alistair told his wife. He wanted to promise everything would be fine and they’d wake up tomorrow heroes, but none of his promises so far had come true. There was so much up in the air right now. The longer the day wore on, the harder it was believing Morrigan’s _ritual_ would work. He wanted to try _for Tess,_ but there were zero guarantees anyone would survive. At least if they tried, though, they would not become prey to other Wardens if they fled.

 _He hoped._ Alistair supposed it was also blind to hope the Archdemon would let them flee in exchange for life, as it was to trust Morrigan's - _Flemeth’s_ \- Dark Ritual would work.

Compared to Blight magic, ogres were almost easy now that Tess couldn’t prevent absorbing it. Darkspawn magi from the second floor up, archers, and if that wasn’t a struggle, _these_ genlock rogues seemed familiar with Tess and Zevran’s skills. And then the never-ending maze; _Alistair hated Fort Drakon._ The further they went _again,_ the more he considered burning it to the ground and building a _simple_ one-story _Fort_ instead. No more running through mazes and getting lost.  

 _If_ they survived.

 _This was too fucking hard._ He was _king_ and it was his duty to keep his face and inspire his people, _including his wife._ But the Archdemon had worn the King _and_ Queen down - as intended. What hope was there _really?_ What point was there in staying strong _for everyone else_ when success seemed impossible? In which case, _what the fuck were they still doing here??_

 _His father once fought here._ _Maric._ On the rooftop, even, where Alistair headed. Maric challenged and killed in single combat the usurper responsible for his mother’s death. Little difference from Alistair’s reason for killing Loghain and wanting to the Archdemon dead; might as well be a single enemy for he’d _needed_ to kill Loghain just for a chance to kill the Archdemon.

And now here was Alistair. Following in his father’s footsteps _again_ after leading a rebel army.

_Was Maric ever scared?_

_Maric_ never had to chance success on the life of the woman he loved, though.

Head on the rooftop door trying to catch his breath from anxiety sky high, Alistair squeezed his wife’s hand. When he met Tess’ eyes, she was just as scared. Trying to be brave, nodding, _wanting_ to do the right thing so they could put the nightmares and horrors behind them and focus on being a _family._ Both _terrified_ trying to doing the right thing would kill them, or _one_ would watch the _other_ die.

 _No._ Maric _never_ had it as hard as Alistair had it _right now._ Maric had taken _revenge,_ he had not fought to _save_ a life. Maric had not fought to save the _world_ just to keep _one person_ alive.

Alistair held the back of Tess’ head and smashed his lips to hers. “I more than love you,” he told her. With everyone behind them and the Archdemon still screeching beyond, Alistair said _what he prayed would not be_ his last goodbye. “Till the end of my days.”

Tess spilled tears in trying not to cry. “Till the end of my days,” she echoed. “I more than love you, Alistair.”

Their lips met again, and one last time. _Maker, please don’t let this be the last kiss!_ A last deep breath together. One last look in her beautiful, heartbroken emerald eyes. Her hand trembled on the door next to his.

 _In Peace, Vigilance._ That was all that mattered. The rest of the Grey Warden motto was insignificant. What good was life if they did not strive for peace? What good was Victory if other War ensued? What good was Death if they had nothing worth Sacrificing? _Their own peace. That_ was worth fighting for. _Vigilant._

A solemn nod. Husband and wife pushed on the door together. Alistair ran outside before he could command himself to grab his wife and run for safety.

_There it was._

The dwarves yelled and charged. The mabari barked and sped ahead. The elves darted outside raising bows in a blink. The elite guard and Pádraig rushed outside with Shale on their heels. Morrigan was the last out.

The Archdemon _stared_ at them.

_It’s just a dragon, only a dragon. I’ve killed dragons before._

Bodies in colorful robes held up staffs and lit the rooftop in ice and flame and bolts - _mages! There were Circle mages up here!_

But the Archdemon stared at Alistair and Tess from across the roof.

A screech wracked Alistair’s insides; the Archdemon’s favorite angry swarm. Its eyes almost burned into Alistair’s soul.

_Betrayer!_

Tess shrieked and grabbed her ears. Alistair almost didn’t get his own bearings back in time before it screamed at them at them again.

_Peccant! Varlet! I saved thee! I did not suffer thine natural mind so thou canst slay me!! Levant!_

_“NO!!_ No no no _no!! You are not my master!! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!”_ Tess unsheathed her daggers and _ran_ for the dragon. Alistair yelled after her, but as he ran to follow, the Archdemon rose from the roof.

 _Flapped_ on the roof _._ Slow, _wings ripped,_ the Archdemon worked _too hard_ to lift itself out of reach as Tess jumped over fallen darkspawn and fallen magi like a dart. The gust from the Archdemon’s wings made more of an impact than its effort to get airborne. It moved away from Tess by hopping and flapping.

 _It couldn’t fly._ Riordan hadn’t only injured it, _he’d ripped the wings! The Archdemon couldn’t fly away._

But the fucking thing still hopped. If they ripped the other wing or burned it, they could attack as one force on foot. Heart racing - _there’s a way!! There’s a fucking way to win this!! -_ Alistair ran for Pádraig.

“Pádraig!! Pád!” Alistair almost knocked them both over trying to stop. “Its wings! _We need to destroy its wings!”_

Pádraig kicked a ghoulish face and whipped his head at the Archdemon; Alistair swung his shield to stop a blow. “What else?”

“What? What the fuck do you mean, _what else? We fucking kill it, Pádraig!”_

Pádraig searched his eyes, brows heavy and creased. _“What else, Alistair? Who’s taking the blow?_ We’re on a fucking _hundred-sixty-three foot tower_ with a _dragon_ and limited arrows! _Every order has to count!”_ Pádraig pulled Alistair out of the battle. “If I command them to accommodate a rogue but _you_ jump in, _you will get shot!_ _Do you understand me?”_

_Maker this was too fucking real. King and General._

_This was why Pádraig insisted on coming along._ He had to order the final assault.

“Me.” _Maker, but he couldn’t let Tess make the kill._ If Morrigan was wrong… _“Me,”_ Alistair repeated. Pádraig searched him still, his dark brows sinking deeper. “Give the order, Pád. _Now.”_

Pádraig turned, and the _General_ of Alistair’s army took over. _“ARCHERS! Joints three and four, left wing! Rip it open! That dragon does not leave this roof! Benneit!”_ Pádraig looked to Tess’ stockiest guard and only crossbowman. The elves and the elite guard tightened into formation, each row closer to the door a head taller. “Take a wing off.”

“Aye.” Benneit nodded. He braced his crossbow and leaned back to load a thick arrow.

 _“Dwarves!”_ Pádraig’s voice resounded off the plates of the roof. “On my word, low and tight, _take off a leg! Archers! NOCK!”_ At once, every arrow slid into place. _“Mages! Immobilize thralls! Six on healing at all times! Stun the rest! I want these darkspawn off this roof! Make them fly! Zevran! When the dwarves charge, get in there and find a vein! ARCHERS! DRAW!”_ Pádraig’s entire face stretched with his commands.

“Eyes!” Tess yelled. _“Take out an eye!”_

Pádraig’s eye twitched but he ignored her.

“Pádraig-” Alistair glanced from Tess.

“Can’t do that Alistair, we’ve got dwarves below!” Pádraig said. Alistair didn’t need him to explain; _Urthemiel_ would trample anyone in melee range when it lost depth perception. But Tess also had a point: if the Archdemon lost an eye, they could diminish its ability to predict and deflect attacks. _Better to take both eyes._

“And what shall I do? If I stand in the sunlight just so, I can make rainbows on the ground with my crystals. Perhaps _Urthemiel_ still likes rainbows?” Shale said.

“Shale, can you melt?” Pádraig asked, eyeing the blackened dragon.

“I’d rather not find out.”

“Get it its face, rattle its brains. _ARCHERS! LOOSE!”_ Arrows flung in a low arch to the the closest wing.

 _Urthemiel_ screeched in distress, _annoyed,_ and flapped the pierced wing; a gust of wind caught Alistair’s breath. As Pádraig yelled for the dwarves, the Archdemon craned its neck and stretched its mouth. A ring of dark violet surrounded Alistair’s regiments and half the magi before the dwarves could move.

 _Screams._ Shrieking, flailing, patting, scurrying. Alistair didn’t understand what happened until his own skin started to burn. _Like hot oil under his skin. In his skull._ Fire rose up around them, bright purple, closing them in. _Spirit fire, sucking the very cause of life._ Worse than the horde, worse than the Joining, worse than Urthemiel’s angry commands. _Alistair couldn’t get his armor off to put out the flames._ Violet inferno crawled and licked every inch encompassing them. He couldn’t scream to Tess, couldn’t scream to Morrigan. _Couldn’t scream to run. Couldn’t breathe._

With a breath akin to waking from the Fade, the amethyst flames rescinded. _No, not gone._ Alistair wobbled back to balance as the fire drained from his shadow. It clawed from bodies like it was a victim dragged off. But not towards the Archdemon.

 _“TESSLYN!”_ Morrigan’s broken voice hit Alistair as a shrill alarm. _No!_

Alistair whirled around and pushed through archers until he saw her. Arching, jerking as each whip of fire sucked up inside her. _Absorbing magic that ripped bodies apart by the fiber._ Alistair didn’t recognize his own voice when he yelled her name.  

Tess fell to her knees with a gasp. _A purple conflagration coated her like skin._ Morrigan screamed for Alistair to stop; someone beyond sight held him in place by his arms. _Tess was about to explode._ He knew he could not go to her. If he tried to save his wife with the Archdemon’s spirit wrath concentrated in her so, _Alistair would disintegrate._ All he could do was watch. 

Tess fell to her hands. Arms wobbling, she looked ahead and pushed herself up on hand and knee. Limping with each twitch, she started towards the Old God who watched her impede his attack. Urthemiel roared at her - _and backed up. The Archdemon had not accounted for this. It had a weakness._

_Why does that weakness have to be my wife??_

Tess couldn’t move fast enough. Darkspawn who closed in laughed low and raspy. _Po_ charged the hurlock aiming for Tess.

 _“NO!”_ Alistair broke free and sprinted as fast as he could; Tess would never forgive herself if she killed her dog. He tackled and rolled, sliding on his back, shield sparking as it skid across stone. Po yelped and whined, trying to untangle himself, but Alistair buried the hound beneath him. He hoped his shield would be enough.

Tess exploded; _how many times already?_ Maker, how long could her body handle this? This time the Archdemon felt his wrath returned.

Urthemiel’s noise overpowered every scream. Though he and Po weren’t scathed, Alistair almost hadn’t made it out of the blast range. The heat of Tess’ - _Urthemiel’s_ \- violet flames blew against man and hound. Others weren’t as lucky. From his line of sight, Alistair watched a horror he could never imagine.

Two mages too slow turned to ash that for a split-moment retained their human form. A mage and an elf dodged _too far_ to avoid the flame, arms flailing before disappearing over the roof; their screams were not heard over the Archdemon. A third mage disintegrated waist down trying to dodge the blast and the rest of his body blazed - _his_ scream was heard as he tried to pat what remained of himself out; First Enchanter Irving raised a hand and closed his fist - the flaming torso snapped in half - _an instant mercy kill._

 _Just like that, gone._ Alistair couldn’t tell if Tess’ lyrium magnified the flames. He was even _more_ disturbed to suspect she absorbed the Archdemon’s spell _before_ it it grew full strength. 

From the damage to the mages, he expected the Archdemon to suffer the same. But the blighted dragon did not. Hissing and cawing, retracting - _in pain?_ \- while its jagged scales dripped, but not ash like the mages. Alistair heard unholy curses in his head. _Urthemiel_ was bitter his _Taintling_ denied him and returned damage.

Another terrifying realization as Alistair watched it spit and sibilate as it backed up: the Archdemon saw _Tess_ as the threat. _Tess;_ even as retaliating the spell dropped her like a rag doll in gasps. It was marking her as _The One._

_The Archdemon expected her to die with it._

 “BARRIERS UP AROUND THE ROOF _NOW!!”_ Pádraig yelled. Almost without delay, bluish shields flared up, growing as the mages stepped into place along the edge. “SIX MAGES ON EACH WARDEN, KEEP THEM HEALED AT ALL TIMES! _ALL LYRIUM GOES TO TESSLYN! RIGHT NOW!_ _SAVE YOUR QUEEN!”_ The mages rearranged themselves and appropriated towards Alistair or Tess. _“HOUNDS, ARCHERS,_ GET THESE DARKSPAWN OFF MY ROOF!” Arrows went off without hesitation. _“SHALE_ SMASH THEM ALL! _MORRIGAN-”_ no time for proper courting - _“FREEZE_ THE DOOR, _NOTHING COMES THROUGH!_ WARRIORS - _NOW! CHARGE!_ ” Pádraig raised his greatsword and ran at the Archdemon.

 _This_ is why Pádraig came. Not _only_ to order, but to order _if tactics failed and they needed a new plan._

Alistair didn’t wait for the mages to heal him. He told them to heal Po, but Tess’ loyal mabari took off like Alistair. With magi trailing him, Alistair ran to Tess, pushing more magi out of the way. Trembling but upright drinking lyrium, _she was okay. Tess was all right._ Alistair pulled her head in for a kiss before bolting into the fight. The dwarves yelled, a solid block of relentless _power_ as casteless and warriors charged head on as equals. Alistair jumped in near Pádraig. Each hit drew a sound of warning and vexation, a clacking growl, more hissing, roaring. The Archdemon snapped, causing need to jump to avoid jaws that turned at angles no one expected. But each jump disrupted someone else, preventing blows that might have done critical damage.

_And there was Tess._

_Urthemiel_ screeched and retreated from her. _Only her,_ not the two dozen other bodies around it. Looking upon the others as insects but _Tess_ was _foe. Enemy._

 _Equal; worse_ than enemy.

No longer merciful after being set aflame twice by the _Old God,_ Tess wove around Alistair and Pádraig. The Archdemon snarled and snapped again; Fergus yelled for his sister. Under lyrium or just plain livid, Tess _moved with the Archdemon’s jaws,_ rolling back up when it did. She _drove_ her diamond-coated dagger in.

_Alistair’s rose; Tess’ weapon of choice. Maker, he almost laughed aloud in battle!_

Tess twisted and dragged her blade down the jaw; the Archdemon screeched and withdrew its head. Alistair rammed Tainted scales and wedged his sword, Pádraig helped Zevran hack thick flesh to expose wing bones. Half the dwarves cracked blades on scales and clanked against other blades; _Alistair understood - overpower with illusion, make it think it was overwhelmed. Make it panic._ The other dwarves stabbed and shoved where their blades penetrated. The Archdemon roared, raspy and desperate, a bellowing pattern - _it called for support._ It realized its time was running out.

Heavy wings moved through the air. What remained of the wings caught air, the faster it beat, the stronger gust around them. Though wings half shred, Urthemiel caused so much wind they had to move away to breathe or dodge the long digits. Alistair only began to breathe again when another ring of dark violet enclosed them. Beating harder as it fumed, Urthemiel made the flames spiral up around them, _through_ them. _A vortex of spirit damage._

These flames felt like not more than a hot bath, though. Lyrium fresh in her blood, Tess absorbed the fire faster than before. Had Alistair not known its evil, the _vortex_ dancing around Tess might be beautiful.

 

**_Tess:_ **

_What do I do? I can’t remember! I can’t think, it’s hot! It’s too hot! What am I supposed to do?_

_Think!! I have to thi-_

_No! Not think!_ **Not** _think!!_

_\-- fuck me! Why didn’t I realize it was so much like meditation? This would have made Templarhood so much easier! --_

_Breathe, just breathe - in, out - no, no, something else,_ **soothing,** _something calm --_

_What the fuck is calm right now???_

_Bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum--_

_Holy shit I can hear my heartbeat--- Maker it BURNS!!! GET IT OUT!!! PLEASE!!_

_Something calm something calm something calm ---_

_Amber. Honey. Honey eyes. Amber drink. Icicles, amber drink cold - cold glass. Warm honey, cold amber. Three steps back, four around. Only one hand. Two sips. Kiss me. Alistair._ **_My_ ** _husband._

_Cooling. Cooling down, not so hot. Okay. I can do this._

_Can I? Still?_

_I couldn’t do it then, it was so hard. I kept messing up, I couldn’t do it right. It only worked the two times! Couldn’t think for the life of me to do it right._

_But -- okay okay -- Deep breath. Maybe I'm not the only one who can get close enough to this bastard - the others obviously did too. Is Riordan even right that only a **Warden** can kill it? Don't the others up close prove... Maker, nothing today had been as I expected. Expectation is for the pigeons today._

_This, though? I am the only one who can do_ **this**. _I'm the only one who can take his worst damage so the others have a chance to get closer._

 _I think? Shit shit shit. Just breathe, deep breath. Breathe, Tess! Fuck, I wish it hadn't been so long. **Deep breath**. _ _Warm honey, cold amber. Hot honey, warming me everywhere. Icy trickle down my throat._

_Redirect the spell. Move it; take it, throw it back. In one hand out the other._

_Oh void take me, I finally understand it. Gereon, you bastard with your pretty robes, did you know Amoldo?_

_Inverse enchantment. Not_ **like** _a rune,_ **be** _a rune._ **I am** _the rune. Power from strength and strength from within._

 _The dagger is just my hand._ **I** _am the weapon. I am the weapon and the rune._

 

Controlled and steady, _legs_ steady, _breathing again._ Tess regained her balance. Arms raised up and centered then to her chest with a deep breath. Alistair and Morrigan yelled for everyone to run. _Urthemiel_ screamed; _Infidel!_ The stone roof collided with Alistair and his armor clanked, shield still at his arm and sword clutched tight. He crawled backwards to watch, but he needn’t bother with distance.

Tess did not explode this time. Her arms and hands moved like water through air as her feet moved space around her. _Like a dance;_ like the Crow training Zevran led weeks ago. A thrust of her palm; glowing violet flames erupted like her hand itself breathed fire. _The Archdemon screeched like a creature chained and tortured._ Tess wound her arms again to thrust from another pose; more fire, more _Archdemonic_ wailing.

And then it hit him. Alistair watched with heavy breath wishing he was too naive to know better. _It’s not real fire._ Tess could absorb and throw back the Archdemon’s flames because it was not _fire._ Only magic.

 _She was meant for this._  

 _She was meant for this?? Her youth spent nurturing addiction? Humiliation and withdrawals and enduring Tevinter experiments? Becoming the rune at Ostagar… all for this moment?_ Maybe all Sten’s talk of _destiny_ had rubbed off him. Tess was _meant_ to fight the Archdemon? Alistair didn’t want to believe it.

_Andraste forgive me; Maker, You have a twisted sense of destiny._

“BARRIERS BACK UP!” Pádraig shouted. “LYRIUM AND HEALERS ON THE QUEEN! HOUNDS AND ARCHERS ON DARKSPAWN! EVERYONE ELSE ON THE ARCHDEMON!”

Bodies shuffled without hesitation. Flat shimmering bulbs erected around the rooftop. Mages clustered Tess, arrows flew and mabari howled. The flood of warriors surged the downed dragon. Attacks felt easier now. Not as wounded as they hoped but bleeding _and slowing,_ the Archdemon behaved like game realizing inevitable death. It fought back in desperation, _faster,_ but each attack held less power. Determined to survive, using its bleeding jaws and the digits on its wing to keep them away. Tess stealing magical attacks and returning them in full limited Urthemiel's offence.     

A loud _crunch_ echoed over the sounds of battle and the Archdemon screeched; a wail of raw agony. _Shale broke its leg._ Unable to fly, scared to use its own magic, and now unable to stay balanced. Alistair’s hopes soared; _they could do this! They were so close!_

 _“FINISH IT!”_ Pádraig shouted.

The dwarves tightened up around it and hacked harder. Alistair and Fergus swung their shields to lift grotesque scales and stab beneath. Warming swirls encased Alistair’s body, moving from warrior to warrior around the Archdemon as mages healed. Pádraig swung at the neck over and over; little cuts, but each one would help it bleed to death. Shale moved on to a wing, pounding a solid fist where it joined the body. Zevran climbed up the back, stabbing long rigid scales to kick them off before helping Shale at the wing. Tess attacked at the mouth, face-to-face with the beast who dared not breath fire on she who could _breathe_ it right back.

Auditory disbelief escaped in a blaze towards the heavens from the monster who played _The Warden_ and her friends for _fools._ The left wing swung from its hinge on a last string. Zevran snickered at the Archdemon’s pain, and with a yank, _Shale broke the wing clean off._ A scornful tocsin blared in despair. _It could not escape to save it’s life._ Alistair recognized the look in its eyes: _Urthemiel_ believed it had been abandoned. _The Archdemon knew it had already lost._

Answering their _dark master’s_ last cry for help, darkspawn broke through Morrigan’s door of solid ice with a chilling _crack._ Alistair hated not feeling them over the Archdemon.

“THREE AND THREE! DWARVES AND ARCHERS TO MORRIGAN NOW! _PO!!_ HOUNDS! GET THEM OFF HER!” Pádraig left the Archdemon to ram the incoming darkspawn charging Morrigan.

The Archdemon was so injured the lack of dwarven might and Pádraig’s fierce arm made no difference now. Tess still took it face-on, bleeding its jaw, her diamond rose dagger slicing face and gums. Too short to reach the eyes, _she stabbed an ear drum_ when it cringed its mouth away _. The howl it gave._ Alistair better understood his wife’s desire to blind it - without its senses, the Archdemon would _always_ be alone in this fight. It couldn’t hear where attacks came from, and so it would not know which way to defend itself; it would not hear most blows until they happened. Without one or both eyes, it would not see a blade till it stuck.

As if reading his mind, an arrow struck the Archdemon’s left eye. Another wail of pain, but the Archdemon could not reach up with its broken left foot or broken left wing to pull it out. Tess gasped; _like someone had read her mind as well._ Alistair took the Archdemon’s pause to glance back, and a laugh of relief huffed out.

Leliana’s unmistakable cherry bob whipped around while she shot darkspawn behind her. _And behind her!_ Arl Eamon, Oghren, and the rest of Tess’ elite guard burst through the splintered ice door, already caught in battle. Alistair could not continue the grudge of childhood hardship on Eamon anymore. The old Arl bashed his shield and swung his way through the Darkspawn as if he had not been skin and bones a year ago. As if Alistair had never made it clear Eamon was _unwelcome_ in the Theirin family.

Oghren’s wild battle cries rang through the air. Even with the extra force and arms, the best they did now was hold the Darkspawn off. The Archdemon’s cries of trepidation inspired strength and determination Alistair had not seen from the monstrosities yet. _They were so close to killing it,_ but now the Archdemon had to wait. To finish the job, the spawn must die first. There was no telling if the Archdemon could give up its life early to possess another Darkspawn and survive.

Guttural laughing echoed from around the roof. The Darkspawn had spread out. As the genlock mage before him lit up his hands, Alistair saw other emissaries conjuring Blight magic. Alistair heard Tess cry out in helplessness, and he was torn - kill the darkspawn magi, or run back to rescue his wife, who would only absorb the magic he failed to stop.

“TAKE OUT THE MAGES!” Pádraig yelled.

The Archdemon also yelled, _alarm_ as emissary hands sparked and flamed. Alistair heard the warning in his head, _Stay! Desist ye fools!,_ but if the Darkspawn also heard, they ignored their master. As if proving themselves worthy of saving the Archdemon, blighted magi let spells fly.

 _“EVERYONE DOWN!!”_ Pádraig screamed. Alistair ignored him, wanting to reach an emissary before it conjured something _worse_ than flames. _“TESSLYN!”_ Pádraig hurled something as everyone scrambled to drop.

Alistair looked over to see Tess skid to a stop, closing her fist around whatever Pádraig threw. _She was right there;_ she’d dashed in to intercept the damage. _Oh Maker, Tess!_ With a wince in fear, she pulled something and shoved a bright blue vial to her mouth. _Lyrium, to help her absorb it._ Wherever the emissaries targeted did not matter with Tess there. A spell that missed a dwarf hit her dead on, and like it was a signal, all other spells deflected and changed course. The Darkspawn watched in puzzlement as whorls of blue fog, violet shimmers, white lightning and orange flame converged on Tess.

 _Fools!_ The Archdemon hissed and tried to back up, though its broken leg allowed for little retreat. It had nowhere to hide on the open roof. The arrow in its eye bobbed.

Though Arl Eamon and Leliana yelled out for Tess, Alistair knew _no one_ knew how lucky they were. Tess, face etched in pain and a scream lost in absorption, had taken a burden of war from all of them. _Alistair could not help his wife_. More than not wanting to lose her, he feared her surviving with the knowledge she _disintegrated_ him when she only meant to help. The whirls of color and smoke bled into her, and with a choppy breath Tess turned and slid her feet. She raised an arm _away_ from the darkspawn.

_She was striking the Archdemon again._

_Quislings! Traitors!_ Urthemiel scorned its underlings.

“BARRIERS UP NOW!” Pádraig ordered, pushing a mage to his feet. Darkspawn _panicked_ as barriers erected once more. Dwarves and elves helped Circle magi stand, barriers steady despite movement. The Archdemon cursed its spawn. Everyone withdrew from the anomaly that was Tess. Through the blue waves of the unified barrier, she almost looked like flame herself.

Another barrier grew beside Alistair. He looked over - and froze, eyes locked on the _genlock_ who stared back in utter confusion. _Fear in uncertainty,_ strong enough to make the darkspawn aid its enemies for a moment. Alistair nodded before realizing what he did, _and the genlock nodded back._ It rose Alistair’s hair. Riordan was wrong, the _Wardens_ were wrong. This was not a bestial soulless monster. _It understood Alistair’s nod._ This genlock understood _greater threats_ sometimes force enemies into allies. _Better to be safe than sorry._ A glance to Oghren enlightened the dwarf had never seen such a thing before.

As the genlock moved up to hold the barrier with Circle magi, Oghren gave a single slight nod and gripped his battleaxe tighter. Alistair didn’t need to ask; he already had the same idea. _Better to be safe than sorry_ indeed. The Circle mages gave double-takes at the genlock trying to help _._ Oghren glanced over and gave a hurlock a nod, indulging the illusion they were allies for the moment.

 _Tess struck;_ lightning and fire in a glowing vortex of her own visible through the blue barriers. The Archdemon shrieked; the darkspawn stiffened in a unanimous silent gasp. _And Alistair struck._ The blighted barrier dropped as _Starfang_ ripped straight down through the genlock’s head. _Maker help him if he did the wrong thing._ When Alistair turned to attack again, the others had already caught on. He planted his foot and swung his shield; a flaming arrow pierced the face as it fell.

Alistair nodded at Leliana. “Stay with Morrigan,” he told her. He eyed the witch; so far still whole, no bleeding. He couldn’t tell if she carried, her shape had not changed. _They were so so close. Alistair wanted that damn ritual to be worth it._

“BARRIERS DOWN! MAGES ON TESSLYN! WARRIORS TO THE ARCHDEMON!” Pádraig yelled. Bodies scurried once more, but in the confusion, they had all the advantage.

Morrigan nodded when Alistair met her eyes, though her brows hitched with the same concern. This close to the end made desperation of _faith_ even more potent. _Maker, please,_ Alistair pleaded in his head as he rushed towards the Archdemon.

Darkspawn now reduced by over half, the Archdemon’s chances were lower than before the delay. It reared back as high it could on one leg; Alistair admitted himself impressed it managed what it did. Right wing stretched out, Urthemiel roared. _A rally cry,_ a final attempt to bolster its thralls and spare its life. A flap of its remaining wing brought a gust of air; _half-shredded but not torn enough._ Almost everyone staggered to find breath as the gust caught in throats. Another flap, and _some-fucking-how Urthemiel spun._ Growling hisses while it balanced on broken bones, the Archdemon spun like it denied pain for the now.

Alistair froze in horror as the outstretched wing caught warriors on its course.  _More than he could keep track of, sweeping them off the roof._ Screams were heard this time.

 _Gone. Just like that,_ a third of Alistair’s rooftop forces _gone._ _No. No! That wasn’t possible!_

 _“TESS!”_ Alistair screamed.

“I’m here!” _but Alistair couldn't see her. “FERGUS!”_ she shrieked.

Fergus cursed with a groan. “I’m here, Tess!”

Even more panic: _“PO!!!!”_ Alistair still couldn’t see her, but he knew the loss on her face already. He looked around as Po’s familiar bark echoed, and Alistair’s heart dropped in relief; the dog was _family,_ not a pet.

“He’s here!” Alistair called. He tried to look around, but so many people shoved themselves to the ground. Everyone back towards the door remained out of range, but there were so many _up close right there._ Alistair feared the headcount in the end.

 _“LOOK OUT!”_ Fergus yelled.

 _“DOWN!!”_ Pádraig bellowed. _“EVERYONE DOWN NOW! MOVE! CRAWL!”_

The Archdemon spun back around, sparks of ire spraying from its mouth, wanting revenge but unable to take it; hoping to take as many down with it as it could. This time, Shale was ready. The Archdemon growled out curses as if the golem understood it. Shale grunted, stone feet stomping as she turned the Archdemon around by the tail. Her stones ground together, dragging Urthemiel down the main walk one heavy step at a time. Zevran laughed in the heat of the moment; _Alistair laughed in relief at his voice, glad he hadn’t gone over._

But another look over froze him again. Dragging the dragon left Tess face to face with it - _alone._ Everyone crawling to safety on Pádraig’s orders _left Tess all alone with the Archdemon._ And the Archdemon realized it had her cornered. Unless Alistair killed it now, Tess’ only options were _fight_ or _jump._ Even with Shale still dragging it away from the edge; though that was a feat in itself with the little distance she gained. While she had space, Tess’ only defense from falling off were two merlons spaced too far apart; _aesthetics not meant for Archdemon fights._

The Archdemon tried to turn again. Shale steadied her foothold and tried to keep the dragon in place, but once again it summoned reserved strength. Shale _skipped_ along the roof, the Archdemon’s muscles stronger than her stone clutch. The Warden’s party yelled to let go, but Urthemiel flung its tail before Shale could react. The stone golem lost her grip and _flew_ from the tower.

 _Gone. Shale gone. Their_ **golem** _gone. How the fuck did that even happen?_

_Maker!! Where are You?!_

Tess’ voice overpowered them all: _“SHALE!!”_

And Urthemiel turned its attention to Tess.

 _“NO!”_ Alistair grabbed his shield and ran. A jagged spear whipped down right next to him, jolting Alistair so hard he fell backwards. Another cracking thump, and _another. He couldn’t balance to get back up,_ and whoever came to help him fell as well. Unable to regain footing either, Domhnall dragged Alistair by the collar of his armor. Alistair screamed and struggled, but Domhnall’s grip was iron. The Archdemon’s tail continue to thump, too quick, too close. _It made sure no one could rescue Tess._

“BARRIERS BACK UP NOW!! _SHE DOES NOT LEAVE THIS ROOF!!”_ Pádraig yelled. “ARCHERS! NOCK DRAW VOLLEY _NOW!!_ KEEP THAT THING AWAY FROM HER!! _THE QUEEN DOES NOT DIE HERE!”_

From across the roof, Tess met Alistair’s eyes. _Half the roof_ and an Archdemon between them, so many hands keeping Alistair from running to his wife. The tears rose but Alistair widened his eyes to keep watching.

 _No no no nononononono! Maker please no! Not this! Let go of me! Get off!! I have to save her! Let me save my wife!!!_ Alistair screamed and prayed, so desperate he didn’t know which words voiced.

Tess looked at the Archdemon, whose tail still whipped and smacked to _isolate Tess,_ then looked back at Alistair. Only her daggers; one woman - _a lone rogue -_ against an ancient blighted dragon. Regret and fright filled her face. Tess gripped her daggers tighter and her mouth moved.

 _Time stopped again._ No noise, just his heartbeat. The fingers kept him rooted without sound. Alistair couldn’t hear his own breath. Tess off in the distance mouthed words still. Apology on her face and her silent words…

 _She was saying goodbye._ She would try to end it on her own, before Alistair or herself got thrown off next. Tess was leaving him _for good._

His entire being could not thaw from fright of his wife _willing to die_ to ensure Alistair wouldn’t get killed.

 

**_TESS:_ **

_I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Alistair._

_This day has gone so wrong. The moon should be rising. Snow should be falling. The Orlesian Wardens should be here in our place._ **I** _should be pregnant with my husband’s child._

_But it’s all wrong. How can this be all I’ve fought my whole life for?_

_I don’t even have time to say goodbye. I can’t even see Morrigan. She’s probably dead. My brother and guard are keeping Alistair from running over._ **I can’t even say goodbye.** _This is the end._

_And I don’t even have a choice. If I don’t fight now, I will fall off._

_I more than love you, Alistair. For the rest of my days._

_Arrows still fly. Urthemiel’s head turns away; Leliana’s arrow still sticks in his left eye. Just me and my daggers, and a dragon who has forgotten about me for the moment._

_I am the weapon._

_… This_ **has** _to work. There is no other way, Tess._

_Why can’t death be easier to accept?_

_Grip my daggers and run. I can climb my way up. He doesn’t even see me._

_First stab makes him screech. Second doesn’t stick as well, have to stab again. Stab_ **again** _and_ **again** _with Alistair’s Rose, higher, step on a rigid scale and push up; stab again._

_Dark Master screams at me, pounding in my head. He can’t reach up to stop me. Easier to climb than I thought he’d be; though I didn’t think I’d climb this dragon at all. I hope Alistair’s Rose is long enough._

_I stab straight down into his skull. Urthemiel’s shriek is different this time._

_I hit something! I hit something?_

_I pull out the rose and shove silverite in, and Rose plunges again. Twist with both blades, open his skull. This_ **Archdemon** _wails again. He never expected I’d do this._

_That makes two of us._

_Rose digs faster and harder, no pity for bone or cursed screams. My hand the diamond Rose works better than I imagined._

_Ugh, this is disgusting. Please say my brains don’t look like this._

_If I live through this, I bet I could rule all Thedas if I wanted. Too bad Gereon couldn’t see me now. I might like to see him bow. Who wouldn’t bow to someone who killed an Archdemon?_

_But I won’t live through this._

_I was never meant to, was I, Maker? I was only meant to come this far. I meant to be rid of Loghain and Cailan. I meant to put Alistair on the throne. I have done that. Alistair will be a good King. And Teagan will help him heal and move on._

_I’m so sorry Alistair. I will have to see you in the Fade from now on._

_It’s the only way._

_I lean over, holding on with my knees. Urthemiel cranes his last eye and glares into mine._

_Goodbye, Old God._

_One dagger into his open brains, the other in his eye, and_ **twist**.

_Both hands grinding, Rose pops the eye and pushes through bone._

_His screech stops short. Dead? That’s--- oh no no._

_No. What is this? Faint glow seeping from his body -- through my daggers. It tingles. It’s in my fingers, I_ **feel** _it._

_Is this what a soul feels like?_

_No, not a soul. His magic. Like all the magic today. Through my hands, crawling through my wrists. It feels like ribbons in my skin, growing brighter as it climbs. A breath of air I can see. What is happening?_

_Screaming. I look over; the wisps of magic are brighter yet through my neck and face, down my body. Alistair’s running from the other end of the roof. Fergus is on his heels, Po too. Morrigan is by the door - not dead - frozen in suspense watching me._

_She has that look again. The one from when Urthemiel set me on fire in the Alienage._

_Oh, no. No no no no no. I’m going to combust again._

_Oh, Maker, Andraste, no no, please. That hurts so bad! She’s right, isn’t she? I can hardly see them now._

_Maker, it already hurts. Whatever this is,_ **his** _magic, it_ **burns**. _Sizzling, my hands feel --- oh shit. Glowing cracks, like Shale in fire. Like the power inside is trying to break through my skin._

 _It_ **had** _to be me? Why couldn’t it have been Riordan?_

_Flexing my fingers draws a hiss. It’s a busy, stinging current as venomous as Urthemiel. I feel it flowing through veins and arteries already, I feel my mouth drop with no control. I can’t see anymore, it’s bright! It twists inside like I did to him, knotting, yelling the last of his essence into me._

_A flash: a thin blonde woman, lying sideways on a bed of silk and drapes, one breast peeking out of a lace camisole as I crawl over. A_ **memory!** _Her lips were so soft, and the way she held my face… The moment I realized I loved Celene. I'll never see her again... Another memory: That’s me and Alistair on the bridge underground. The staring contest with the darkspawn when slime attacked Zevran._

_This isn’t my memory… Urthemiel was watching me then?_

_And another: Alistair… in the dark with moonlight on his face. On the edge at Ostagar, oh Maker, why are You doing this? Alistair holding out his hand, offering to help make my life better. Alistair, you have no idea._

_Not quite pain, not close to soothing. Lifeforce of another being, lifeforce that doesn't belong with my own and confounded by it. Urthemiel still exists in this essence around and in me._

_Something explodes inside. Like he tossed a bomb in. I can’t - can’t breathe. Air! It hurts! Feel limbs curl from suppressed rage. Finally striking back at the One -_ **Archdemon** _\- who doesn't understand the connection between It and the Warden who drove the blades. Me. Urthemiel’s angst against my own._

 _I feel myself rise from the dragon. Off, up in the air - like I’m standing, but there is nothing below me now. Swelling anger and pain finally released inside of me. It is the bomb that becomes me. A familiar foreign voice curses his Taintling one last time. Light like winter sun breaks through my eyes with whatever I absorbed. This is death._ **This** _is what Riordan meant; two souls clash._

_Before I have no more time left: Alisss ----_

 

Blinding explosion knocked everyone back, cutting off all screams by the Warden who didn't run when her husband wanted to. Wind knocked from him, Alistair has no choice but to sit back and recover. Sight returned to Alistair with a rupture of light and a gulp of air. Where Tess had been now held the charred remains of a dragon and a radiant beam that reached between clouds.

The column of light cracked and fizzed into fog. A body dropped like a rag doll. Alistair scrambled back to his feet and dove, sliding so hard his armor broke away.

“Tess!” He scrambled up and pulled her limp body off the dead beast. She wasn’t moving. Eyes closed, bruises forming. She didn’t move when he patted her cheek or took her up in his arms. “NO! No no no! Tess don’t die! _You can’t die!!_ _Tess listen to me!! Wake up!!”_ He patted her again, rougher, shook her shoulders, drew her old rune, but _nothing! Nothing's working!_ He looked around. “MORRIGAN!!” he screamed. He couldn't see the witch at all. _She left?? Already? Without checking if it worked??_ “Someone stop her! _Get her back here!”_ He looked down at his still wife. “Please, Tess, don’t leave me! It’s not supposed to end here!”

Po brought the witch back, barking the whole way to announce her return. Alistair was in tears when he looked up.

“Heal her! _You said it would work!”_ He accused her. _“Heal my wife!!_ _Please!!_ Morrigan, you _promised! I trusted you!_ **We** _trusted you!”_

“How did this -- I don’t know!” Morrigan shook her head. She dropped to her knees with a look of horror and disbelief. She looked at languished motionless Tess like she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. “It was _supposed_ to _work!”_ her voice broke.

_“JUST HEAL HER!!”_

Circle magi converged on them. Simultaneous healing from every mage illuminated them all. The massive golden cloud highlighted Tess’ static body like a beacon of hope.

It felt like hours, _days_ waiting. Alistair knew it wasn’t that long, but after all he and Tess had been through, _this wasn’t possible._ It couldn’t be the end, _it couldn’t be! Why didn’t she just run back to him?? Oh Tess, no no no! You can’t do this to me!!_

A gasp of air made Alistair laugh in hysteria. He gathered up his breathing wife and squeezed her to him. _He would never let her go again._

“She breathes!” Morrigan spilled tears in relief. Alistair didn’t need her to say it, he already felt his wife’s breath against him. He slid his hear to her chest and laughed again.

_Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum. Tess survived._

_Maker, it was music to Alistair’s ears._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Archaic: 
> 
> Peccant: Sinful, Offending  
> Varlet: Unprincipled (rogue)  
> Natural: Impaired Intelligence  
> Levant: In debt (to) [flee leaving unpaid debts]  
> Quislings: Traitor who collaborates with the enemy  
> Thine: Yours  
> Thou: You (singular)  
> Canst: Can  
> Suffer: Endure
> 
>  
> 
> Elvhen:
> 
> Shemlen: Humans
> 
>  
> 
> Last Notes before the next chapter: Everything that's happened to Tess and Alistair before they met pretty much set them up, in my story, for fighting the Archdemon together as King and Queen. Despite them becoming Grey Wardens on Cailan's orders, I hope it's become apparent that even the orders of others were really just Cailan and Celene working (unknowingly) through the Maker. Kind of like that Christian belief that we have one destiny with many possible paths in our life, but God already has each path planned out to the end scene should we stray from our original destiny. It may have been too subtle in my fic, but the "missing the original destiny" idea was seeded throughout by Sten both in game and here, and it just all fit too well ^_^ 
> 
> And in case the "Crow Training" I've described sounds familiar, from the way Zevran (and Master Ignacio) talk, I liken Crow training to Tai Chi. (If you've seen the Airbender movie, you've seen Tai Chi.) Needing to blend in with the environment of their targets, needing to know their weapons like their own hands for the first attempt of each kill to be successful, also considering the Crows have flourished as a guild for centuries, I assume there is a method that made the Masters successful. Tai Chi (or Tae Qi) employs the self-discipline needed for all of these, teaches how to feel the energies of one's environment (useful for Crows who need to keep or change the atmosphere to complete their contracts), meditation to center oneself and clear their minds from outside influence to put their game faces on, and gathering the energy in the air around them into their hands/feet to use as a weapon (making things like daggers nothing more than added damage that causes bleeding over time). They are the weapon, the dagger just makes their targets die quicker. Meditation would also be useful for any non-Master Crow to come to peace with their harsh lives and be able to sleep each night. Hard physical training that solely depends on determination and clarity of the mind in order to master. "Crow training" here also coincides with Tess' ability to _become the rune;_ it makes sense to me a process like Tai Chi would also be useful in subjects of Tevinter experiments (similarly Fenris) [also Templar training with it's discipline] as it offers a way to harness and control energies non-mages normally do not have.


	75. The Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Archdemon lies dead, but Tesslyn won't wake. Fears rise as her coma persists. Alistair has changed the tides and forces Morrigan to stay to heal Tess, but the Dark Ritual was completed. Tensions brew and friendship is tested when pregnancy symptoms set in. Alistair must choose: hide his adultery and risk his wife's honor, or explain his adultery and risk the loyalty of his most influential nobles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING*** Anxiety; Angst, worrying over someone in a coma, heavy blame; Co-dependency; Mild Self-Harm - starving one's self (out of co-dependency); Mild Abuse & Threats & Yelling.  
> **POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING** Medical conditions: coma (comatose).
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Everything, by Lifehouse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjDojEOiMcE)

_Tess was not all right._ Magical healing brought her breath back, but Tess did not wake. Breathing, but otherwise limp and unmoving. Her eyelids did not even twitch. _Tess was comatose;_ First Enchanter Irving confirmed it.

 _She was almost comatose once before._ Deep Roads and the cursed Anvil flashed in Alistair’s mind; her deathly withdrawal and the _months_ of recovery that followed. The concussion she'd had was almost no different than a coma. _No no no_ **_fucking no!_ **

Tears clouded Alistair’s eyes as he patted he face. “Tess please,” his voice broke. “Wake up, please! Don’t do this!” Her initial breath that brought a wave of hope was now a curse.

Is this what that fucking witch meant by _neither would die?_ Alistair would kill her, _like he should have fucking done in Lothering!_

Alistair was on his feet with Tess in his arms before Eamon even opened his mouth.

“We must get her inside,” the old Arl said. Alistair was already halfway across the roof. It was like the Maker moved him. Dead weight in his arms never felt lighter.

The Maker cleared a path as well. Darkspawn still trying to flee were cut down right in front of Alistair one after another. He stopped for nothing, rushing past the twice dead as if he’d run this obstacle course a hundred times. _Tess in his arms did not awake._ No jolt or jump changed her state, she remained Alistair’s life-sized rag doll. And he remained a strong man when his wife needed him to.

 _Almost there, Tess, almost there._ “MORRIGAN!” he yelled, “If you’re not in there healing her every fucking waking second, I will _kill_ that thing! Am I clear?!” No one but _that witch_ could understand his threat. A chill down his collar stopped him in a gasp only a few steps back outside. He looked up and around, expecting some last fucking blighted attack from panicked emissaries.  

“Alistair, no need for threats, all right? She’s right here,” Pádraig said.

Alistair glanced at him while he adjusted Tess. Circle magi beyond his sight gasped about snow. _Tess had waited so hard for snow,_ but now they could not enjoy it. “Right now, I don’t give a fuck how _anyone_ feels for her, Pádraig, _that witch does not leave my side until I say so!”_ Pádraig glared back, confusion and concern. “Now get my fucking palace open and put those fires out!”

Pádraig frowned. “Yes, Your Majesty.” Pádraig could disagree all he wanted; he would hate Alistair anyway if he knew. The young general ran ahead, yelling for mages to frost the palace.

Alistair quickened his feet, watching his wife as he neared the home they had not been able to wear in yet. Tess winced and jerked, but did not wake. _Her withdrawal was setting in._ Whatever the blast from the Archdemon was, it must have expended that last vial of lyrium she took. _Shit shit fuck, Maker!_ The last thing needed was for Tess to remain comatose and _scratch_ again.

Pádraig had the doors open and waiting. Servants gathered to gasp as Alistair rushed through the maze of his new home. Eamon and Pádraig yelled for the palace healers, and scurrying began to assist already. Alistair only diverted to the Queen’s chambers for convenience: the healing ward was a hall away.

Alistair stepped back took in a painful gulp of air as the healers took over. The _Queen’s_ medic, a middle aged widow, removed Tess’ armor while Circle magi began a unified healing spell. Underclothes with pale red stains came off Tess and into the arms of handmaidens. _Tess was worse than comatose._ Someone ushered everyone else from the room while Tess lay bare. Alistair watched with a harrowing heart and tightening chest as wet rags splashed down into basins and left blood behind.

If Pádraig was angry, he no longer showed it. Eyes averted from Tess, Alistair forced his feet to pace. It wasn't easy staying calm when disrobing Tess revealed wounds her armor hid. Pádraig preyed on Alistair’s distraction and pulled him out to the hall. Almost a head shorter than Alistair, Pádraig tried to be supportive. He began unbuckling Alistair’s armor. “There is nothing you can do until she awakes, Alistair. You should take a minute to breathe. I ordered tea up. Supper’s starting.”

“Wha- how can I eat, Pádraig? Like this?” Alistair gestured to the bed where Tess lay. “I should just sit down and enjoy a nice tea and lamb while my wife is all but dead?” He couldn’t believe his ears. How did that make any sense? _If Tess was unable to eat, why should Alistair overindulge as king?_ Nothing he could eat would help her any. “No, my place is _here,_ I am _not_ leaving my wife!” Alistair tore from Pádraig and crossed the large room again.

“Alistair -” Pádraig sighed.

Alistair's feet began pacing again before he _realized_ it was all he had left to do. He tore off the rest of his armor and flung it to the door. _He would not leave, he_ **_could_ ** _not! How could Pádraig even suggest it?_

“Where is she?” Teagan’s voice sounded with a clank of armored feet running. Alistair’s _uncle_ stopped just inside the room and caught breath with a wince. “Tesslyn?” his voice cracked in sorrow and wheezing did not mask it. “Is she…?” Alistair met his eyes. He couldn’t answer Teagan.

“My Lord! Her Majesty is exposed! Out!” the medic cried.

“Does she live?” Teagan asked, oblivious to ceremony of privacy. But exposure was the only way Tess would heal. The medic listened to her heart, lungs, and Maker knew what else while female servants wrapped Tess in gauze. A strong smell of astringent hit Alistair’s nose.

“Yes, she lives, but she is hard in comatose. And she will _remain_ in so if we are not left to heal her! _Out, everyone!_ Bann Teagan, you know better! Afford her what privacy you can! Your Majesty, _you_ included.” The graying woman shot Alistair a glare as she covered Tess with thick sheets.

“Not a chance!” He slashed his arm through the air, shaking his head. “That is my _wife!_ I will _not_ leave her!” Alistair looked around. Circle magi, the medic, handmaidens running in sheets and fresh water basins, oils, and incense. Something was missing. “Something’s not right…” he looked around. Not _thing;_ a _who_ was absent. The lack of her face reminded Alistair of the witch who lied about her fucking promise and caused this mess to begin with. _“MORRIGAN! GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW!”_ Alistair yelled, starting out into the hall.

“I’m here! I have not left!” Morrigan stepped into view, already wearing a hooded cloak. _She fucking wasn’t._

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“Alistair-” Pádraig began. Alistair shrugged away from him, pushing his way to the witch.

Alistair yanked her cloak up off over her head. “You don’t leave until Tess wakes up!”

“You know I cannot stay!” she hissed. “The agreement was _you allow me to leave!”_

 _“YOU DON’T GET TO LEAVE UNTIL I SAY SO!”_ Alistair yelled her face. He grabbed her shoulder and shoved her towards Tess’ room.

“Alistair, for fuck’s sake, what has gotten into you?” Pádraig pushed his hand off Morrigan. Alistair shoved him against the wall before he knew what he was doing or who he had by the neck. Alistair found he didn’t care though; if Pádraig wanted to stay in the way, he could deal with injuries he earned.

“Alistair, enough!” Fergus pulled him away.

“That _witch_ is the very fucking reason my wife is _like_ that! She lied to us from the beginning! _I FUCKING KNEW BETTER!”_ Alistair screamed at them both, at _everything._ _“GET IN THERE AND HEAL HER, MORRIGAN! NOW!_ You will stand at that bed and _heal_ her til your mana runs dry! And then you will drink potions so you can stay awake and _keep_ healing her!”

“I must leave-”

“What?” Pádraig looked at Morrigan like he didn’t understand. Words of her desire to flee distracted Pádraig from Alistair for the moment.

Alistair avoided Fergus’ hands. He shoved Morrigan’s face towards bed-ridden Tess, walking her to the door with an arm out to distance himself from Pádraig and Fergus. “You did this to her! _You fucking did this to her, Morrigan! This is your fault! You lied to us! She trusted you and you lied to her! Now my wife will not wake! BECAUSE OF YOU! YOU WILL NOT LEAVE!”_ Alistair pushed her in the room. “In fact, _no one_ leaves! UNTIL TESS WAKES, _NO ONE LEAVES THIS CITY!”_ He glared at Pádraig, whom Fergus restrained. Right now, Alistair did not care for lost friendship. “Close the gates, _general._ No one leaves or enters this city until my wife awakens! _DENERIM WILL HOLD HER BREATH UNTIL HER QUEEN WAKES UP! LOCK THE FUCKING GATES! NOW!”_

Alistair slammed the door.

“Your Majesty, how can she recover with all this racket?” the medic scolded him. Alistair huffed through his nose and yanked his pauldron buckles. He would fight and yell at whoever helped Morrigan keep Tess comatose. But he also knew no medic could work without flaw with such racket.

At least they all knew where they stood, now. Alistair would _kill_ the person who prevented his wife’s healing, friend or _brother._

He continued to stew while he removed the rest of his armor. Servants came and went; _King’s_ robes, a tray of tea, a tray of food, wine. When pacing did nothing for him, Alistair sat in a chair by the window, watching. Circle magi _and Morrigan_ funnel healing spells into Tess. Morrigan sniffled while her hands shimmered around Tess’ head with bluish-white; the calming magic that allowed Tess' mind to untangle. Balms, incantations, smelling salts, incense. The Grand Cleric entered to pray over Tess. Yet _nothing worked._ The medic had no diagnoses except what Alistair already knew, and since no one alive had ever seen an Archdemon before, it was impossible to tell _why_ Tess wouldn't wake. Without knowing _why,_ it was impossible to reverse.

When the medic left the room, Alistair moved to her spot. He dragged his chair right against the bed and clutched Tess’ hand. Pressure swelled around his eyes. _He didn’t understand why she wouldn’t wake._ She absorbed offensive magic, why didn’t healing magic work the same on her? _Didn’t she want to come back?_ He wasn’t even angry, he was _so scared_ of losing her. _He couldn’t lose her. She was everything; his breath, his heartbeat, his spine._ The only reason he ever strove to make life better for himself was because of _her._ They couldn’t have spent _all that time_ only to have _this_ happen. _This just wasn’t possible._

Weight of a hand lay on his shoulder. Alistair looked up to see Teagan.

“That will do for now, Morrigan, thank you. There is a room set up for you down the hall. Tesslyn is not going anywhere. Attend to yourself, and return when you've refreshed,” _Uncle_ told the sniffing witch. _Kind to her when Alistair found no compassion._

‘What?! _No!_ Teagan, she does not leave! _This is her fault! She needs to fix it!”_ Alistair protested, sitting up.

“Alistair, Tesslyn is comatose. We have no choice but to rely on the Maker. He will wake her when it is time. Overspending Morrigan will not help Tesslyn,” Teagan insisted with his gentle tones. “Do not forget: Morrigan was also in battle with you all day. She has injuries of her own to attend to, I’m sure. Forcing her to stay will not help Tesslyn wake.”

Alistair opened his mouth again, but a stern look from Teagan softened his frown. When Alistair didn’t speak, Teagan again excused Morrigan. Alistair tried not to notice her stumble off the bed with a wet, trembling breath.

“Alistair, come.” Teagan poured a cup of tea, splashed in cream, and touched Alistair’s shoulder once more. “Drink this. A break would benefit you, as well, nephew. You’ve burns and abrasions. It will also do Tesslyn no good to awake if her husband falls ill for neglecting himself.”

Alistair fought his face pinching, but his eyes watered anyway. “I’m not important right now, Teagan. _Tess_ is.”

“And she is being attended to. The mages who helped you fight the Archdemon will stay in the palace. Some have gone back to Fort Drakon to collect its blood for study, _Maker guide them,_ but they will stay to help heal Tesslyn. As soon as they rest, they shall return for another session.” Teagan watched Alistair sit otherwise unmoving before he sighed and pulled over a chair for himself. Teagan pried one of Alistair’s hands off Tess and placed teacup and saucer on his palm. “Drink, nephew. The city is still, as you wish. The gates have closed, Eamon is handling the people. No one will leave, as per your order. Tesslyn waking is everyone’s priority, this I assure you.”

 _It was easier to yell._ Easier to be angry instead of hold back tears. Breath rattled Alistair’s chest as he tried to force his worry away. The first sip of tea spilled it all, though. Every tear held in, every nightmare of losing his wife that plagued Alistair's waking hours came out and haunted him again. The teacup was gone when Alistair covered his face and cried against the bed. _This couldn’t be all he had left of his wife._

 

**_Fergus:_ **

_My sister cries in her sleep. It’s unnerving to witness. Sometimes she screams like night terrors attack her mind, sometimes she sobs. Her face when she cries reminds me of my son when he was a babe. Needy, helpless, all too child-like. Never opening her eyes, only crying. It frightens her husband, I see it all over his face._

_Alistair no longer tries to hide his sorrow from me. I wish I could say I don’t know how if feels to lose my wife…_

_The entire city is in stalemate. People gather outside the royal district. Women in black, children, even elves come to lay winter blossoms. If I didn’t know better, I’d think my sister died. I never saw the extent of her and Alistair's influence over the city until now. I wish Tess could see this. I wish she could see all these people who cry for her right now._

_Alistair does not move from her side except to piss. Even when his own medic came to heal him, my sister’s husband refused to leave his wife._

_It’s still strange to know my sister is married._

_Though more strange, I suppose, to know she called another woman_ sister. _Morrigan, as many walls as she erects to keep people out, is also distressed over Tess. Not long ago I watched this mage and my sister in the gardens, arms linked, strolling, giggling like they shouldn’t be. My sister never had friends growing up. She had her mabari and that’s all she needed. By the time she found her first friend, her fate was already planned. It’s heartbreaking to know my sister finally found another, and then pushed her away. Yet Morrigan spends every waking hour covering Tess with healing magic._

_Two contrasting people so devoted to loving my sister they will not leave her side unless forced. Mother and Father would cry with the city if they saw their daughter now._

_Some of the servants whisper my sister will not recover. I try to ignore them, but the first mention moved me too hard._

 

_In the long hours of the night_

_When hope has abandoned me,_

_I will see the stars and know_

_Your Light remains._

 

 _There is nothing left_ **but** _prayer. I truly hope the Maker has not abandoned us for good._

 

Alistair lost count of days; _again._ With snow blanketing everything, he couldn’t keep up with the sun anymore, and moonlight was almost as bright on the white ground. It did not matter. He did not leave Tess’ side anyway. If he needed to move, he walked around the room. When he slept, it was either in his chair or he laid next to his wife on the bed. Tess’ healers now treated him like furniture when they came to heal, instead of a man in the way. Trays of food went untouched, tea grew cold, and servants who could not get a word from him sighed each time they collected ignored platters.

Fergus took up residence in another chair. He sat near the door at the tea table, often falling asleep sitting up. _Just like Alistair._ Fergus stayed longer and longer each day, though lacked conversation. Alistair was glad for it; another person yapping was not what he needed at a time like this. Any words his wife’s brother spoke he saved for servants or visitors.

Zevran was the other to stay, along with Po. Hound and elf sat in silence on the rug at the fire. Like Alistair, Po only got up when nature called, always returning to the _same spot_ to wait for his mistress to wake. Zevran understood there were no words to engage Alistair right now, not after working so hard to repair his marriage and taking every precaution to ensure Tess would survive. Sometimes Zevran sat next to Alistair, sometimes combed his hair and plaited side wefts to keep it off his face. Other times, he massaged. Alistair understood, _Zevran wanted to help._ Not a word through the massage as knots and strains Alistair acquired from sitting most the day disappeared under the elf’s hands. Of the few times he spoke, asking Zevran to massage Tess was one. Alistair feared immobilization might weaken Tess more _,_ but Zevran came through again. He massaged joints, stretched her limbs akin to graceful _Crow training,_ followed by more massaging. _Essential healing_ that had disguised itself in the beginning as an assassination attempt. Alistair watched the elf and wondered how he’d ever wished Tess had not spared him.

Familiar heavy steps echoed through the halls, stealing Alistair’s attention from Tess. His eyes watered again as Shale stopped inside the room. Stony body shiny with melting snow, Alistair was surprised to see her, and heartbroken for Tess; so excited to get a golem, so worried when Shale had been flung off the roof. Composed of rock did not keep Shale from being a member of their strange family. When Alistair asked how she still lived, Shale relayed her unexpected journey from Fort Drakon’s roof: she landed in the ocean and trudged through the mushy seabed for a _distasteful length of time_ till she climbed the rocks near the lighthouse. She did not stop walking until now. Relieved to see neither Warden died and regretted having no ability to help. Shale said she always found Tess fascinating. __Tess mirrored her fascination,_ _ regarding Shale akin to Po - a _person,_ not a soulless pet. Their shared attraction to gems began their bond. Tess would be relived Shale survived. _If she ever woke up._ Alistair could not stop his tears in time, turning his head to wipe his eyes though he guessed the golem knew.

Nothing changed. Tess still slept. When Alistair laid next to her, her breath warmed his skin. Cradling her tight, her heart beat against him. Her face was still warm beneath his lips. Still she cried in her sleep. Each twitch brought more tears to his eyes. Too hard in comatose to scratch, but Alistair could not appreciate that now. _As long as she woke up,_ he _preferred_ her scratching to _this. He could control the scratching;_ he could not control a coma. _Lacking control over his wife’s safety frightened him._

The Queen’s handmaidens changed bedding and washed Tess with a rag throughout the day. Though deep in suppressing sleep, her body still functioned. During washing and changing, she was still, quiet… it was unreal. She _always_ relaxed for baths. There was a gaping hole in Alistair’s heart where Tess should be, and the body that filled it before _now_ felt like an impostor. Like a demon held her captive in the Fade again, only this time Alistair was awake to watch her _nap._ Maker, it was all so wrong. _They should be fine and happy right now._ It wasn’t his own promise which failed but he felt the torment as if it was. At this point, all he saw of himself was a husband who had been unfaithful _for no reason._ And he couldn’t even get this off his chest.

One day - or night? Everything outside the room was a blur - Fergus sniffled more than usual. It seemed he no longer cared to hold face; also like Alistair. Alistair didn’t speak of the Teyrn of Highever’s tears; they only made Alistair’s heart hurt more. One more person who needed Tess awake, yet was unable to help. Tears hindering sleep helped no man awaiting the Queen’s recovery.

Fergus startled Alistair at first: “Seeing her like this, it feels like the Maker has robbed me of everything. I nev-” his voice broke. “I never got to say goodbye to my wife and son. Nor my parents.” Fergus shook his head. A thin stream of tears spilled. “And now… _I am so sorry, brother.”_ Alistair looked over; he did not expect this addressing. Fergus Cousland, the large, mighty general of Highever, looked helpless before his king. “We should have stopped her. We should have _done_ something. **_I_ ** should have done something. Perhaps she’s right?” he shrugged and sniffed. “Maybe none of this would have happened if I’d been in the Deep Roads with you, like she said. _I could have stopped it there for both of you.”_ Puffy circles around his eyes told Alistair he’d been crying long before he stumbled into the room this day.

Alistair didn’t know what to say. While they could have used his blade, in no way was this Fergus’ fault, nor could he have prevented it. He suspected Fergus already knew this yet desperation drove blaming _himself._ He knew nothing he said right now would ease Fergus' mind, either; it was Alistair’s predicament also.

Alistair stopped a servant and bade her fetch the crate of parchment in his chambers. When the maid returned, Alistair told Fergus to read them. _We wrote you,_ he said _, We never thought you were alive to read them, but we wrote you when we could. There’s… other letters in there too. You might as well read them all. You can see for yourself what you missed._ Alistair shook his head though, recalling the letters he’d written to his Fade daughters.

Fergus looked like he didn’t understand how reading letters would help Tess. He picked up a handful of scrolls anyway, and Alistair tried not to stare. Tried to not to let bother him the fact private information about his relationship with Tess was in the letters. _letters written to a man assumed dead._ Hoped Fergus would not see him as _crazy_ for everything about the Fade children. The silence while Fergus read was uncomfortable anyway. Sniffling grew more faint as parchment shuffled and unrolled. Alistair peeked when he dared himself, catching Fergus frowning sometimes, brows upturned others. _This was a bad idea._ It wasn’t having the effect Alistair thought it would. Fergus had been right, _how would reading crazy desperate letters help Tess right now?_

A sob not caught quick enough startled those in the room. Alistair looked again to see Fergus with a fist to his mouth. He spread shimmery parchment out and looked at them side by side; _the pictures Morrigan preserved._ “These are _them?”_ It came out as a whisper. “These are your daughters?” _Daughters,_ not _fake children._ Fergus’ face squished together. “She looks just like Tess.” _Carlyn._ Fergus let out a doleful laugh. “Little muddy Tess after stomping in puddles with Po. She looked _just like this,_ mud splattered all over her face. _Brother.”_ The break in his voice pinched Alistair’s heart again. It was not something he expected to bring _brotherhood_ to their acquaintance. _Fatherhood_ may have even been the cause, as Alistair remembered his letters to Fergus. They were both fathers who’d lost children.

Others continued to check up. Leliana came with winter flowers in a vase and prayed, sometimes with wine for Morrigan. The elite guard came in pairs with condolences. _Not only guards,_ the two dozen men had become _part_ of the young Wardens odd party. Sometimes they brought a mabari along, and the other hound gave a soft whine before joining Po on the rug. Old Eamon stepped in once a day, always with a glass of his favorite brandy for Alistair. Teagan stayed for hours, even fell asleep in his chair once. _So much work to keep Tess safe and restore her reputation._ Now the new Arl mourned the woman who was his closest experience to _daughter._ While he needed to report home on the Blight, Sten postponed returning to visit. Sometimes he came each day. Once he brought a tin of cookies for when Tess awoke; a valued treat for the Qunari in his strict culture. After the third visit with no change in Tess, Sten stopped advising Alistair how best to mourn.

Even Pádraig checked in, never fewer than three times each day. Though he disapproved of Alistair’s actions toward Morrigan, Pádraig bore no resentment as he inquired about Tess. He brought Morrigan tea and lyrium every time. His first visit, Pádraig had laid a pair of daggers on the bed before Alistair. A simple, silent placing of a diamond-coated rose dagger and a silverite blade with a lightning rune. _Tess’ daggers;_ cleaned and oiled like they’d never killed an Archdemon. Alistair gathered his wife’s daggers on his lap and cried into Tess’ arm. _Proof this wasn’t a bad dream._

Then there were days Alistair woke up on the bed next to his wife and had no idea how he got there. He remembered nodding off in his chair at the side of her bed, clutching her hand. But when he awoke, he was lying on the bed next to her. Head on her chest or her shoulder, garment beneath his face damp with drying tears. He figured he crawled up half asleep. There was always a blanket atop him, as well. Alistair woke up like this so many times the others must have thought it intentional. And he always cried again, stalling the start of his day to hear her heart once more. _It was never enough._ He’d never had her so _absent_ from his life before. Staying strong for his wife only made sense if she was alive well, and right now, Tess was _far_ from well. _Alistair did not know what to do without his other half._ He _had_ nothing to do without her; _sleep, wait, cry, repeat,_ _nothing more._ Without Tess, there was nothing left of _him._

One day, out of the blue Pádraig moved a heavy chair across the room and sat right next to Alistair. When Alistair didn’t look over, Pádraig braced his chair and turned it around so Alistair had no choice but to face him.

“Look at you, Alistair.” Worry lines etched his face deeper as his eyes took in Alistair’s countenance. “You look like shite, you know that? Have you eaten at all?”

Alistair turned away with a scoff. “Piss off.” He tried turn his chair back toward Tess, but Pádraig stopped him. “Pád-”

“No. _You listen_ for a moment, Alistair. _Look at you,”_ Pádraig repeated, “I'm serious, look at yourself. You’re wasting away, Al. _Have_ you eaten anything?”

Alistair slumped back in his chair. “No.” He refused to meet his eyes. Hunger pains had been but a blink. He didn't want to eat Tess' favorite foods without her, he didn't want to use up all her drink. And with how Morrigan and Riordan betrayed them, Alistair could not tell if others they trusted weren’t also betraying them. Pádraig had fumed at him for pushing Morrigan around; why was he so amiable now?

“And you not eating is helping Tesslyn how, Alistair?”

“I can’t eat _for_ her.”

“You’re still King, Alistair. You still have to take care of _you._ _You took_ this job,” he reminded. He sighed when Alistair turned in the chair to face Tess. “Alistair, you can’t just ignore everyone till she wakes up.”

“I’m not. I’m focusing on my wife. Leave me the fuck alone, Pád. I’ll eat when I need to.” He turned his chair, but Pádraig turned it right back around again. Alistair growled at him.

“I get it,” Pádraig said. “You’re _scared,_ Alistair. _I understand._ The woman you love is in a coma; _I’d_ be fucking scared, _too._ And I understand you would _sacrifice all_ of us just to save her - to _wake_ her. I know you that well. So _this?_ Sitting here wasting away? How the fuck is that helping _anything,_ Alistair? It’s been _weeks,_ you realize that? Three weeks tomorrow. This shite you’re pulling is _not_ an option. Tesslyn is _alive,_ and there is _nothing_ to be done until she wakes up. We just have to wait it out.” Pádraig paused. Alistair took a better grip on Tess’ hand. If Pádraig waited for a response, he would keep waiting. “In the meantime, Alistair, _you are King._ You have a country who _needs_ you. The city closed? Ferelden can deal with that. Denerim needs to rebuild anyway, it gives the townsfolk and guilds time to restore. But you’re _still_ their _King. You wanted_ this job, and _you_ need to take care of them. Arl Eamon’s been holding court all this time for you, but that’s not _his_ job.

“You have _Dalish elves_ not able to return to their clans, the _dwarves_ can’t get back to Orzammar. The _mages_ can’t return to the Circle. _Chevaliers_ are camped outside the city _right now,_ did you know? The Empress’ reinforcements cleared what remained of the darkspawn, and there’s a single regiment here. _Celene’s_ waiting for Tesslyn to wake, as well. _You’re not the only one._ You are a _king,_ Alistair, and _you_ have responsibilities that _need_ to be addressed _while_ your wife recovers. You’re not the only one who fought to make you King. _I_ fought to get you here, too. _I_ believe you’ll be a great king, but you have to prove that to your _people. Show_ them you’ll help them recover. These people lost _homes._ _They_ actually _lost_ their wives, but _they_ need to carry on. A king cannot run a country by starving himself bedside to a sleeping queen.”

“If Tess dies, there is no King. The Theirin line will end. Someone else will have to do it.”

Pádraig stared so hard Alistair felt it like a brick. “That is the _darkest_ fucking thing you’ve ever told me, Alistair. And I’ve seen a _lot_ of dark shite happen to you.” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe his ears. “Do you _hear_ yourself? _What good_ will it do Tesslyn to awaken and find her husband _weaker_ than she is for not eating? _Or dead?_ You think she won’t feel guilty? She had _no_ control over going into the coma, but her _husband_ refused to eat because of it. Is _that_ what you _want_ for your wife, Alistair?”

Alistair frowned deeper. Had their roles reversed, Alistair might talk the same to Pádraig, but it made nothing easier right now. _What if she awoke but Alistair wasn’t with her? What if she got worse?_ He needed to stay with her plain and simple. Alistair shook his head. _No, no leaving._

 _“Horse shite,_ Alistair. You need to eat. As your General, I’m _ordering_ the King of Ferelden to eat and get back to work. As your _friend,_ I’m ordering you to take care of yourself so _I_ don’t have to tell your wife _you starved_ yourself to death.”

A deeper frown ached his face. He _hated_ Pádraig was right. If it took months for her to wake, Alistair would die of starvation and _Tess would blame herself._ And knowing Tess, she would not care for her audience when she took her life. “Come on.” Pádraig stood and moved his chair aside. “Get up.”

“No.”

Pádraig pulled him up anyway. _Small people jerking him around like he didn’t tower over them._ “This is not up for debate, Alistair, I won’t watch my best friend hurt himself. You and I are going to sit in your cabinet, and you will eat and drink like the man your wife needs you to be when she wakes up. Because _I refuse_ to tell her you killed yourself for not eating and _I refuse_ to light your pyre when _something can prevent it.”_ This was the only reason Alistair met his eyes.

That was all the difference between him and Tess: Alistair’s current state could change at will. Pádraig was more right than Alistair knew how to admit aloud. All disagreements on Morrigan set aside because a _friend_ worried for another friend. _And Pádraig was fucking right._ Alistair was punishing himself for not being able to prevent Tess’ coma, but in the long run, it would only punish Tess. He couldn't do that to his wife. He had punished her enough already _more times than he could count._ Pádraig was trying to keep it from happening again. More than anything, he wanted to believe Tess would wake and he could hold her again to _show_ her he wasn’t punishing her. Pádraig’s argument was the only reason Alistair did not resist being dragged from the room.

It took numberless drinks before Alistair would eat. He sat in a cushy chair staring at the hearth, the glow warming him so much his cheeks flushed. Or it was the drink; he lost track after Zevran and Fergus joined them. They wandered in after Maker knows how much rum Alistair drained, only to help him finish the bottle and open another. Unseen servants replaced alcohol and trays of food while Alistair wasn’t aware they’d eaten so much. Four grown men drunk in the King’s study, three of them helping Alistair remember what it felt like not to worry and cry over his wife all the time. Alistair even laughed. When he found the plate on his lap empty, a pout he didn’t remember made his _friends_ laugh, and Alistair laughed again. _The first good night since Riordan divulged the Warden who kills the Archdemon dies._

Alistair didn’t remember how he got back to Tess’ bed chambers. When he woke, his huge body curled like a babe in the chair that had taken the shape of his buttocks. And for the first time since his early Grey Warden days, his head ached from the night before. When Pádraig brought him a pain potion with a grin on his face, Alistair pulled him in for a hug and thanked him. In worrying over his wife, Alistair had forgotten what _friends_ felt like. Forgotten he _needed_ his friends. He would sit with his wife during the day still, but after last night, taking a break every day for dinner and drinks didn’t sound so bad anymore.

Alistair wasn’t the only one ill that day though. When servants brought in tea and oatcakes, Morrigan caught everyone’s eye. A hand flew to her mouth and she almost didn’t make it out of the room before she retched. As if Pádraig had a sense devoted to Morrigan, he ran down the hall to help her. Fergus groaned and told the servants to remove the tray _to be safe._ Alistair groaned when he sat back down. He _needed_ Morrigan to heal Tess, but if she was ill, he couldn’t risk her weakening Tess with a virus.

 _Not another fucking predicament! Maker, please?_ Was there _really_ not enough strain in Alistair’s life right now?

Morrigan returned with Pádraig not hours later. Alistair jumped from his chair and spun her around with a shove. “Don’t even think about it! If you get her sick, she will never recover! You -” he broke off, sighed, and pointed away. “Just go. Stay in your quarters until you’re not ill anymore.”

Morrigan shrugged out of his grip with a scoff and shoved her way into the room. “I am not _ill,_ Alistair!”

“Then what the fuck was that?” He gestured out to the hall where she’d vomited. Morrigan narrowing her eyes surfaced a flood of anger and _guilt_ and _fear_ he’d almost forgotten with Tess sleeping.

 _Morrigan wasn’t ill. She was pregnant. That witch was_ **_really_ ** _fucking pregnant._ It was no longer speculation or precaution. And if the ritual worked, then the monster who cornered Tess on the roof and forced her to fight for her life now _thrived_ inside of Morrigan.

 _No no! Not this! That fucking nightmare was supposed to end!_ Alistair crashed into the tea table when he backed up. _No no no! Maker!_ **_This_ ** _wasn’t fucking real!_ He now wished he’d _just_ been unfaithful, not _helped make the spawn of an Archdemon._

“Alistair?” Pádraig searched him in concern. Alistair shook his head. He couldn’t answer. _No fucking way he could say what was wrong!_

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Fergus told him.

Alistair shook his head again and tried to normalize his face as he rushed back to Tess’ side. “Just fucking heal her,” he ordered Morrigan, scooting his chair to the bed. But even as Morrigan continued her spells, Alistair worried what the fetus of an Archdemon would to the _Warden_ who’d killed its _other_ body. It never occurred before that if an Archdemon could possess an unborn babe, then it might pass through and possess the mother. _The last thing Alistair needed was Morrigan taking the Archdemon’s revenge out on Tess._

The idea of dinner and drinks with the men was no longer in question. Alistair hardened again to everyone in an instant. He tightened slack on Morrigan, reduced her breaks to twice a day, set guards at her door at night to keep her from sneaking out. Pádraig grew irritated and demanded answers but Alistair refused. _He could never tell; what if it later returned to finish its destruction? Maker help him, not a chance he would tell!_

He _tried_ to make Morrigan eat in the room so he could better watch her, but her sensitivity to food continued. Always the same time each day: mid-morning tea, no matter what biscuit it came with, though anything with oats also nauseated her. After a few days, Alistair caught young maids whispering about Morrigan _ill with child._ Dread washed over him again; if servants gossiped about it, the whole palace would soon know.

 _Fergus was first to catch on._ He watched Morrigan flee in her fifth bout of _morning tea sickness,_ his eyes without a doubt suspecting. When Morrigan returned, Fergus crossed the room and peeked out, then stood with his back to the hall and stared. He looked her over so thorough even Alistair felt awkward. Morrigan walked backwards away from Fergus, returning his suspicion threefold. Alistair, Zevran, Eamon, Teagan, and Pádraig watched them both; Alistair tried harder than ever to hide the anxiety creeping up.

“Alistair, you need to release her from duty. This mage needs lying in,” Fergus said.

“Pardon?” Eamon asked.

“A rather rash accusation from you, Fergus.” Teagan looked concerned.

Morrigan’s face skewed. _“A lying in?_ You couldn’t be more discreet?”

“Lying in refers to a woman taking her chamber,” Eamon explained.

“For _pregnant_ women.” Fergus stared. “Alistair, I’m not jesting, this woman is with child. She has the symptoms; Oriana had them as well. She needs to be off her feet.”

 _“What?!”_ Pádraig laughed in incredulity. “What has gotten into you? Did you forget Alistair’s had her under constant watch? It’s not possible.” Zevran against the wall showed sudden interest in the conversation. His eyes moved from Pádraig to Morrigan, took in Morrigan’s shape; which had not changed. Until this moment, only Alistair, Tess, and Morrigan knew Pádraig couldn’t be the father. But now with Pádraig’s reaction, it was clear Alistair’s general was _not_ Morrigan’s lover.

Fergus shook his head. “She hasn’t been under guard at night until recently, she could easily be three or four weeks. My _wife’s_ sickness set in about a month. Pregnancy sickness is not something a husband forgets.”

Pádraig already struggled with heartbreak on the _idea_ of Morrigan having a lover that wasn’t _him._ It was evident on his face and the way he held himself, his quickening breath. It was a betrayal Alistair never meant to make, but Pádraig would never forgive his king if he knew.

Eamon paused, then sighed, his wizened face falling in recognition. Alistair knew he recalled Isolde’s pregnancy. “It is what it is,” he said as if this presented another problem they did not need. _He had no idea._ “Return to your chambers, Morrigan, thank you. We must inform the Chantry, the child will need to be collected-”

 _“What?!”_ Morrigan’s turn to cry out in disbelief. Alistair _wanted_ to pity her; over a year of no one regarding her apostasy twice, but now this? “I will not allow it!” _Could the Archdemon seep out to take revenge if it sensed its new **mother** was in danger?_

_Maker help them all, already and forever._

“It’s a shame,” Eamon nodded. “But in the end, it is what’s best. The child will get a proper education in the Circle, don’t -”

“Twill be a foolish move for this _entire city_ if you try! Alistair, _I need to leave. Now!”_ Morrigan stood firm; Pádraig looked at her in silent question. Alistair began to agree in his head -- the thought of _a little Archdemon growing up in the Circle_ … not to mention how her _staying_ would affect Tess --

 _But **Tess**. _ “NO!” Alistair jolted to his feet. _“You don’t get to leave, Morrigan!_ We’ve been over this! You do not leave till Tess wakes! _No leaving!_ If you try, I will _cut_ that thing out of you! _YOU ARE STAYING TILL SHE WAKES UP!”_ Morrigan began to protest again, but Alistair cut her off, a sickening thought in mind. “Unless _this_ is part of your fucking plan? _This_ is what you meant by we’d both come out of this alive? You put her in a fucking _coma_ and _skip out?”_

 _“No!_ Alistair, _you know_ why I did this!”

“Nephew, if she’s with child, she needs bed rest,” Teagan interjected with his usual tender tones.

“She _should_ be in confinement. _Especially_ after the battle. Otherwise she could miscarry,” Fergus said.

“No!” Alistair shook his head. “She _fought_ with us while she was pregnant, she can _certainly_ stay to wake Tess!”

“Wait, what?” Pádraig searched Alistair like he did not want to think his thoughts. _Shit sodding fuck it;_ Alistair did not mean to say that. His mouth had fueled with _only_ fear of Tess' death, not his _secret dark ritual._   _Fuck._ “You _knew?_ You’ve known she was with child this whole time?” More obvious than Morrigan’s pregnancy sickness, Pádraig tried to deny his suspicion _how_ Alistair knew.

Alistair stared back, pulse racing, steaming his core, breath shallow. _Don’t force me, Pád. Do not force me to admit this._ He felt his frown revealed his guilt, though.

 _“Alistair?”_ Teagan asked with one brow raised when Alistair did not answer. _He'd not understand either, after all the trouble Alistair made over Tess trying to leave._

“Alistair, this deserves an explanation,” Eamon said low and firm. “You’ve made quite the fuss to heal your wife, yet you already knew this mage is expecting?”

“It’s none of my business…” Zevran said with an exaggerated look of innocence. “But I am too nosy for my own good.”

“Let me leave! _Alistair!”_ Morrigan hissed.

“How did you know?” Pádraig still searched him. “Alistair, you’ve been my _brother._ I’ve fought my _arse_ off to protect _your wife._ Haven’t I earned respect? Do I not deserve to know?” Pádraig paused with drifting eyes, then his face fell. He all but rained tears. “It wasn’t here, was it? _Redcliffe_. The day we left Redcliffe. _The night before."_ Pádraig stepped back and leaned against the bedpost with a sigh of defeat. Alistair had never seen him painted with rejection before. “And Tesslyn knows, doesn’t she? _That’s_ what came between them. _You_ came between them.”

Teagan sighed in disappointment. “Alistair, you did not...”

“Is this true?” Zevran didn’t want to hear it anymore than Pádraig did, anymore than Alistair wanted to admit it. The _entire party_ fought  _their asses off_ to keep Tess safe for Alistair.

“Tis _far_ from what you suspect," Morrigan insisted.

Fergus hardened, his face more fierce than Alistair had seen. “All that talk in Redcliffe that night, it was a _fucking lie?_ And the _sister_ act? _You’ve both been using my sister?!”_

 _“No!”_ Alistair yelled back. “Andraste as my witness, _no! I’ve never once used Tess! Maker fucking ---!”_ He turned and growled, pulling at his hair. There was no escaping explication now. Alistair would be under scrutiny until he admitted every last detail. Tess would be pitied and coddled, and bitterness would consume everyone who _thought_ of Alistair.

He looked at Tess. Sound asleep, unaware of the rift in the room with her. _Alistair never wanted to cheat on her!_ Had they not been _desperate_ to keep each other, letting her _sister_ come between them never would have crossed his mind.

“Close the door,” Alistair ordered. His voice rang back to his ears throaty and graven. “Lock it.” He was obeyed without question.

“Alistair, do not do this!” Morrigan warned.

“I don’t have a choice anymore.” He turned around, running his hands down his face. The men stood between Morrigan and the door; she began to show traits of a trapped wild beast. If she felt threatened enough...

“You think they will understand? This old man will yell for his Templars and have me made Tranquil!”

Alistair met her eyes. “That won’t happen.” _But it was possible._ His frown hardened. “Will that kill Tess?”

“If I am made Tranquil? Doubtful, but they will not stop there, you know this! They will abort it and burn it! And _that_ may kill Tesslyn! _Or you!”_

Alistair bit his tongue until it felt ready to split. With a sigh that only tangled more knots inside him, Alistair looked at the men around him. “You all heard Riordan that night? In Redcliffe?” he kept his voice low. _Maker forbid servants eavesdrop!_

“We heard you kick his ass,” Zevran clarified. “You yelled about him wanting to sacrifice Tesslyn.”

Another deep breath, hard and long through his nose; his mustache moved with his air. _He had to tell them,_ though. _Especially_ in case Morrigan used it against Ferelden in the future. Alistair needed his leaders to understand _now_ and prepare _later_ should the _spawn_ return. “Riordan told us that night the Warden who kills the Archdemon dies. Souls clash.”

“Then why is my _sister_ alive?” Fergus still glowered.

“Alistair, for your own sake, _do not!”_ Morrigan warned.

He hesitated again, not meeting anyone’s glare. “I meant to leave. Me and Tess were going to leave, run away. But Morrigan was waiting for us. She said she had a _ritual_ given to her by Flemeth.”

“This does not sound promising,” Zevran said, shooting a skeptical glance at the witch. To Zevran, betraying Tess with a ritual _now_ must look out of character. It had _felt_ out of character for the bond she’d formed with Tess at the time of proposal, but that’s what made it _betrayal_ in the first place. The entire party trusted Morrigan with their lives, even those who clashed with her.

“A ritual?” Pádraig looked from Alistair to Morrigan, still not wanting to believe Alistair had bedded her. _Needing_ to tell didn’t make it any easier. _“What ritual,_ Alistair?”

Alistair stared hard into the eyes of his general, his best friend after Tess. _You already hate me. I see it all over your face, Pádraig._ He continued: “She said if I _impregnated_ her, then when we killed the Archdemon, its soul would go into the child instead, and me and Tess would be spared,” he admitted. Morrigan scoffed and paced by the window away from them, shaking her head.

 _“What!”_ Teagan hissed. He glared like Alistair was mad. Alistair _must_ have been mad; the ritual had not, in a sense, saved Tess at all.

Eamon stared accusing and dreading. Pádraig looked _beyond_ lost and seemed to question his trust in Alistair. Fergus’ dangerous glare transformed into lines of horror. Zevran frowned without blinking, expecting _more_ of Alistair yet once again disappointed. Alistair went on: “She said it was the whole reason Flemeth sent her with in the first place.”

“Andraste’s dying breath…!” Teagan shook his head. “Alistair, do you realize you may have risked us all? _The entire world?_ _”_

 _“Yes_ I _fucking know_ that, _Uncle!_ The only reason she’s even _here_ right now is to _heal Tess!_ That’s _exactly_ what I mean when I say _my wife in a coma is her fault! She lied_ to us from the beginning! She earned Tess’ trust and _Tess loved her!_ And I am _so_ afraid of losing my wife that _we agreed_ to that fucking ritual! She _promised_ it would work! Morrigan _insisted_ and _begged_ us to let her _help me save her sister,_ she _played_ it off like she _cared_ for Tess and _worried_ about her, _but all along she was lying! She's been using us from the start!_ And now because of _her,_ my wife will not wake up! I don’t care if she swells and _gives birth_ here _,_ _she will stay and make sure Tess wakes!!”_

“And you didn’t think of asking one of _us_ to kill the damned thing?” Pádraig asked.

“Twould not have worked,” Morrigan spoke up. “If any but a Grey Warden kills an Archdemon, the closest darkspawn absorbs the soul, and days later it re-emerges in full power. If Alistair killed it and died, Tesslyn would end up back on lyrium and wither! And you've already a preview of what happens if Tesslyn dies!” She gestured to Alistair. “I _only_ did this to keep my sister from dying! I know _not_ why she lies comatose, Flemeth _never_ told me such would happen! I thought Tesslyn would _bounce_ back to life like always! _I was trying to help my sister!_ **_We_** _were! Tis all!”_ Tess seemed the only way to break Morrigan. “Now you _must_ let me leave! Alistair, if I stay here, they will _imprison_ me and take the child to the Circle!”

Alistair wanted to keep her to heal Tess, _chain_ her if he had to! But an Archdemon with the knowledge of the Circle would be worse than never killing it in the first place. And Tess--

“Don’t you call her that, _witch._ You are no sister of ours,” Fergus growled. Morrigan behind him turned to hide her face. “There’s only one thing to do. We take her to the wilds and kill her there, _away_ from you and Tess. I’ll do it myself.”

“Wait, wait, _wait a minute!”_ Pádraig raised his voice, standing straighter.

“You cannot!” Morrigan protested. “It will _still_ seek out the closest Taint! With the darkspawn back underground, it will come _right_ back here! To _Tesslyn_ or _Alistair!”_

"No one will kill you," Pádraig assured her.

“It’s the fucking Archdemon, Pádraig, we can’t let it live!” Fergus shot an arm in Morrigan’s direction.

 _“You’re not killing her, Fergus!”_ Pádraig defended the woman he still cared for. _"She_ is not the Archdemon!"

“Fergus is right, though,” Eamon agreed, “the Archdemon cannot be allowed to live. It is a threat to all life, the Blight was more than adequate proof.”

 _“NO ONE IS KILLING MORRIGAN!”_ Pádraig bellowed. “For the _unknown alone,_ you will not kill her! This has never occurred before, _none_ of us know what will happen if you do! Morrigan is a _powerful mage,_ who's to say it won’t just possess her corpse? A dead possessed mage is _worse_ than any apostate! _Morrigan especially_ is not someone we want possessed! You aren’t aware, _Fergus and Eamon,_ but Morrigan is a _shapeshifter._ That is _ancient magic_ and _we_ don’t have a remedy for the destruction the Archdemon could do in her body! _No one kills her! End of tale!”_ As much as Alistair didn’t want his unfaithfulness to be true, he felt relieved Pádraig defended Morrigan. _Someone_ needed to; part of Alistair still felt killing her would solve problems.

Teagan caught Alistair’s glare amidst the silent contemplation in the room. “Morrigan has helped the country _and_ the Wardens with a great service, Alistair. Many cannot summon the bravery she employed. If her destination is far away, we can afford to grant her leniency,” the new Arl of Redcliffe advised the new King. _“Especially_ if the Archdemon’s soul is in the child, we do not want it around when she gives birth. Better to let her run as far away as she can.” Morrigan turned back around with a gasping breath. “The _King_ can afford to grant her this boon for aiding the _country.”_

“Tis all I ever intended,” Morrigan’s voice was still broken. “I _know_ how Tesslyn will react when she awakes. Tis _better_ if I am gone. For _everyone.”_

They were right. Any chance to kill Morrigan to prevent her from ruining his life had passed Alistair up long ago. Any chance for Morrigan to stay here and ensure Tess woke from the coma also fled. Had Alistair not erred and revealed he knew about Morrigan’s pregnancy, she could stay. Rather, _if Fergus had held his tongue,_ Morrigan’s pregnancy would have gone unnoticed. But with Fergus and Eamon so in mind to kill her to rid the Archdemon for good, Teagan was right. Morrigan needed to leave. If Alistair hesitated to release her, the Templars would come. The longer she remained, the greater risk of the Templars discovering the child's true identity. Morrigan remaining to heal Tess was now a liability.

“Alistair.” Pádraig stared at him, and Alistair stared back. He understood Pádraig’s expression: _You know it’s the right thing._

Alistair looked beyond Pádraig at the citrine eyes of _Tess’_ Wild Witch. He had never seen so much _hope_ in her before. There was nothing left now but to leave Tess in the hands of the Maker.

“Go,” he told Morrigan. She let out a trembling breath of relief. “Eamon, Fergus, _you don’t leave this room,_ you tell _no_ one, am I clear? Pádraig, see her out.”

“Aye, Your Majesty.”

“Alistair, this is a _grave_ mistake,” Fergus said, his voice low as Pádraig opened the door.

“Objection noted, Teyrn Cousland. But now _you’re also_ accountable.” He matched the glare of his brother-in-law. "Keep that in mind. Keep your _sister_ in mind before ordering men to hunt Morrigan down.”

Morrigan paused in the doorway, stealing Alistair’s gaze from Fergus’ stubborn glare. She turned and met Alistair’s eyes. “I wish to say goodbye. Alone. I will not linger.”

Alistair waved the others out of the room without a second thought. The sooner, the better; if _goodbye_ helped her hasten away, so be it. He stood outside the open door, eyes on Eamon and Fergus while his ears attuned to Morrigan’s voice.

 _Tess’_ ice mage sniffed beyond Alistair’s sight. _“I’m so sorry, sister,”_ Alistair made out. _“I never wanted this…”_ Alistair peeked over his shoulder to spy Morrigan sitting on the edge of the bed. She leaned down and put her lips to Tess’ forehead.

“This is a great fucking way to start your reign, you know that?” Fergus grumbled.

“I don’t fancy the idea of it coming back either, but it could be worse," Zevran said. _"Trust_ me. Six golems like _Branka_ make the Archdemon look like a wounded old nug.” He stared at nothing ahead of him, propped against the wall with his back and foot. His fingers fumbled with the ties of his shirt. He looked to be pondering how he’d not put all the pieces of Alistair’s confession together before. “I’m not exaggerating in the least.”

 _“Live long and glorious, sister,”_ Morrigan’s voice broke.

“Would you rather Tess die and I marry Anora?” Alistair retorted to Fergus. _An instant scowl._ “Me neither.”

 _“That_ would _definitely_ be worse.” Zevran nodded.

Alistair looked over as Morrigan walked out. Though she refused eye contact, tears at her eyelashes reflected nearby torches. “Am I still free to leave?” She asked. Alistair didn’t blame her for the defense in her tone. He had not expected Fergus to insist death without regard; Fergus had seemed _grateful_ Tess found a friend. Yet Fergus' death threat set in motion Alistair restoring Morrigan's freedom.

“Yes.” Alistair didn’t have a choice.

Pádraig approached as Morrigan gave a nod and rushed towards her quarters. He watched Morrigan for a moment before looking at Alistair.

“Permission to send her with a hound, Your Majesty?” the _General_ asked. Pádraig always thought of everything. Alistair nodded, and Pádraig whisked away after Morrigan before another word aired.

 _He watched them from the window._ White powder girding them, Morrigan and Pádraig almost looked like a painting, like they belonged in Rainesfere’s perfect winter fairytale realm. _If only,_ Alistair thought. Pádraig helped hooded Morrigan onto a tall woolly steed; an Anderfels horse in its winter coat. Sacks bulged around her as she settled on the saddle. A dark mabari with snowy spots stood at attention near them, sniffing the air. Pádraig stared up at the bundled witch. They were too far away for Alistair to see their mouths move, but even from here, he knew Pádraig pined already. If it wasn’t obvious in the way he held himself and tilted his head, how he clutched her hand showed it. Pádraig brought Morrigan’s hand to his mouth, and Alistair felt for his friend again. _A kiss on the hand was not good enough when she would never return._

Alistair looked over at Tess. Stirring again, flinching, but still asleep. _Like always._ She would awake to a new world with new people made from spilled secrets and a hole where _sister_ used to be.

Sending Morrigan away was inevitable. Alistair admitted to himself, as he espied them again, he’d hoped Pádraig and Morrigan would celebrate the _death_ of the Archdemon and marry. Morrigan could stay as Alistair’s court mage, and Pádraig would raise the _child_ unaware it wasn’t his. _It could have worked out,_ and for Pádraig, Alistair had wanted it to. But _everything_ had gone wrong. From Riordan to the Archdem on to forced admission of Morrigan’s ritual, they improvised it all _out of need._ Pádraig stood alone as Morrigan rode off; the mabari followed its mistress as reared mabari do. Snow flew up behind hooves and paws like a moving wall, as if Pádraig needed _more_ proof love quit him. Unlike Alistair when he separated without warning from Tess, Pádraig turned around as soon as Morrigan was out of sight. The mighty general who’d commanded success atop Fort Drakon _sulked_ back towards the palace doors.

When Pádraig did not return, Alistair left Tess to the Circle magi and searched for his friend; _if_ Pádraig still considered him such. _Alistair’s_ friend sat in Tess’ sitting room; the topmost room on the tallest floor with large glass windows that overlooked the Atrium district - and the city gates. Staring, chest heaving like he kept reminding himself to breathe. _Pádraig was heartbroken and numb._ Oblivious to everything that was not the one person he sought outside.

“Pádraig, get the fuck out of here.” Alistair walked over when the opening door failed to draw a gaze.

Pádraig’s head turned, followed by his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

“Get out of here.” Alistair gestured out the window. _“Go._ Go after her.”

“I can’t. She took my horse.”

 _“Pádraig,”_ Alistair’s voice dropped. Pádraig met his eyes. “There are twenty-three other horses that can catch up. Go with her.” When Pádraig continued to stare out the window instead of answer, Alistair sighed and sat on the bench. “I can’t undo what I did, Pádraig. _If_ it really made a difference in saving Tess’ life, then I don’t regret it. But it was _once_ and _never again._ That doesn’t mean _you_ can’t have her.”

“You don’t know Morrigan very well.”

Alistair sighed and hung his head for a moment. “Pádraig, I’m sorry,” Alistair finally got out. “I never did that to hurt you, I never did it to hurt Tess… but it did anyway. I have a bad habit of that, don't I? _Never meaning to hurt people._ I wish that wasn’t one of my better talents.”

Pádraig shook his head. “I’m not angry, Alistair. I spoke to her, I listened. I understand why she… _endured_ it.” _Morrigan revealed Alistair hurt her._ “I think she’s fucking _brave_ for doing this. It cost her her only friend, now she’ll be a single mother _and_ an apostate. I can’t imagine how _frightening_ that will be. _I_ certainly wouldn’t want to be in her place.” It was a concept Alistair hadn’t considered yet, but Pádraig was no doubt right again. Worse than staying in a palace with a child that resembled another man, Morrigan had to face pregnancy alone in Winter _while_ hiding from Templars.

Staring out the window again, Pádraig continued: “I _miss_ her. A _lot._ Already. I fall asleep thinking about her, you know? She’s the first thing on my mind when I wake up. Then,” his face fell again with a sigh, “I look at you and Tesslyn, even when you fight, and I don’t understand how anyone else has the _nerve_ to say they’re in love. Even if she returns, I _know_ I won’t have that with Morrigan.”

 _“Morrigan’s_ not addicted to _lyrium,_ ” Alistair said. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Things would be _very different_ right now if I’d never needed to nurse Tess back to health after each relapse.” He watched Pádraig watch for a woman far out of sight. “Listen, Pád. No matter what happened, no matter our differences about Morrigan… If your heart is riding away on your horse, you need to go catch it. I can always find a new general. You might not find what _she does for you_ again.” Right now, Alistair felt more like an elder brother; the most unimaginable first for him.

“I offered to go. She doesn’t want me to. She says it’s something she needs to do alone.” A deep breath rose and sunk Pádraig’s chest. “Some things aren’t meant to be. I know that now.”

“If I had pissed off every time Tess told me to, I would _not_ be married right now,” Alistair told him. “I lost count the first night of our first fight. _I don’t like Morrigan,_ Pádraig, and I never will. But she needs you, and it _looks_ like _you_ need _her._ _Go._ I’m serious. Get out of my palace. _Go get her.”_

“I wish to respect her wishes, Alistair.” Pádraig shook his head. “She’s already gone. I know that. I gave her our fastest horse. Morrigan is already gone.” Another deep breath. _“_ So here I will stay and keep Tesslyn safe, _as she wishes of me.”_

Alistair stared. Pádraig skipped out on love to protect Tess _for Morrigan._ “You love her so much you’ll sacrifice your own happiness?” This had been a hard lesson for Alistair to learn, but since, he couldn't see why others didn't strive for it.

“I wouldn’t be the first in this palace to do so.” Pádraig’s fingers shifting revealed a polished wooden ring. Pádraig wasn’t one for jewelry, but he kept rubbing it. “Your _wife_ is doing the same, isn’t she?” Alistair couldn't deny that; Tess' sacrifice would never end, either. It seemed an increasing trait in people around Alistair. Pádraig glanced over and noticed Alistair watching his thumb and the ring. “A gift from Morrigan,” he explained. “It’s all I’ll _ever_ have of her, now, I suppose.” Pádraig’s smile had never been so sorrowful before. Alistair never knew he could empathize so much for a friend.

 

 _He heard it like he was the tongue of its bell._ While Alistair crossed the corridor to his study, servants shrieked and cried out in jollity. Investigating led Alistair to maids running upstairs yelling for him to hurry.

 _“Your Majesty! YOUR MAJESTY! KING ALISTAIR!! SHE’S AWAKE!!”_ Scurrying maids crashed into him, gasping for breath, tripping over their gowns and each other. _“Your wife awakes, Your Majesty!”_

Alistair never ran so fast in his life.

 _And he heard_ **_her_** _._ Faint and broken, _wife_ cried. Everything else was trivial now. Alistair careened so fast he couldn’t stop in time. He failed to catch himself at the door and skidded into servants, knocking them into Zevran. Po yelped under them.

The healer listened to Tess' heart while a young maid gathered sheets. Another held a large cup while Tess drank. Alistair pushed off from the pile of people only to stumble at the edge of the bed. Tess was so busy drinking she didn’t notice him. Alistair caught his breath, looking from her to the medic. _Did Tess not know she’d been asleep for a month? Didn't she want to see him? Was she infantile again?_

“Is she…” Alistair’s voice caught, afraid the healer would diagnose her like his nightmares.

But upon hearing his voice, Tess pushed the cup away. Their eyes found each other without trouble. His heart thudded so hard he heard it, pulse raced faster than her Taint buzzed. _She's here. She's awake._

His heart ringing his ears, Alistair searched her. Thinner than before she killed the Archdemon; _but not Deep Roads-thin,_ thank the Maker. Dry lips turned into a pout. Dark circles under her eyes gave the impression she’d been awake the whole month. Otherwise little change. _All that healing magic paid off._ Alistair felt his eyes water as he scoured her face. _He’d feared she’d never wake, never sit again._

_But here she was._

_But was she…?_ Unless she spoke after withdrawals, Alistair had no way to tell if she was infantile. He searched her eyes. Emerald orbs glossy yet not as vibrant as they had been. She searched him back, harder, brows pinching more as she stared, and Alistair’s heart pinched. _Did that mean she was Tess again?_ He wanted to hold her again, kiss her again,  _wanted her arms to tighten around him again._ But that could not happen if her mind hadn’t healed from lyrium yet.

“Alistair?” her voice came out like a scant whisper on a sanding block, and Tess held her throat with a wince. Alistair was on her in a blink.

Face scrunched, no mind to the servants around them, Alistair converged on his wife, curling up around her. _He would never stop kissing her again._ Tears leaked as he planted his lips, over and over, covering every part of her face. Her lips pressing into his shattered his heart, _a breath of relief rushing through him_ like a hot drink in a hot bath after walking in the snow. _His whole body sighed,_ letting him nestle in comfort for the first time in too long. Tess tried to speak between kisses and Alistair squeezing her, but settled for holding him tighter. And Alistair flooded. Tears of fear, _tears of mourning,_ but now it was okay. _Tears of joy._ She _held_ him again. Tess was awake _and alive._

 _Everything had been worth it._ Her past, his past, deception and golems, _lyrium,_ the Fade. _Morrigan._ _Everything._

_They would be happy ever after now. Forever this time._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fergus' prayer: [ Canticle of Trials, Trials 1, Prayers for the Despairing](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Chant_of_Light_verses#Trials_1) (copyright: Dragon Age; Bioware)
> 
>  
> 
> This is one of those chapters something really cool happened in the chapter prior, but this one needs to happen still... and it doesn't feel as exciting by far LOL. As boring as it feels, this one was necessary for further character development and my plots for Witch Hunt/DAI stories (if I don't forget about writing them) (rather than Warden recovers, no problems, everyone is happy, cue Epilogue). Also, I find it highly unlikely the Warden (dark ritual or no) could endure the blast from the Archdemon's death and not be affected. Making my Warden comatose from the blast provided the scenes for character evolution.
> 
> And: my discrepancies with using "shit" and "ass" but now "shite" and "arse" in this chapter?? To simplify, I hear Pádraig's voice in my head as a thick Scottish accent. I'm unaware how else to show this except by changing the way he curses compared to everyone else. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this far, and I hope all my odd little notes have been helpful along the way :)


	76. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I’m not a sodding Hero. Leliana shot the Archdemon in the eye from across the roof; how come no one talks about **that?** "_ \-- Tesslyn, Queen of Ferelden.
> 
> ... The end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music:
> 
> [Everything, by Lifehouse](https://youtu.be/fjDojEOiMcE)  
>  _Tess:_  
> [The Night, by Disturbed](https://youtu.be/UBv9TUQUDy0)  
>  _Tess' hand:_  
> [I am the Fire, by Halestorm](https://youtu.be/8hkmuTvkp_s) (at “Maker’s fucking breath!” circa 1:41-2:51)

Sound exploded outside. Like dwarven fireworks stuck in mid-eruption, a high-pitched roar almost overpowered water splashing into the stone tub. Sometimes it dimmed only to grow louder. It continued as Alistair undressed his wife and helped her stand, even the length of her bath.

Teagan stood on the other side of the privacy screen and delivered the news: the uproar occurred when he announced the Queen awoke. Though Alistair knew the people were eager to open the gates, he hoped it inspired Tess. _Denerim was celebrating her survival._

Tess, weakened and stiff from bed rest, wondered why the city celebrated such a thing as _waking up._ She found it hard to believe she’d been comatose; most who became so did not awaken. She couldn’t believe she’d been asleep _five weeks._ Worried lyrium made her scratch herself again; _not more hideous scars._ Alistair assured her magic pulled through, though. It not only sustained her health but eased her withdrawal; Alistair was grateful beyond words. For the first time weaning, Tess was not an infantile mute.

Still in the bath with Alistair’s tender wash, Tess’ eyes zipped side to side. She mumbled something about _the Archdemon,_ then with a look of apprehension asked if _it_ worked. With a laugh of relief, Alistair told her _it_ was fine. They were safe, together, and _they were both alive;_ no need to mention Morrigan. That’s all that mattered. For once, Alistair could promise life _and honor it._ _They would always be together now._ All the time in the world for kisses; and now they had too many to share.

All at once, their party and guard came to visit. Po was so excited his mistress awoke he needed holding back from jumping and licking. Leliana brought new flowers and a gown _fitting for a Queen._ Benneit brought little sweets on a stick from his wife, Denerim’s illustrious confectioner. Wynne and First Enchanter Irving arrived together and offered more healing and praise. Grinning Zevran made husband and wife blush by presenting their polished box of _intimate toys_ from Hot Lava.

General Pádraig stopped in the entry after a soft rap on the door. He held Tess’ gaze for a moment before dropping to a bow on one knee. “Your Majesty,” Pádraig addressed her. Tess’ lip trembled and her eyes glossed over. As soon as Pádraig stood, Tess threw herself on him. Alistair watched as Pádraig, taken aback at first, smiled, then closed his eyes and returned the hug. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Pádraig whispered; gratitude for sacrificing herself to save them all. Alistair had no idea how they earned such a friend.

The next few days saw a gradual recovery from Tess. While naps decreased each day till she needed none, Alistair relished them all. It gave him time to ready for her waking hours. Alistair didn’t even mind Teagan and Pádraig sneaking in political duties while he prepared. While awake, Tess had energy to spare, eager to move and see the new winter world outside their home. Her first moments in the snow brought tears. _She never expected to see it again._ Every Fereldan dreaded winter’s chill, but it was also a time for wonderment and fun, and a welcome sign of renewal. Snow removed dregs and weak crops, siring bountiful blooms and grand feasts when it beckoned spring. Frost, as this year proved, even purified the land of Taint. _Life;_ yearned in desperation after so much death and ruin. _Tess had almost missed it all._

Not a week after Tess woke did the Grand Cleric reminded Alistair it was time for his coronation. With Tess awake, the royal wedding must also take place. On a sudden, Teagan was present for the conversation. He assured the Grand Cleric his knights would arrive in nine days with the Queen's wedding gown. Alistair could only stare at his cunning Uncle.

 _And so it was._ The Grand Cleric announced Alistair’s coronation, and the royal wedding - including Tess’ crowning - a week after. _“Perfect!”_ Teagan exclaimed with a proud grin and a triumphant clap. “It will give the ladies time to make the cake!” Alistair smiled after his uncle in uncertainty. Most people grew wiser with age; Teagan grew sneakier, it seemed.

 _And then there was Tess._ With Riordan and the darkspawn gone, Tess held the most potent Taint again. She was _perfect comfort_ again. While they couldn’t sneak up on each other anymore, every time Tess walked in and out of range, Alistair paused his work to gaze towards her steps. Sometimes above him, sometimes down the hall, sometimes she paced where she stayed in range of him. Alistair loved that after everything, they still had this comfort between them, the ability and desire to pause life and _feel_ each other. After a while Tess made her way into his study, and Alistair finally took a break. They sat in front of his fireplace eating with one hand so they could also embrace. It had been a long day for both of them and they still had daylight left, but tomorrow would be the start of their reign. It was the _official_ start of their _happy ever after._

 

 _He wasn’t even nervous._ Standing before the mirror in his ceremonial armor, Alistair took in his countenance. While Tess was comatose, Alistair's armor had been replicated; a true ceremonial piece, no longer also for war. Golden armor alike Cailan’s, but intricate white and red steel designs made Alistair’s unique. _Gleaming perfection distinguishing him from his father and brother._ A long mantle of gold-trimmed maroon clasped at his collar and shrouded him from behind. A sash at his waist matched the cloak, presenting the hilt of _Starfang._ Alistair had trimmed his beard, pulled his hair back in a tie at the back of his neck. _He wanted to look perfect._ He was so large that minimal eating while Tess _slept_ made little difference on his physique. _Larger than life._ _Regal;_ even without his crown yet.

The boy who’d met Tess at Ostagar had never imagined this day.

Walking down the carpet found eyes of almost every noble. This time through the Landsmeet hall, Alistair was not worried about the outcome. His wife was safe, standing at the foot of the steps aside the carpet in a gown of pale gold and maroon to match him. Teagan stood with a hand on her shoulder, Pádraig and Fergus with him, the Wardens’ party opposite side of the carpet. _Respect_ on the faces around around Alistair. _No one tried to discredit him this time._ Bodies bowed in succession like a rippling wave as Alistair walked through.

_King Alistair._

_He’d earned this._

The Grand Cleric awaited him. The elite guard stood at attention in shining armor on either side of the steps in line with the carpet trim. An altar draped in cloth bearing Andraste’s Flame stood between Alistair and his throne. _A polished gold crown lay on a velvet pillow._ His feet stopped on the top step and Alistair knelt into a bow. The Grand Cleric prayed. Alistair closed his eyes, head on his forearm, soaking in the holy woman’s prayer; guidance, wisdom, compassion, righteousness. Prompted for blessing, Alistair drew his sword and held it out. A few spoken oaths; promises to defend the country, to uphold the Maker’s will, to nurture his people and help them thrive. _Always put the people before himself._ Every solemn agreement rooted Alistair deeper to the stone which sculpted his throne. He _wanted_ to uphold it all, _wanted to be worthy of his title._ _Starfang_ returned to his hands with a hum greater than before as if the Maker indeed blessed it.

 _And then his crown._ His breath caught the moment it touched him. _He had awaited this._

Alistair felt the weight of the crown, but not as the burden he once thought it would be. _Now_ it felt like a locking piece. Momentous, magnanimous, glorious. Perfect. _Right._

 _He belonged here._ Tess was meant to kill the Archdemon, and _Alistair_ was meant to be _King of Ferelden._

Alistair’s eyes opened when aged hands upraised his face by the chin. “Rise now, Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden,” the Grand Cleric spoke. Her unhurried movement and steadfast words strengthened the profound moment.

Solid gold upon his head stayed in place as Alistair stood. He’d never appreciated the Chantry much till the Landsmeet; always desired more freedom than they granted. Now, Alistair met the Grand Cleric’s eyes and bowed before her. She followed his reverence with a smile and a nod, _approval_ from the Chantry for the first time. _King; allowed to make the rules and allowed to be free._ Alistair’s feet turned, and he sheathed _Starfang._

 _“Long live the King,”_ the Grand Cleric inspired Alistair’s nobles. An almost concurrent echo filled the Landsmeet Hall.

Alistair watched _his_ people for a moment. Nobles, lesser nobles; high freemen of Denerim - guild masters, city guard, knights and Templars off duty - filling in where the nobles lost to the Blight could not. Influential people placing faith in _him_ until death. Those days of _Alistair the paltry dirty stable boy_ were nothing but history now.

 _He made it._ The Blight was over, the Archdemon slain, his _Hero of Ferelden_ survived, and a _new rule_ begun. Alistair found his wife and locked eyes, smiling only for her. Tess shone with pride. In light of everything that transpired, Alistair became the King she wanted for her country. A man Alistair became only by meeting Tess; who in turn became a hero by believing in her husband. And now Alistair had the means to make sure his wife would _always_ be with him.

 _Glorious,_ he thought in Cailan’s voice.

First order of _King_ business was formal recognition. Official gratitude for those who aided Alistair and Tess during the Blight: small gifts appropriate to each party member; coin for those traveling, cookies for Sten. For Shale and Branka a _home_ of their own in the palace gardens should they so desire. _A broken control rod for Branka._ Announcing the new Arl of Redcliffe; Teagan teared up at _Alistair's_ reason for promotion. Announcing Pádraig the new House of _Hart,_ complete with a coat of arms: an alert Stag silhouetted against the sunset to symbolize his protection and guidance out of the dark. Setting the date for a mass funeral for those lost to the Blight. Clemency for the Circle, Dalish, and dwarves for their extraordinary aid. But Alistair saved the best for last:

 _The Hero of Ferelden._ Alistair offered an _official boon_ of Tess’ choice; though she had little use for anything material a king could offer. He expected his wife to request justice on the Howe home in Amaranthine, or a tribute to her late parents, even - _Maker forbid_ \- a baby dragon.

After a moment of thought, Tess answered. “Something to honor the Grey Wardens.” She never failed to surprise him.

“An excellent Idea,” Alistair said, thinking of his old mentor. On orders or not, Duncan could not have guessed the impact of bringing Alistair and Tess together. Duncan’s sacrifice had been as great as Cailan that night: a disguised gift of _growing room._ Had Duncan survived, Alistair would not be the man he was now. “A statue perhaps,” _Duncan would have liked that,_ “to remember their sacrifice. Their selflessness and bravery against all odds so the rest of the world may continue,” now he thought of Tess, her silent goodbye before killing the Archdemon to save _Alistair._ Beyond courageous for the woman who feared pain above all things yet plunged herself into death’s jaws. No matter the reason she survived, Alistair’s wife was the bravest person he knew.

Tess met his eyes. Deep in reflection, busy emeralds steadied themselves to hold his gaze. “Without them, I never would have found you.” _Never failed to surprise._

Alistair stared at his wife, trying to suppress the already swelling emotion behind his eyes. _For him._ She wanted to honor their Order because it led her to _Alistair._

Alistair glanced around at his nobles. “Kindly all avert your eyes for a moment, _thank_ you.” But he didn’t wait for them to adjust. Alistair turned back to his wife, took her face in his hands, and brought his lips to hers without any other warning. A noise caught in her throat as she curled in and kissed him back.

 _More than love. Better than need._ He could not have been a luckier man.

 

 _The wedding was tomorrow_ _._ Alistair sat at his desk, quill scratching away and candles illuminating his inscribed thoughts. He’d slipped away when he could this past week, making time for more worthy words, _days_ dedicated to leaving out no word from his original vow. He even abandoned the _bachelor party_ Oghren _planned_ for him; a bunch of men in Alistair’s social parlor with as much alcohol as Oghren could acquire.

Tess' Taint came into range from above. Alistair loved his study for this reason - his wife’s solar was right above his; her private space when she needed to be alone. Here, they could take time for themselves and yet not part. Tonight, Alistair sat _alone_ in his cabinet, quill scratching on parchment, growing his list of things he _knew_ meant Tess was the one for him, and Tess paced above. In and out of reach she went, sometimes quick as if someone danced her across the room. Then he felt her Taint lock into place straight above him and remain, and as he wrote Alistair smiled to himself. She'd stopped her own _party_ to feel his Taint, to be _close_ to him when she could not be with him.

 _So much more than love,_ Alistair scribbled again.

 

Teagan stood misty-eyed in the front row. The Landsmeet hall was full, reborn with decoration for ceremony  and packed with nobles once again. Teagan sniffled the moment Tess entered the walk, Fergus beside him beamed. Tess walked down the carpet a bloom of Orlesian satin and lace. Silver and white with ribbons of _Cousland blue,_ diamonds and pearls from head to toe. _A winter gem._ Her elite guard, now titled _The King’s Resolve,_ lined the walk, dropping to one knee on either side as Tess passed. Pádraig included was last to kneel, presenting Tess with a bouquet that match her gown. Alistair’s breath caught as she neared; their _first_ wedding was potent enough, but _now_ it was _perfect._ Leliana teared up so often already her eye makeup smeared. With a handkerchief in his fist, even Sten looked moved.

Alistair couldn’t stop staring at his wife. He couldn’t remember what she looked like without the scars, but he loved every one. Though near-constant healing over the year had reduced small scars, the important ones remained; proof they’d fought golems, werewolves, dragons, blood mages. They were all proof _she survived_ to _live_ with him. He could not imagine a more beautiful face, and she was _still_ beautiful. _Perfectly Tess as Alistair always saw her, as he always wished she saw herself._ No difference now from when he realized at Ostagar he longed to spend his last days with her. With his eyes he traced the lines of her face, contours, _scars,_ every rigid mark proof they had survived _together._ Not only survived all odds, but they were living, _thriving._ All the battles, all the tears, and they had _grown_ together. _Alive and living their own life._ Alistair could not wait for the days of growing _gray_ together.

_Always more than love._

Lost in the moment, Alistair leaned in to kiss Tess. The Grand Cleric interrupted, scolding him for not paying attention, _Your Majesty! Gratification only awards the Patient._ Alistair blushed and chuckled with their audience. The elderly Cleric continued with a sigh like he was hopeless. Alistair agreed with another giggle; when it came to his wife, he was _always_ hopeless.

Personal vows were not custom in noble weddings for most were only business, but the King and his _Bride_ repeated theirs anyway. _Love drove them always._ Tess began, and the Grand Cleric nodded through her resounding blessing. _Wife_ refreshed her _choice to love_ _,_ and affection radiated Alistair’s pulse. _So overcome her voice strained;_ Alistair held her hands, pouring his eyes over every inch of her face. She almost glowed, locked on _him_ as if they stood not before over a hundred people. A Queen; _his_ Queen. _How did this end up his life?_ Though married and recognized long before this day, she would now rule _with_ him. He was King and _she_ was _his Queen._

The Grand Cleric's voice rang out over chimes of crystal bells, an inspiring melody reserved for blessing unions. Alistair meant to talk under her, but he could _not_ keep a whisper. _I more than love you;_ never left Tess’ eyes. His voice took over the hall alongside the Chantry elder, _Inside and out;_ a song as holy as the Chant itself. Re-declaring his undying love to the woman he already professed himself to before scars ever took them. _Broken and sewn. For the rest of my days._

 _The kiss was perfect._ Soft and sweet as he always knew her, lingering on breath and emanation of renewed devotion. Kisses weren’t custom either, not for noble weddings; few _liked_ each other enough. Maric and Rowan did not kiss at theirs, nor Cailan and Anora. _Alistair and Tess were an exception._ He kissed her again, _he couldn’t help himself,_ holding her head, _tasting her,_ pouring into her as much love as he could get away with in front of the Grand Cleric. _So much more than love._ The full hall chuckled again when Alistair asked the Grand Cleric for another moment to keep kissing his wife. And as Tess wanted, _Denerim’s humble servant_ Anora watched it all.

No time between ceremonies: Tess knelt for her own crown. Anora’s gold coronal tossed out and melted down, Teagan commissioned a diadem _only Tess_ could wear: diamonds like a laurel wreath tipped with a raw pearl. A tiara to honor her parents who could not see their daughter crowned; a symbol to nation the mighty houses of Cousland and Mac Eanraig lived on in Tess and the Theirin line. Wedding gown spread around her like a spring lily, Tess swallowed and soaked it in.

 _Queen. Wife_ of the King. Alistair watched her, pride swelling him, and recalled his own crowning. Rooting her as it had him; he saw it in the way she held herself. Duty neither of them expected only two years ago; duty they took upon themselves over a year ago _just to keep each other safe_. For Tess, it was a hefty weight added to the anchor of _Hero_ and _Commander of the Grey._ _Proof_ Tess was _worthy_. Proof she was not the _monster_ she believed she was when they met. _Long live the Queen._ Vows to enforce and compliment her husband’s reign. Promises of motherly responsibility, to put her country before herself, and guide with the love and wisdom of Andraste. Agreeing to be a woman all other women could respect.

A choice she made to _keep her husband,_ no matter the cost.

_Better than need. So much more than love._

Before they could begin celebrations, formal ceremonies continued. Now that the King had a Queen, the surviving nobles renewed fealty, and new nobles who had risen by helping the country recover presented new vows. _These_ vows all came with wedding gifts; nobles hoping to earn or retain favor from the new and already-beloved monarchs. An otherwise boring hour of thanking those who exaggerated politeness. Alistair and Tess tried not to giggle when their party mimicked silly Fereldan flattery.

The _highlight_ of the hour was Pádraig and Zevran: Pádraig placed a plush pillow in Tess’ hands while Zevran handed Alistair a matching velvet box. Zevran reminded them Anora’s crown was melted down; Pádraig smiled with twinkling eyes. Alistair frowned in caution as he unlatched the box, Tess leaning over to see. Almost as soon as he opened it, Alistair slammed the box shut with a flaming face. Tess darkened several shades and refused eye contact; the one time Pádraig and Zevran’s antics fell on _her_ lap, not the other way around. Glancing around to make sure no one else saw - _making sure the Grand Cleric didn’t see_ \- Alistair tried to glare at his friends. Their sheer amusement made him laugh anyway.  Pádraig and Zevran backed away in a synchronous bow, trying not to grin more than they already were. Alistair dared himself to peek again, and his entire body trembled with silent laughter. _A gold anal plug;_ he should have known it was no use telling Zevran to stay out of their _personal effects_ _._ _A pillow for comfort,_ and _Anora’s crown melted down into a sex toy._ Teagan off in a small crowd winked at Alistair with a smirk and a silent toast of his wine glass. Trying not to break down into rolling laughter proved more a struggle than fighting the Archdemon. Without their friends, Alistair and Tess’ life would lack capital excitement at all the wrong times.

It still wasn’t over. Teagan returned to the twice-newly-weds and informed of an interim between _flattery_ and celebrations was in order. Tess nor Alistair knew about this custom, but before either could ask, Teagan brushed them off with something about _new nobles_ _._ Tired of her shoes and her dress which limited motility but needing to appear, Tess sighed and agreed to stay; _for the people._ Husband and wife watched as Teagan excused himself for fresh air, and Tess sighed again when Fergus slipped out with him. _Face of the people._ Alistair tried not to laugh at the noble blood Tess prided in proving a hamper when duty demanded she flaunt it.

More moments of standing bored. Silent observing, and reminding each other - _or forgetting_ \- the names of the new nobles. Tess sighed for something to do. Alistair cleared his throat for the same reason.  Tess turned her head, mouth hitched to speak, but a thick Orlesian accent spoke in her place:

“You must forgive my tardiness, _Your Majesties._ Voyaging all this snow has done nothing for my talent for punctuality or my suede boots.”

Without looking over first, Tess’ eyes flew wide open. In a blink with her wrists bent at her waist, she bent - and froze in half-bow. At the other end of the carpet, Teagan and Fergus tried to bite back grins. Confused, Alistair frowned and observed his wife’s caught breath.

The Orlesian voice hummed while a smile played. An almost gaunt woman stood before them in a gold-trimmed lavender gown of foreign design, cloaked in immaculate white fur. Upon high cheekbones sat an extravagant mask of gold, amethyst, and milk quartz, embellished with matching feathers, purple ribbons, and paint; this was no _mere_ noble. Alistair saw no other details with the mask covering half her face and the large cloak. Her hands, however, mirrored Tess’, from the awkward angle to dainty fingertip pose. “I am glad to see some habits have not died. I am pleased to see you as well, my dear.”

Tess’ breath returned after her head revolved in choppy movements toward Alistair. Eyes wide, she stared, while a smile crept up on Alistair. “This is _my_ kingdom…” Tess reminded herself - _Alistair huffed in amusement_ \- before straightening back up. Tess closed her eyes to fight embarrassment. She swallowed, breathed again, then looked at the masked woman from Orlais. “Your Radiance,” Tess greeted, dropping to curtsy anyway; her wedding gown puffed up around her like whipped icing on a cake. Others in the hall watched the Queen bow to the masked lady. “May I present my _husband,_ _King_ Alistair Theirin...” Tess looked to Alistair. He couldn’t tell if she was dreading or embarrassed. “This is Celene Valmont, the… _Empress_ of Orlais...” she broke off in a whisper.

 _“Oh.”_ The pieces _all_ fit together now. Alistair eyed the masked _Empress,_ then grinned at his wife, unable to quell his amusement or curiosity. “Celene with the brown…” he didn’t dare say _nipples_ aloud. Instead, he put a hand flat to his chest while letting his eyes wander to his wife’s. Tess glared _mortified._

“That’s _all_ you remember,” she breathed. “Yes. _Yes!_ Same Celene.”

Alistair couldn’t stop his grin for the life of him. Between Tess’ stories and Cailan’s letters, Alistair was already eager to meet the renowned Empress. Now she was here in the flesh _without warning Tess first._ Even if stories were all Alistair could coax, _what a night it would be._ It seemed there was no end to adventures when one was a Grey Warden King whose wife memorized an Empress’ bosoms.

 

 

“Not bad, right?” Alistair smiled at his wife as they entered the same hall from opposite doors. A heavy cape flapped crisp as he opened his arms and spun. Fitted leather mantle trimmed with fur gave way to steel-blue fleece, swaying with his body. Alistair gestured with his arms and palms to the great building they now owned.

Visible moon high on the rise, the palace was silent other than their padded footsteps; almost strange after the bustle of the past week. Servants were eager to normalize the palace, decorations removed and the Landsmeet hall reverted to a courtroom only hours after Tess was crowned. The ballroom, also, was swept, waxed, and furniture already covered. No trace of a party or guests. Tess alone in the corridor now meant she’d triumphed over Celene and her surprise visit with alcohol-filled chocolates; _Grey Warden tolerance;_ even the _Empress_ was put to bed. Though after everything, a moment of quiet _like this_ was welcome.

Now, with their wedding celebration not two hours behind them, Alistair stared as he met his wife in the middle of the hall. Tess, draped in a plush evening cloak that matched his, stopped before him. Well in reach but no rush to touch; odd how realizing _abundant time_ to hold each other allowed for appreciation of more mundane pleasures. _Simply standing_ with his wife, both warm, fed, _alive,_ Alistair felt _content._ _No world-threatening enemies,_ no worry this might be the last hug. Knowing Tess was safe enough for Alistair to admire their new home unarmed was a tremendous feat after all they’d endured. Alistair now had no fear she’d not be there when he woke up if he let his guard down during the day. It felt good to take everything slow to soak up _all_ beauty, not only his wife’s.

“No offense to your fancy clothes or Orlesian chocolates, but if we can limit these kind of parties to major holidays, I will be content,” Tess said. Wear and drain in her voice enunciated eyes that otherwise looked small from joy.

Alistair smiled wider for his wife. “I have no objections,” he agreed. “Still.” He looked up and around. Not enough time had passed to memorize the palace. The carvings in beams and ceiling paintings were some of many wonders for Alistair to admire of his new life. “For two clueless Wardens,” he met her eyes, “with a delusional general and an _entire race_ against them, I don’t think we came out too bad.” The corner of his mouth hardened into another smirk. _“And,_ we are _officially married_ now.” He shrugged his eyebrows to exaggerate his smile. She giggled at his playfulness, and Alistair's heart thumped. _The perfect smile._ He still remembered the first time he saw her smile: she'd captured his heart then, as she did all over again now. He brought the back of her hand up to his lips. “Your Majesty.” Alistair held her gaze.

“We were _officially_ married over a year ago,” she reminded, her smirk stretched lop-sided. “And don’t you forget that again,” she used his own tease against him.

Alistair grinned, biting his bottom lip while he searched her eyes. “This means we get _two anniversaries,_ right? _Two_ special trips to Orzammar for more… _souvenirs?”_ She yielded to his charms again, a sweet grin flushing her cheeks even in the late night candlelight. _So beautiful her smile lit up the room._ Alistair closed his arms and his cloak around his wife with his lips to her forehead.

For a moment, they were _still._ Breath and arms and _finally peace_ since they’d met. The feeling of assurance that flooded Alistair all day had no words of expression. _He was where he wanted to be,_ for the rest of his life. Everything had been worth it. _Everything._

So _perfect_ and _right_ Alistair heard the ballroom minstrels play again in his head. He hummed a few notes before gathering his wife in his arms and twirling her right there. Still all legs _but agile enough to fool dunk nobles,_ Alistair never danced before their public wedding. Brief lessons from Teagan and Fergus days before were nothing compared to the music that drove his feet when Alistair held his bride across the polished dance floor. Seeing Tess there, _forever his wife now,_ blooming like the most beautiful rose, inspired his heart and so his feet. Like love inspired him now; wife back in his arms, her heartbeat guiding the imaginary song. She braced him like she had in the ballroom, her feet followed his again; she let him lead her anywhere. _Perfect. He would dance forever with her._ His hum got lost in her lingering lips.

“Are you too tired to dance to bed?” he murmured.

“Dance _to_ or dance _in?”_ she guessed between kisses.

Another grin broke out. “I’m glad _you_ said it. Saves me from _begging,”_ he said into her mouth. A giggle got lost in lips. Arms slid up his shoulders and clasped around him; another kiss, another sigh. Alistair picked up his wife and carried her upstairs. _Love;_ the best dance he could ever dream up. _Forever perfect now._

 

**_TESS:_ **

_Alistair doesn’t speak when he follows me to the roof anymore._

_Where the Archdemon died._

_…_ **_If_ ** _it died? Bah. I don’t want to think about that._

_I find myself back up here every other day, now. The first few times, Alistair asked what I hoped to find or if I was saying goodbye. He doesn’t ask anymore though. My husband stands or paces at the other end of Fort Drakon’s roof while I walk where I remember Urthemiel dying. Today Alistair is shaping snow to resemble a mabari and a lumpy woman with large snow bosoms; me and Po, I assume._

_Alistair said the Archdemon looked charred after it died, but there are no marks when I kick the powder away. Snow melting under winter sun then re-coating itself has washed away all trace of whatever happened when I drove Rose._

_Yet still I feel him. Without darkspawn or other Wardens, my Taint is a low hum that circulates my entire body. If ever I doubted veins and arteries, my Taint sure made them known. Now, though…_

_I feel Alistair’s eyes on me as I stop at the last place I stood before I decided to kill the ancient dragon._

_The more I recall the swarm of essence when I ended Urthemiel’s life, the more I feel it in myself. His soul, his magic; still not sure what it was. I feel it every day as strong as when my Rose won against Urthemiel’s brain. If I sit and focus on it, it feels thicker, like warm jelly wherever I feel it the most. Makes me think I can will it to any party of my body; if I could dare myself to. Reminds me of how the Circle teaches children to harness their mana._

_I don’t know how to ask Alistair about this. Is that what happened? Did I take the Archdemon’s mana? Maker, if the Chantry finds out…_

 

_It has been four months since I climbed Urthemiel and stabbed him with a rose. Whatever this is inside me hasn’t waned a bit. Lying comatose with non-stop healing, it seems, did not affect it._

_Alistair slipped out with Zevran and Eirik to the tavern an hour ago. I’m in his study right now; all the good books are here. I’ve been in here scouring books since he left, but not a single report on Grey Wardens or Blights mentions anything of an Archdemon left behind. Weisshaupt is out of the question: lazy First Warden didn’t bother lifting a finger during the Blight even when news traveled of the defeat at Ostagar. How can I trust him with_ ** _this?_** _Maybe the Shaperate has something on this? Kardol said he found the remains of an Archdemon once..._

 _Alistair would like that, another trip to Orzammar. The Shaperate was night next to Hot Lava; he will be_ **_ecstatic_ ** _to visit. I’ll have to have Bhelen occupy him while I research, though. I have_ **_no_ ** _idea how to tell my husband about this._

_Not even books on magic mention Archdemon essences. With a hard sigh, I dump the book off the couch and curl up. The mighty Hero of Ferelden, scrunched up on her husband’s couch hiding her face._

_I’m not a sodding Hero. Alistair and his sodding embellishing of feats; I just know Teagan and Fergus help with that. Leliana shot the Archdemon in the stupid eye from across the roof; how come no one talks about_ **_that?_ **

_Another sigh as I lean my head back. Alistair’s couch is more comfy than mine. His whole study is better than mine. And he wonders why I prefer Orlais. Celene has much better taste than whoever designed my solar. Unless Anora designed it; that would explain a lot. Too bad I’m not really a mage. Maybe then I could redecorate by myself and no one could stop me._

_Hm… magic…_

_I bring my hand up and stare. When I sat atop Urthemiel, what seeped out felt like the magic he breathed on me. Does magic_ **_do_ ** _that, though? Can it transfer to a living person upon death?_

_And Fergus thought he was being cute when he said drinking lyrium made me a mage. My brother's favorite Free Marcher curse comes out with a snort. He had better not be right._

_It’s doing it again. It’s almost like it knows when I’m watching for it. My hand never looks any different, but I feel it sloshing through me. A warm current through my legs, my other arm, almost peeling away from my heart. The closer it gets to where I concentrate, the slower it rolls. That’s when it feels like jelly. Or bubbling ale? I know how crazy that sounds; fitting madness is my strength, right? There is something definitely_ **_real_ ** _at my hand right now, though. Moving, rocking, stitching. Or like warm ocean water, weaving in and out and knotting around my hand. Without a doubt it is moving inside me._

_And this is when it pulses. I know Alistair can feel this part; he stops what he’s doing and watches me when it happens. The pulse is so strong it almost overpowers his Taint. Like I’m holding my own beating heart._

_Ugh, lovely imagery. Thanks, Self._

_When I let it pulse in my hand, sometimes I swear it might pop out. Explode like a filled bubble; I saw one of those from a deepstalker once, fiendish little shit. Turning my hand doesn’t stop the pulse. Doesn’t change my hand. From the throbbing inside, I expect my skin to shimmer like a barrier spell, but nothing._

_A stronger, faster pulse sets my brow. I’ve never let it stay this long in one part of my body before. This is new. This is strange. Should I fear this?_

**_Faster_** _, now._ **_Humming_ ** _in my fingers; Maker, I_ **_hear_ ** _it. They feel alive. My fingers fucking feel_ **_alive_ ** _like they have their own fucking hearts. Maker Andraste Ancestors Mother Father Po! That’s not… that’s not possible. Is it? I’m not sure I like this. Feels like a ball in my palm, pounding, rhythmical, pulling at my fingertips like they’re attached by strings, resisting when I flex. I have to stop!_

 _But I want to see it. I_ **_need_ ** _to see what’s inside trying to break free. Fucking thank Andraste my husband is three districts away right now._

 _Wave after wave rippling up through my hand into my knuckles, my nails. Gooseflesh prickles up everywhere it's not thrumming. This is_ **_so_ ** _strange. I hardly feel it elsewhere now. Anxious as the fucking void but I’m doing this anyway._

_Maker please have mercy on my husband’s brand new house!_

_Another rush pulses through._ **_Hot_** _, a swollen rolling hearth_ **_breathing_ ** _up through my wrist and palm. Reaching through my fingers;_ **_strong_** _, trying to_ **_force_ ** _something. My eyes widen and my mouth hangs but I can’t close either. Before I can blink,_ **_my hand ignites._ **

**Maker’s fucking breath!!**

_Stillness. No heartbeat, no pounding. White flame tapering off in a blue hue. Dancing with my fingers like it’s no preternatural feat._

**_Fire_** _. Fucking magic fire coming from_ **_my_ ** _hand! No no no no! Fucking no! How is this fucking possible??_

 _The door swings open too fast, rushing breath back to my lungs so hard and swift it hurts. Alistair stands frozen in the doorway, eyes locked on my hand. I can’t move but to stare; I can’t feel him over my hand. My_ **_flaming_ ** _hand. I’m not supposed to have a flaming hand! The door bounces against him with a wobble._

_Alistair takes one step and closes the door behind him; secures both locks faster than I’ve seen him lock anything. His brows furrow as his gaze rises. His eyes catch mine like a new hook and I gasp again. The flame is gone when I cover my fist at my chest._

_Shit shit shit._

_“Tess?”_

_What did I just do?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the end. ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in a soundtrack for New Rule, you can find it here: [ New Rule on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/129544432/playlist/17gyPMDcmqiZG79JU0DRU7)
> 
> UPDATE (repeat) : If you find New Rule and its relationships/approaches to be frustrating (as many do about 16 chapters in), you may want to start with my DA:A story [The Warden's Reckoning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13214304?view_full_work=true) and work your way backwards. Warden's Reckoning addresses the psychological problems/effects only touched upon in here, because only in WR are the characters at a place in life to address them. If you begin reading and find yourself hating the characters (a common reaction by this story's CH 21), then detour to WR. The frustrating behaviors in New Rule will then make sense.
> 
> Find me on:  
> [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/kjester)  
> [Redbubble](http://www.redbubble.com/people/kjester)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fade Sex](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5430605) by [Replica_Jester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Replica_Jester/pseuds/Replica_Jester)
  * [See My Lady Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6033973) by [Replica_Jester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Replica_Jester/pseuds/Replica_Jester)
  * [The Warden's Reckoning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13214304) by [Replica_Jester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Replica_Jester/pseuds/Replica_Jester)




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